Spring Quartz

Intro

Anika

“I have always loved you but you never believed me. I watched you grow and in turn, I died slowly…”

I have always dreamt of my wedding day. As a little girl and only child, my imagination could only go as far as the once I have witnessed from movies and fairytale books. I was supposed to see the real thing when family members get married but as luck would have it, it was just my dad and I. He’s the only man I have ever loved and if the way he spoils me rotten was any indication, he loves me just as much.

I always imagined myself to be a real life princess, living in a grand palace with attendants, getting everything she could ever want. Praised by all and protected by her father, the king. Unfortunately, like all the other princesses in the stories, I am also motherless.

Not so unfortunately, though, my father never took another wife.

In my twenty years of existence, since the bright warm spring morning my mother died in exchange of giving me life, there hasn’t been anyone for him.

Perhaps it was the way I look so much like her, the mother I only knew from photographs and recorded videos. Her bright hair and bright eyes and bright smile dulls out the sun’s rays behind her as she ran from my father who was giving chase, both of their laughters were carried along the lulling sound of the blue ocean waves.

Looking into a mirror, the resemblance between her and I was uncanny. I don’t know how to feel about it. Sometimes, I feel like I could jump off my window for joy because she certainly had been an amazing woman and my father worships her still. To be like her, to be as close as to what she had been, was an honor I knew I wasn’t worthy of but will gladly accept.

Peers and other people at parties my father brings me to often comment on how it was like she had never died and how I was so much like her not only in appearance but in personality as well.

This is when I’d feel dizzy, like I could throw up. Like being even remotely as similar as her could have gotten me to combust.

I want to scream at their faces.

I am not her.

I am my own person.

Then my father would squeeze me tighter on his side with a look of success on his face. Clearly, the sentiment wasn’t lost that he was proud that I took after my mother.

It was sad that she died early. 

It was a shame that she didn’t have more children.

Oh, how beautiful and perfect they would all have been, like her first and only child.

The perfect daughter.

A daughter she’d never walk down the aisle and watch her get married. To a stranger.

My feet lost balance and I reared back a little bit, hoping nobody noticed my small blunder.

All eyes on me except for one, I took a deep breath to release the heat from my body.

My father held my arm securely on the crook of his elbow, head up high and meeting everyone’s gazes with such pride and joy.

Of course, no father would ever want to give his daughter away to any unworthy man. So mine took the liberty of arranging my nuptials to the best man that he could find and the guy he found was, in every way, perfect.

Not just for me.

Everyone’s first kiss was awkward. If someone told me theirs was otherwise, that it was full of fireworks and electricity, and that it was sexy and hot, I just won’t believe them which is why I am now calling myself out for being such a hypocrite and a liar.

This was not how a first kiss should feel like.

My new husband was grabbing the back of my head, his other arm wrapped firmly around my waist. His lips parted my own, and a sweep of his tongue against mine elicited a soft whimper from my throat. He pulled me harder into his deepening kiss, not caring that we were not at all alone.

Our guests weren’t plenty, we were both the only child of our parents and apart from them, he only had his unmarried uncle.

We both have scarce family members we love and respect too much to deny the whims and wishes of.

I shudder as his tongue slipped between my lips. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe him to be so smitten with me, his new wife.

I could see the picture we made at the altar.

Both dressed in white, both young and not terrible to look at.

Both came from respected families.

Locked together in an embrace, passionately kissing each other for the first time, one would think we’re real lovers who married for love and not out of obligation or necessity.

Because that’s exactly why we’re standing here.

Everything was for show, of course. He made that clear during the few dates we had together set up by our parents so we could “get to know each other better” before they tie us down with each other.

The heat I feel growing from the pit of my stomach and rising up all over my body had to be a farce.

Just an inevitable chemical reaction.

It’s completely natural. And if it was, I can’t help but think, does he feel the same, too?

It was over just as it started and my hands weakly fell from his arm where I gripped him for support when he leaned in to me.

Never did I expect him to do that.

He’d been elusive before and would only touch me or get close whenever he realized that we were being followed in one of our day outs.

The spy was someone his parents would send after us. Most of the time it was his mother’s assistant but sometimes his father’s secretary would also step in.

He’d put an arm around my shoulders and lean in close to my face as if we were old lovers, taking a long walk after having an even longer dinner in the restaurant where he asked me to marry him.

Though he’d never meet my eyes.

And there was no proposal.

Well, at least, not from him and not to me. Our parents were the ones who wooed each other.

In fact, I got my first reaction out of him when I remarked that since it was them who did all the work, then why don’t they just marry each other. The snort that he made was anything but charming, still it was the only genuine emotion I’d seen of him and if he didn’t force himself to cease it.

I reveled in the childish crinkle of his nose and the slightest upturn of his lips before he managed that cold exterior once more. What I saw in his glinting eyes was even more attractive than the intensity of his handsome but intimidating glare.

This Samuel Vincent I could envision myself marrying, I thought.

Before I could wrap my head around my own admission that I was remotely fascinated by him, the usual flat exterior was back and even if I was both glad and relieved that it was, there was a hidden realization I’d hate to voice out loud.

I wanted to see him smile again.

And seeing it again I did as we made our way down the aisle with his hand holding on to mine, but this one was, to put it bluntly, fake.

My eyes caught sight of the floor adorned with pretty lilac petals on a thick white carpet, the same hues decorating the pristine white hall of the 

The color palette was beautiful but I have always preferred French blue.

Since I associate that color with happy and beautiful memories, I don’t want to see that here so I just nodded my head when my now mother-in-law suggested excitedly the color theme for the wedding be lilacs and grays.

Grays.

For a celebration of a man and his wife’s union.

