Hazel:The Wedding
1176 Words
The morning did not creep in with a soft, romantic glow. It slammed into the suite like a debt collector, cold and grey. I woke before the sun, the air in the room tasting of frost. I sat up, the creamy lace of the bedsheets pooling around my hips, reminding me of the price of the day. There were no bridesmaids. No mother to clasp pearls at my throat. Only Gail, standing at the foot of my bed with a clipboard and a look that said we were behind schedule.
An army of strangers followed her. They moved with a quiet, urgent energy, their eyes darting to the dark wood doors as if they expected Archer to storm in at any second. I remained silent. I let them paint my face until I did not recognize the girl in the mirror. My lips were a soft, bruised pink. My cheekbones were highlighted to look sharp enough to draw blood.
The dress was dragging me down. Made of hand-stitched lace that felt like a second skin, it clung to my curves with a precision that felt almost scandalous. The back was open, exposing my spine to the biting air, and the neckline dipped low. When they fastened the final button, all I saw...All I saw was a girl who had made a deal with the devil and was finally handing over the keys.
"The ceremony is at four," Gail said. She did not offer a smile. "Mr. Hayes is already at the pavilion."
I walked down the transparent stairs alone. My heart was a metronome of dread, pulsing against the bones of my chest. Two men pulled open the doors to the garden, and the scent of ten thousand white roses hit me. It was a graveyard.Flowers, beautiful and dying.Everywhere
The aisle was a long stretch of white velvet. I kept my eyes on the ground until I reached the end, but then I looked up.
Archer stood beneath a pavilion of dark iron, framed by the grey, churning water of the lake. He wore a black tuxedo that fit his massive frame with a dark sort of perfection. His jaw was a locked line, his hair swept back, his eyes two chips of slate.
As I took a step toward him, his gaze tracked the line of my throat, the curve of my hip, the skin exposed at my shoulders. I saw it then—a sudden, sharp hitch in his chest. His breath left him in one jagged rush. For a second, the mask of the cold CEO fractured. His throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes darkening until they were almost black.
The hunger there made my skin sing, a live wire of awareness running from my nape to my toes.
The judge began to speak, his voice a low hum that the wind carried away. I did not hear the words. I only felt the heat radiating from the man in front of me.
"Do you, Archer..."
He read the vows like a script he'd seen enough times to know by heart. A lie we both told for the benefit of the board members sitting in the front row. I recited my lines, my voice a whisper that felt like ash. I was promising my life to a man who had bought it.
Archer’s voice was different. It was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the air, thick with a dark certainty. He reached out, taking my left hand. His palm was burning hot, his fingers long and calloused. As he took the platinum band from Delero, I felt it.
His hand was shaking.
It was a subtle, undeniable tremor. The man who collapsed corporations without blinking, the man who moved through the world like he owned it, was trembling as he aligned the band with my finger. I looked up, my pulse fluttering in my throat. His jaw was ticking. He pushed the stone past my knuckle, sealing the deal.
When the judge announced we were married, Archer did not wait. He framed my face with both hands, his thumbs pressing into my cheekbones. He crushed his mouth to mine.Desperate and bruising.A branding that staked a claim on my very soul.
The reception was a blur of silver trays and forced smiles. We sat at the head table, the lace of my gown suddenly feeling like a shroud. Cyrus and the others watched us from the ballroom floor, their eyes sharp, searching for a c***k in our facade.
"They are waiting," Archer murmured. He was sitting so close his thigh brushed mine, the friction sending spikes of heat through the fabric of my skirt.
"I can't," I whispered. "They’re watching us like we’re a business deal, Archer."
"Let them look." He stood up, his hand out. The clear stone on my finger caught the light, a reminder of my debt.
He led me onto the empty dance floor. The jazz band transitioned into a slow, dark melody that felt far too intimate for a room full of sharks. The conversations died out. The air grew thick.
I stood frozen until Archer stepped into my space. His arm wrapped around the small of my back, his palm splaying wide over the bare skin. The contact was an electric shock. He hauled me flush against the solid wall of his chest, his grip punishingly tight.
A soft gasp parted my lips as I hit him. The scent of cedar and expensive tobacco filled my senses, making my head spin.
"Look at me," he ordered, his voice a vibrating rumble against my skin.
I tilted my head back. His eyes were feral, burning with a dark intensity that made my lungs fail. He began to move, guiding me across the floor with a fluid, dominating rhythm. Every step we took, his thighs brushed mine, a constant, agonizing heat.
The contract and the lies incinerated in the space between our bodies. I slid my hand up his lapel, my fingers curling into the fabric of his collar. He dipped his head, his jaw brushing my temple, his breath ghosting over my ear.
"Stop trembling, Hazel," he whispered. His thumb stroked a slow, hypnotic circle against my spine.
"You're making it hard to breathe," I whispered back not pulling away. I leaned into him, seduced by the dangerous cage of his arms.
We moved as one, locked in a tight. There was a tension radiating from us that I couldn't explain away.Thick.Enough to choke on. Yet somehow, I could tell it wasn't a performance. It felt like we were both in a battle. And we were both losing. I could feel the thud of his heart against my own.
As the music faded, Archer continued to hold onto me. He held me against him, his eyes locked on mine, promising a devastation I was not sure I would survive. In the darkness of the ballroom, the board members watched in silence.
The truth?
It was written in the way he held me.
And I was blind.
- Writer
