Eternal Splendor

Chapter 2

CAMILLA

For the next two days, peace feels like an elusive fairytale, dancing just beyond my reach. The very notion of it mocks me, and I'm left in a restless, dispirited state. At times, the thought of escaping this torment even crosses my mind, but life seldom unfolds according to our desires.

Today is the dreaded day, and my nerves are poised at an all-time high, jumbled in my belly. My palms, in their anxiety, could as well be fountains. I'm an utter mess.

As the stylist knocks on my door, I feel a strong urge to escape, but I muster all my willpower to resist it. Instead, I gather the courage to open the door.

"Hey, you must be Camilla. Such beautiful, flowing hair, and your skin, it's like a wondrous canvas," the vibrant Latin woman exclaims in a single breath.

I smile, too lazy to even bag her unending compliments. Or maybe it's because I get that everyday, so I don't budge to the best of them.

“Come in.” I say after a while.

She walks in and shut the door behind her.

Without saying a word, I sit on the chair that's directly facing the large opulent mirror, cased in bronze.

She embarks on a transformation that stretches for two hours. And she calls this an easy one?

When I finally gaze into the mirror, my own reflection astonishes me. She's given me a look that feels natural yet mesmerizing. After what seems like an eternity spent admiring myself, I decide it's high time to attend the banquet. Noah has been knocking on my door relentlessly, and the event started an hour ago.

My dress drapes elegantly, sleeveless with a daringly low back and a slit that flirts dangerously with immodesty. I can't fathom what possessed the stylist to choose this particular attire for me.

Fully aware that I can't remain sequestered in my room any longer, or Noah might actually break down the door, I summon my resolve and head toward the banquet hall. In reality, it's just our living area stripped of its furniture. I scan the room for any sign of the elusive Hamilton; surely, he'd stand out on an occasion of this magnitude.

"There she is, my beautiful daughter," my father's voice booms, and I feel his hands rest on my shoulders. He's accompanied by some of his business partners, not a surprising sight.

"She's indeed a beauty, and that dress... quite something," one of his associates comments, his eyes casting an unsettling gaze that

makes me squirm.

"Uh, thank you. If you'll excuse me, I'm parched and could use a drink," I mumble, attempting to distance myself from his lecherous gaze.

I haven't gone far when I spot my mother. Finally, someone I can converse with, if she's in the mood.

"Hi, baby. How are you holding up?" She asks, offering a somewhat awkward arm rub.

I hesitate for a while, desperate for a hug, anything but the topic that sips every iota of existence out of my being. But then again, I have to face reality, no matter how hard it appears.

"I don't know, Mom. It's not as if it changes anything. I just want this over with. It's an utterly unnecessary dinner party," I speak up after a while, with a hint of indignation.

"Where is this mysterious Mr. Hamilton, anyway? One would think, and I'm certain, that he'd be parading around the entire place, boasting about having me as his wife."

She smiles as she approaches me, sensing my irritation.

"Now, now, dear. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. This is Mr. Hamilton we're talking about. Any woman in your position would be ecstatic tonight," my mother says matter-of-factly.

"Well, I'm not just any woman, Mom."

"Of course not.” She gives me a soothing shoulder rub. "I heard Mr. Hamilton is yet to arrive, some business-related delays."

"How convenient. I have to endure this while he skips out due to business," I reply, seething with jealousy.

Before my mother can utter another word, my father appears beside us.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. There are some people I want you to meet," he informs my mother.

"Right now?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, right now."

I knew having my mother as a conversational companion was too good to be true. She throws me a sympathetic smile as my father leads her away. Alright, Camilla, you're a grown woman.

You can handle this.

Except, no, I can't. My feet ache, my back rebels against being held straight for so long, and worst of all, the groom is nowhere to be seen, and everyone is asking questions. I step outside for a breath of fresh air.

This situation is abysmal. How nonchalant must a man be to arrive nearly three hours late to his own engagement party? If he's like this now, what will he be like after we're married?

My thoughts are too overwhelming to bear soberly, so I slip back into the party and snatch two glasses of alcohol. I've never been much of a drinker, so these should suffice. I down both in quick succession and hurl the empty glasses at the wall.

"I hate you, Dad! Look at how miserable I am because of you! I hate you, Mr. Hamilton, you dickface! I hate you, and I hope you rot!" I scream into the empty air.

"Be careful what you wish for, Princess." At first, I think my mind is playing tricks on me, until I see the source of the voice.

Without bothering to put up a front and mildly annoyed at the interruption, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "And who the hell are you?"

"Fiesty, I like that," the stranger replies as he casually inserts himself into my personal space. I instinctively move farther away, and with each step I take back, he advances, almost as if it's a dance.

"Never heard of personal space before?"