I didn’t share her taste but complied nonetheless because I liked her and even wanted to impress her a little. At first I thought the soft tone looked really soft and delicate, matching the lilac perfectly. Now I realized the lifeless color just sums up my feelings for this whole arrangement.

Contrary to what has been the gossip of the city, there was no argument on my part when my father discussed the matter to me. Well, I complained a little but as usual, like I always aim to be, I obliged knowing my father only wants the best for me. I have always been daddy’s good girl and to be honest, I already expected this to happen.

Growing up without the other half of the parent duo made me miss out on a lot of stuff but thanks to finishing school, I was taught how to be presentable to society even without a figure to guide me. However, the young girls I’ve been acquainted with I really did not have a deep connection with. We were bonded through formality and duty, never by sisterhood or friendship.

Because of that and because of my father’s over-the-top security detail, I only ever had one real friend before she left for Paris to live out her dream of being a curator. Emily now stood among the small crowd grinning from ear to ear, catching my eye and waving wildly at me.

I felt my cheeks stretch as I smiled. Perhaps the first real one of the evening.

I wish I could have made her my maid of honor but she could only make it today and was too busy to plan out a wedding. And knowing Emily, she’d have gone all out about everything and I wouldn’t want her to waste her energy on something I don’t even value.

It’s a pity.

I used to dream bigger than this. My little five-year-old self would have temper tantrums if she saw how little I care about what supposed to be one of the most important things in my life.

In place of my supposedly fairy princess pink dress with a thin flowy train embroidered with freshly picked flowers from the garden where I was living was instead a swarovski encrusted sweetheart neckline sleeveless white ball gown.

Cressida, Sam’s mother who was now officially my mother-in-law had no choice but to succumb to my wishes to make it less poofy than the original design. She’d always wanted a daughter, she’d told me, and was very excited to plan the wedding. She looked like she was having a lot of fun during the whole process albeit the occasional almost-breakdowns. It’s easier to imagine that she was the bride by the way she was more enthusiastic than me.

It can’t be helped, though. This wasn’t just some nuptials but also a business agreement and there were a lot of parties involved, it wasn’t just me and my feelings that were involved.

So if it would make my mother-in-law love me if I let her take over my own wedding, so be it. To be honest, I kind of enjoyed myself, too. It felt like having a mom who brought you shopping for school. And I liked being with Cressida. She was so much different than her husband and son who both seem to share the same resting b***h face.

Since the beginning, both Cressida and I have decided not to have a huge entourage.

Sam’s best man was his dad and his groomsmen were his cousins who were sons of his father’s younger brother, one was the same age as me and the younger one was still in high school. He looked a lot more mature though and the three of them together with Sam’s father Matthew could be brothers the way they resemble each other.

Dark brown hair and even darker piercing eyes, their strong angled facial structures differ in a way of looking straight at a portrait of the same man only in different ages of his life.

On the other hand, I don’t really have any family members left except my dad, and all of her remaining family members who were women were either too young - so they were made flower girls instead - or too old to be my bridesmaids.

There were a few young women whom I was acquainted with but like with Sam, I’m not close enough to them to give them a position in my entourage. But instead of just giving them the honors just for the heck of it, I’ve decided it best to have none at all. It made Cressida somewhat sad but I had to assure her.

Emily squeezed her way through the gathered crowd closest to us before she squeezed me in her arms tightly. I was momentarily dislodged from my husband's grip.

She still smelled of fresh citrus, her signature scent, and not an inch taller than me with all the time we spent apart. With our similar taste in fashion, I could only assume we both chose three inch heels for the occasion, not too difficult to walk in, high enough to add to our minute height of five foot four, and short enough to still feel comfortable with the pressure on the balls of our feet.

There was no moment to spare, at least not until the reception. I gave her a grateful smile and a look that I hope she got the message of: I’ll tell you all about it later.

“Ready?”

I turned back to the man beside me and the sound of the cheering crowd and polite congratulations drowned out from my ears.

Would I ever get to unravel what was hidden in those deep brown fossilized sun crystal orbs? They reveal nothing, as usual. As reserved as his stone cold expression and stiff straight posture.

I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, and I hate myself for even voicing it in my thoughts, but the truth is that some part of me was excited about this new phase in my life.

The daydreams I’ve had of me and my future prince charming were always equipped with gliding waltz and glimmering blurry landscapes as backgrounds of people swirling around us.

I have been positive about it all, believing my father’s promise that he’d find the right man for me, only the best. One who would take care of me better than he does.

When I was younger, the idea excited the living s**t out of me. Any girl would be when their father, their only living parent who treats them as if the world not only revolved around them but they themselves are the whole world itself, swore by saccharine words and stories of future happy endings.

I would like to believe that my father hadn’t just groomed me to be the young woman that I am right now just for the sole purpose of marrying me off to the highest bidder. In a way that was true for the one who proposed the most profitable and largest investment was not the one whom I’d just married.

It was his son.

Emily often tried to scare me saying I’d be married to an empire-owning old widower who has children either the same age as mine or even younger so she got all thrilled when she found out who I was marrying.

Personally, I don’t have anything against older men. I believe them to be even more mature and I don’t know why but when Emily joked about it, I felt more comfortable and… secure.

            Then again, it was one thing for me to be with someone older than me and another thing to be with a man who is the same age as my father.

            I don’t think he’d approve of that.

            The man who holds my gaze is only five years my senior yet the way he carried himself makes him more older, wiser.

My eyes were stuck a second too long to his extended hand. Voices filled my head, urging me to grab onto him and never let go. Telling me to turn back and run even if it’s too late now.

I gingerly laid my own on top of it, ever so lightly like walking on eggshells.

That’s how fragile this relationship is and we’ve barely begun.

Sam curled his fingers in between mine and together we set beyond our new life together as husband and wife.