Heartless Billionaire husband

As tears welled in my eyes, I pushed the sleeves of my shimmering gown up. I was getting married! I mean, I’m supposed to be happy. Isn’t this practically what every female in life wants? Marriage? Yet all I felt was loneliness. Surrounded by people, yet no one. On my wedding day, I had never felt more alone than today.

“Too quickly,” I said again as my assistants fixed my outfit.

I collapsed in the corner, slowly realizing what I would become in a matter of hours. A wife. A wife to a man I hate. A wife to a man who reciprocates that same hatred. The assistants tried to apply makeup to my already blotched face. Knowing the tears won’t stop and the fact I had mascara forming a messy line on my cheeks, all I can say is good luck to them!

I saw a little girl taking flowers from the arrangement on the table out of the corner of my eye. I was given a few minutes to collect my thoughts and stop the tears before the finishing touches were made.

When she saw a tear trickling down the side of my face, she approached me.

“Why are you crying?” she said quietly to avoid being overheard by others.

“I’m extremely thrilled,” I replied, faking a smile as the wedding director stepped in.

“All joyful tears, smile,” she murmured as she straightened my gown and saw the creases on my cheeks from dripping mascara.

“Get some waterproof mascara,” she ordered the stylist, or was it the artist? Whoever it was. Grabbing a brush from the tray, the makeup artist carefully reapplied my makeup using waterproof mascara this time.

After she’s done, she gives me the mirror to take a look. Staring at the face in the mirror, I try to see myself how every other person would see me. Glassy green eyes stared back at me. My eyes were so glassy they looked like a broken bottle. Silky brown hair styled into a neat chignon. I was the picture of elegance and poise. Anyone looking at me would want to be me. The perfect man, the perfect face, the perfect family. Oh, how wrong they would be.

“Everything will be fine,” the director told me as she adjusted my dress and double-checked that everything was in place. She straightened up my sterling silver jewelry and full-length veil.

Was I willing to give up my first kiss to a stranger? Not just a kiss. Was I willing to give up all my firsts? My first I love you? My first relationship break-up and make-up? My first-weekend getaway? I wanted the complete package: love, romance, and a happily ever after. I want magic, something this relationship could never provide.

“Miss Marcus?” The director swept her hands in front of me, attempting to pull me back into reality, a world I so wanted to leave.

“Yes,” I responded, interrupting my lovely fantasies of love and magic, which I could never have.

“Are you ready?” She asks.

And knowing that running away isn’t an option considering I couldn’t even run to my dad or run from him, I utter the lie I feel down to my bones.

“Uh. Yeah,” I said quietly as people began to flow out. The young girl hastily grabbed her rose petals in a little basket and skipped out of the peach room and into the line of my bridal setup.

As I peered through the gate ahead of us, I heard an organ and a harp playing in peaceful harmony. People poured in one by one, some hand in hand.

Should I be more cheerful? Am I really getting married? I’ve wanted this since I was six when I sketched my ideal wedding in a binder.

I turned to see George’s Dad racing towards me while I heard a chorus of “excuse me,” “sorry,” and “pardon me” from the church’s auditorium behind.

“Camila, you look lovely,” he murmured as a tear fell from my cheek. Urghh! Enough with the tears. All I wanted was my mother to be here, holding my hand, whispering assurances. His fatherly affection reminded me of the love I’d never received from my father. George’s father was a kind man who knew his son’s notoriety well.

“I didn’t spot your parents in the hallways; did they not make it?” He said as if I expected them to be there.

“They couldn’t make it, but they said they’d drop by soon,” I shook my head to reassure our business strategy.

“I’m sorry they can’t be here, but you have Allison and me here,” he remarked as I thanked him for his graciousness. I carefully slip my hand into the crook of his elbow and start the march. Every sound amplified, and everyone in the pews stood.

I walked in elegantly, disguising my tears with a charming grin. As I stared straight ahead, I saw the guy who had made everything happen; George looked totally intimidating in his suit. All 6’3 of him. Staring at him from the entrance, I couldn’t make out his eye color, only his build, and that was enough to tell me how much time the guy spent in the gym. The last time I saw him, he had straight jet black hair with a nasty snare on his face, except now he was smiling, I guess it’s customary to smile on your wedding day, but we weren’t normal, far from ordinary.

George was there smirking at me in an immaculate black suit that looked like it cost the same as a home. He grinned at me as he saw me stumbling on the train of my gown as George’s father attempted to steady me. I stumbled on the shorter section.

I looked around the pews for somebody I recognized, but I saw a small girl staring down at her empty basket in the second row.

My parents never came up, and I can’t say I’m shocked; after all, they married me off to a total stranger after kicking me out. Is this what I deserve? As my parents phrased it, “Yes, this is what you get for being a bitch and a brat.” I was their only daughter, and all I wanted in life was to be free of parties, cosmetics, and banquets.

As we approached the platform, George entered my head again, and I felt my knees shake and my mouth dry. After seeing his grin, I began blushing profusely; his smile drew the crowd’s attention; it was bright and gorgeous. He was just the sexiest person I’ve ever seen; believe me; I’ve seen a lot.

