Page 31 of Marry Lies
CHAPTERSIX
THE NUPTIALS
Stella
I take a deep breath, adjusting a hair pin as I pull up to the courthouse in downtown Crestwood. My hands are shaking slightly as my father gets out of the Escalade and opens my door. It’s warm today, and I relish in the way the sun heats my skin. I will never get tired of the sunshine here, and for a second, I’m sad I will have to go back to gray, drizzly London in a year.
“You look beautiful, ma chérie.”
I grin. “Thanks, papa.”
Taking my hand, he leads me up the grand staircase and into one of the most beautiful buildings I’ve ever seen. There are tall, stone columns, black and gold marble floors, and a majestic fountain in the center of the grand foyer. I clutch my bright yellow tulips tightly and smooth my silk dress as my father lets go of my hand. I catch a glimpse of my blonde curls in the mirror—something I hardly ever bother to tame anymore—as well as the form-fitting dress. I’d chosen to keep it simple andmetoday, which means no white. Just an elegant, lavender dress with thin straps, a wrap style bodice and waist, and a long thigh slit. I have on bright purple strappy heels, and I’ve kept my makeup minimal thanks to the heat. The last thing I need is to sweat it all off.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, linking his arm with mine again and leading us to one of the back rooms. I’m intentionally ten minutes late. I wanted to make Miles sweat a bit—just a little revenge for the day he abandoned me in Paris. This morning, I heard him showering in our joint bathroom, but I haven’t spoken to him for the past two days, when he suggested we get married this weekend.
I was met with the thirty-page, prenuptial agreement this morning, though. In a nutshell, I am not entitled to any of the Ravage money after we divorce, aside from the million dollars promised to me, but I am free to use all of it during the year we’re married. It all feels so…clinical. Formal. The opposite of romantic.
Happy wedding day to me.
A small part of me was disappointed not to see him before today. I hung around the kitchen like a sad puppy dog yesterday morning but he never showed up. I didn’t even get a reaction to the bread and pasta jars that now accompany the original tea, sugar, coffee, and biscuit jars in the kitchen.
It felt a bit cheeky to add them, but I wanted a reaction from him.
I can’t help but think that he’s avoiding me.
As my father and I round the corner, I nod once. “Yes. I’m fine. Just nervous.”
“It’s normal to be nervous on your wedding day,” he says, his voice low and comforting.
Yes, it is. But this isn’t a normal wedding day.
“I know. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of it.”
My father pauses, pulling me with him when he stops. “Stella, I know you’re determined to go through with this, but I want you to know that I support you no matter what you decide.”
“Thank you, papa,” I tell him, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll be okay. After a year, I can pretend none of this ever happened.”
My father’s blue eyes search mine warily. “I hope so.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, the door down the hall opens, and I turn my head to see a room full of people I don’t know.
And of course, the instrumental music I chose plays through the speakers. I am now realizing what a terrible idea that was. “Love Story”by Taylor Swift is the song I always wanted to use when I walked down the aisle, but today, it just heightens how much of a sham this whole thing is.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
Taking a steadying breath, I pull my face into a serene smile as we walk forward and into the ceremony.
Upward and onward.
My heart is hammering against my ribs, and I clutch my tulips tightly, suddenly feeling very silly for dressing so informally. A cold sweat breaks out on my skin when I see Miles at the other side of the room, waiting with two people. One of them appears to be the marriage commissioner for the civil ceremony, and the other one is Liam.Thank fuck I have an ally here.He’s in a white button-down shirt and dark gray pants—which seems so informal next to Miles, who is wearing a classic navy suit.
Miles looks…god. My palms begin to sweat more when I think of calling him myhusband.How would I last the year with him? Watching him eat the way he does, feeling so alive when I quarrel with him, the way he looks in those bloody suits…ugh.
I am doomed.
He looks the same as he always does, but there’s something about his energy that’s different today. It’s almost like nervousness, or perhaps reverence. He watches me walk down the aisle, and I see two different emotions playing across his features, fighting for dominance.
My father guides me to Miles, and I quickly realize that I have no one to hand my flowers to.
