The of the wedding

**Lucy**

I sat on the plush sofa in the bridal room, the layers of my heavy white gown cascading over my knees and feet like a billowing cloud. The fabric enveloped me so completely that I felt half-hidden beneath its weight, as if the garment itself were a living thing. Beside me, Maggie perched with a sorrowful expression etched across her features. She lifted her gaze and locked it onto mine. “You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen, but also the most unlucky one. I hope you and your husband learn to love each other as you journey forward.” I couldn't help but chuckle, the sound a mix of disbelief and irony. “As if that demon would ever love me.”

Just then, my father-in-law, Adam, and my mother-in-law, Charlotte, made their entrance. Charlotte rushed towards me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Look at this stunning bride! I can hardly believe you’re going to be my daughter-in-law. I am so lucky to have you!” The warmth of her words washed over me, but it felt strangely hollow. Adam chimed in, “Indeed, she is the most beautiful.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me to sink deeper into my thoughts. A wave of disbelief crashed over me; these were the people I was marrying into. They cared little for my feelings; I was merely a chess piece in their elaborate game, just a pawn for these mafia bosses.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Charlotte gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “It’s time for you to go out; the ceremony is about to start.” Tears welled in my eyes, and I whispered, “Yes, ma’am.” She quickly interjected, “I am not ‘ma’am’ to you; I am ‘Mom.’ From now on, I want you to call me ‘Mom,’ as I am your new mother, and I promise to take care of you for the rest of our lives. You are the daughter I’ve never had.” Her hands, warm and reassuring, gripped mine tightly, and she stroked them softly. “You are going to be so loved, Lucy.”

Moments later, my father entered the room, his presence commanding yet comforting. He extended his hand toward me, signaling for me to take it as he prepared to lead me down the aisle. We began our slow, deliberate walk together, and as the grand doors swung open, a sea of expectant faces turned towards me. I felt a tightness in my chest, as if a vise were squeezing my heart, and I struggled to lift my head, the weight of the moment overwhelming. My father guided me up the aisle with gentle determination, and I felt a firm hand reach toward me. It must have been Alexander, my groom, waiting at the altar. I grasped his hand, and he drew me close, my eyes still fixed on the floor, grappling with the reality of my impending marriage.

The pastor’s voice cut through my fog of thoughts as he began reciting the vows. “Alexander, will you take Lucy Devon as your wife and cherish her until death do you part?” His voice was strong and commanding, and he replied with a resolute, “I do.” I watched the pastor turn toward me, and when he asked, “Do you, Lucy Devon, take Alexander DeLuca as your husband to love, to hold, and to cherish for eternity?” my voice trembled, a sob threatening to escape. It felt as if invisible shackles had been cast on me, binding me to him with chains forged from duty and expectation. I sniffled, then whispered, “I do.”

As Alexander slid the ring onto my finger, it felt like a weighty anchor, binding me further to a future I had not chosen. In turn, I placed his ring on his finger, my heart pounding in my chest.

When my eyes finally lifted from the hem of my gown, I noticed two hands reaching to lift my veil with gentle reverence. The pastor concluded, “Now you may lift the veil and kiss your bride.” As I momentarily returned my gaze to the ground, the surreal nature of the ceremony thickened the air around me, and I braced myself as the day continued to unfold.

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