My muse, my damnation

FOUR

Evangeline Pierce

The sun rose slow and honey-gold over Ibiza, spilling light through the villa windows and onto the chaos of silk robes, curling irons, and half-finished mimosas. For me, the chief bridesmaid, it wasn’t just another wedding morning. It was my best friend’s big day and every second felt like balancing emotion and responsibility. This has been day three of my stay at Ibiza and none of it gave me actual rest.

I arrived earlier than the other bridesmaid balancing between being an event planner, part therapist and full-time crisis manager. I helped choose the bridesmaids’ dresses weeks ago and now I’m adjusting straps, confirming flower delivery and constantly checking in with the coordinator about the aisle setup.

Clara’s nerves were all over the place, as delicate as I anticipated. Every moment, she needed reassurance: Does my makeup look too heavy? Will he cry when he sees me? I answered every question. Today is the final rehearsal and I could tell Clara was over thinking again. Alexander held her, speaking sweet words to her while he kissed her forehead lovingly, it almost made me jealous. Their romance has been rocky at first, them constantly at each other’s necks but now it’s blissful and filled with so much happiness, it’s suffocating sometimes.

I brewed chamomile tea for her shaking hands, pinned loose curls in place and gave orders with a calm I didn’t feel. I was exhausted. I had been awake all night finalizing the seating charts that the planner had somehow misplaced.

I was hoping to have a sunbath or a swim today but my coffee intake was killing me. I can barely even relax. The sky over Ibiza glowed like melted gold, streaked with lavender clouds. The villa where the wedding would take place was alive with the sound of laughter, heels clicking on marble, and the occasional clink of champagne glasses. It was work for me not a party. Everything has to go as planned.

With my clipboard tucked under one arm, my phone buzzed every two minutes with updates from the coordinator. “Florist is delayed...Groomsmen are lost...Photographer says the lighting is wrong.” The phone is immediately snatched from me and I looked up to see Clara. “Come on everyone is enjoying themselves. You should too.” She whined. I rolled my eyes snatching my phone back. “Everything has to be in order, Clara. I’ll rest when this wedding is a success.”Clara frowned, crossing her arms. “I really appreciate your total support and enthusiasm but I will not be watching you stress yourself for my sake. Let the event planner do the job. You are hereby fired.” She took my clipboard. “I’ll need this as well.”

I smiled politely, my face relaxed. I rubbed my temples blowing out a breath. “If everything doesn’t go as planned I’m planning your baby shower.” I said, taking a champagne flute. Clara laughed out loud planting a kiss on my cheeks.

“Everyone relax. We’ll walk through this one more time. Clara, you’ll enter after me on my count, okay?” I said, observing Clara who was nervously clutching her bouquet like a lifeline. Her eyes bright and her face radiant even in her rehearsal dress, her emotions filled with excitement and fear, the kind only a bride can relate.

The officiate, a clam man with reading glasses and a clipboard of his own, stood at the end of the aisle that overlooked the ocean. The setup was stunning: White chairs, a floral arch that smelled faintly of roses and salt, and a golden aisle runner that caught the last ray of sunlight. The coordinator clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone. Let’s do the walk one more time before dinner!”

Amanda lined up the bridesmaid in order, smoothing a loose strap here, fixing a flower crown there. Despite her resolution to relax and let things flow, people still asked her, depended on her. She always ended up being the one everyone turned to. She had all the answers to their questions. She always did.

The music began soft, instrumental, a rehearsal version of the real song that would play tomorrow. The first bridesmaid walked then the others. I waited, counting the beats in my head. I have to be composed, graceful and calm before the bride. When my turn came, she lifted her chin, bouquet in hand, and began to walk one step after another down the golden aisle. I reached the end and turned slightly, and took my place beside the officiate. From here, I’d hold the bride’s bouquet. She’d be visible in every photograph.

Then came Clara’s turn, the music changed, a softer melody, almost sacred in tone. She appeared at the top of the aisle, her father holding her arm, both smiling like they’d practiced a hundred times. The emotion was there. Even in rehearsal, I felt my throat tighten. The officiates voice broke through the quiet. “Tomorrow, we’ll begin with a short welcome, then the vows, then the exchange of rings. Let’s practice the timing now.”

We ran through it step by step, the handover, the positioning, when to pass the bouquet, when to step aside. I moved automatically, years of composure and control guiding her through it. After the run-through, people scattered towards the reception terrace for the rehearsal dinner. Laughter floated through the evening air. The groomsmen joked, bridesmaid took selfies and the bride and groom parents’ chatted.

I stayed behind, checking my emails. The profit margin was going down drastically and it has just been three days here. I should have stayed back and maybe just attended the wedding than planning it myself but I can’t do that to Clara. She needs me. I take a moment to withdraw myself to a secluded place. I exhaled looking towards the horizon. I need a miracle somehow.

The villa overlooked the Mediterranean shimmered like a dream. The wedding planner had turned the Cliffside courtyard into a swirl of white roses, sea breeze, and champagne laughter. Sunlight spilled over the ivory chairs, the aisle lined with petals, the horizon blurring into gold.

Three days away from the firm that I allowed myself. