Rapunzel: Maybe. Does that even matter if you can’t hear it? Like that thing about a tree falling in a wood and nobody hearing, does it actually fall?
ListeningToHer: Your singing matters if it makes you happy.
Rapunzel: Not exactly.
ListeningToHer: Matters to me. And your happiness.
Rapunzel: Thank you. Ditto. <3
She does that sometimes and I note she doesn’t send casual hearts to anyone else. I try not to read too much into it, because I know that it will be a hard fight to get her to accept me as her husband in truth.
But maybe it’ll be enough to protect her, make her happy, and gradually earn her trust, little though I deserve it.
ListeningToHer: See you soon.
Rapunzel: I wish.
And that makes me smile as I slide my phone into my pocket. I focus on the entrance of the church. She’ll be here.
My heart bubbles over when she appears in the doorway. My girl is here to marry me. Really here. I take her in, lingering over her face that is partially obscured by a delicate white veil, so her expression is a mystery. The curves of her body, though… That dress. Hell, I don’t know what it cost. Half Edmonton’s fortune for all I care because the white silk and lace fit her perfectly. She’s gorgeous in anything, but in a dressshechose to marryme, thatIpaid for?
Perfection.
Music swells, and I can’t tell whether that’s in my head or reality until the whole church stands.
She’s graceful as a swan gliding down the aisle towards me and the vision is marred by two things. Not being able to see her face, and her sneering father at her elbow.
David Tottenham doesn’t even attempt to hide his disgust as he places Lotte’s hand in mine. In response, I don’t try to keep in the self-satisfied smile that tugs at my lips.
I’ve won. She’s going to be mine. First my wife, then my lover. My sweetheart. My soul.
She has her head tilted down, and she’s shorter than me, so with the veil her thoughts are entirely blocked off.
I take her hand and draw her to my side. “Good of you to turn up, ptichka.”
“It is, isn’t it.” She tilts her chin up and I have the disconcerting feeling that she can see me, but I can’t see her. It’s foreign, and I don’t like it. Normally I’m the one shrouded in darkness, seeing her but hidden myself.
“You look lovely. What is visible, that is.” The veil is impeding my view and my fingers itch to rip it off.
“Thank you,” she says, then adds under her breath, “for the obligatory compliment on the only thing about a woman worthy of a man’s notice. Let’s get this over with.”
I hold back a laugh. She’s not going to make this easy, but I’m ready for that.
Straightening her shoulders, and standing to her full height of practically a dwarf, she faces the front of the church.
I nod to the priest, and he begins. The ceremony is fucking long enough for me to grow an inch of beard and impatient. It’s a supreme effort not to grab Lotte, throw her over my shoulder, and steal her away. But she did her job well; we’ll be here until midnight with food and drink, fireworks, and music. It will be hours and hours until it’s just the two of us.
I snatch her wedding ring from Mikhail when that moment arrives, but hesitate when I find I have a ring as well as her. I thought… The idea of wearing her ring ripples through me. A sign of her ownership of me, and she chose it. So although none of these stupid formal phrases mean anything, and this whole event is a farce to get her tied to me, my heart jumps to my throat when I take her hand in mine and slip the platinum band over her finger. I have to choke out the words about “with this ring” and whatever bullshit because I’m fixated on the matching ring Mikhail has waiting.
Her expression is screened, and her tone is even, neutral, as she repeats the same phrases and slides the gold onto my finger. And hell, she probably just bought it because it enabled her to spend more time away from Tottenham Tower, but I’ve never worn a piece of jewellery in my life, and it’s heavy. A link between her and me.
The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur, until, “You may kiss the bride.”
That’s it. We’re married. There’s a collective sigh of relief from behind us as everyone who isn’t a Tottenham or Edmonton relaxes.
Slowly, I reach out with both hands and grip the flimsy edge of the veil, pulling it up, revealing her face. For a second defiance fires in her expression. Anger, pure and hot. Then it’s swiftly covered over with sweet innocence.
Interesting.