George’s father kissed my cheek as he grabbed my hand, all gallant. As I placed my manicured hand on his palm, he it in his. As his hand directed me to where I needed to stand, I walked up to the stage. I stood as his hand on my hand moved a little; he was pretty helpful. I saw his piercing brown eyes locked on mine as the ceremony started. The ritual continued till it reached its conclusion.

“Do you accept Camila Marcus as your wife, cherish and love, protect, and be there for one another if you say ‘I do’?”

George stared at me as I envisioned him bolting for the hills. But he astonished me by saying, “I do,”

“Camila Marcus, do you accept George Harrison as your husband to love and cherish?

If you say ‘I do,’ to love and protect at all times. “As it dawned on me, the priest remarked. I’d be stuck in a loveless marriage. Would I be safe? Yes. And in the world, it’s about survival more than love.

“I… do,” I blurted out as I saw George’s gaze.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest continued, his face drawn to me. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, and licked my lips. As our lips connected and his fingers slid up my cheeks, brushing away my last night’s tear, I saw pyrotechnics.

He abruptly let go of me as the audience cheered, and everyone rose and applauded for a happy marriage. But only George, his family, and I were aware of the truth.

As I observed people crying in the seats, I pictured my mother carrying me down the aisle hand in hand. She’d do it.

Assure me that everything would be OK and that she would always be there for me.

“Camila,” George urged, taking my hand and rushing me down the aisle. The congregation streamed out of their pews to see us get into a limo and drive away. We ran to the vehicle as cameras flashed and guards barred our route out of the chapel. As he opened the door for me, I stepped into the roomy vehicle. He closed the door and slipped to the rear while I sat next to the books and chocolates.

Who could read in the car? I’d undoubtedly barf my throat out if I did.

“Get changed; you can’t walk inside the celebration in your wedding gown,” he said as he tossed me a pushed down the dress. He hurled it across the limo, expecting me to catch it.

“I can’t change here,” I paused as he glanced at me as if I were insane. He uttered a soft chuckle as if he couldn’t figure out what I found so absurd.

“Why not?” he said, putting his phone down. I eventually got his focus away from that little piece of technology.

“Because you’re right there, and I need assistance pulling this dress off, it’s not that simple,” I said as a small scoff slipped from his lips.

“I’m not looking,” he responded, making me feel unwelcome. He offered me a brief laugh before shaking his head in astonishment.

“Can we please stop at Lorelai Boutique?” I said as the driver drew into an old boutique parking lot. Fortunately, it was on the way back from the venue.

“Where are you going? We’re going to be late,” he said as I dashed inside the store. Looking through the window at the vivid hand-sewn clothes on white mannequins instantly transported me back to my childhood home.

I threw open the door as the doorbell rang, and Lauren, my mother’s closest friend, ran to me when she spotted my flowing white gown. Considering she was really chubby, she made it to my side in record time.

“Darling, you never told me you were getting married,” she murmured, hugging and holding me since I asked for assistance locating an essential place to live.

“I… need assistance,” I said as she embraced me tightly, the kind of tightness I needed from someone who recognized how much agony I was in. She and I had spoken about this day, not my wedding day, but the day I required my mother’s dress.

“Of course, your mother’s dress,” she replied as she locked the shop and escorted me to the rear. I walked by picture after picture of the two of us. My mom was beaming with delight, and I, too, was up there.

The blooming pink dress was hanging on a rack in the rear display. It was a wonderful treasure.

“I’ve been sprucing it up a little,” she added as I gripped the hanger. It was my mother’s wedding gown, and I wanted a piece of her more than ever. To feel linked to her and as though she was with me the whole night.

“Here, hun, put that on; I’ll grab some shoes and a necklace to go with it,” she added as she headed to the back for accessories. I was left alone with a piece of my mother that I would never be able to replace. Flowers poured from the garment’s seams, and the skirt spilled out.

I moved the hanger inside my wardrobe and hung it elegantly on the door. I unzipped my dress as it dropped to my feet and slipped on my new dress, which fit perfectly and was uniquely mine.

I grabbed my bridal gown and hung it on a hook as I went out. I gripped my body as I sensed her presence with me in this clothing.

“Oh dear, you look beautiful, exactly like your mother,” she exclaimed as tears welled up in my eyes. She led me to a chair and wiped my tears away with a little handkerchief.

As she touched up my makeup and added accessories, she straightened my hair in a lovely way and dashed to the back to fetch her camera.

“Camila,” a deep voice called as he walked to the rear.

When I turned my back to the entrance, George was staring at me, and our gazes caught and held. Those brown eyes caused me to slip out of my chair.

“Cara Mia, you’re stunning,” he continued as we stood in the exact position, unsure what to do next. The way the phrase slid off his lips made me forget how arrogant he was.

“I’m back with the cam-“ she said as she approached George. For someone my mother’s age, I could tell he quite smote her.

“You must be her husband,” she murmured, blushing at the prospect of him being my spouse.

“I am,” he answered, grinning at me as she pulled us close and shot a few photos.

“We need to get going,” he added as she hugged us and sent us on our way. As we went out, he held my hand.

“You certainly are gorgeous,” he said as I felt his hot breath on my neck.

And there was the end of his endearing demeanor.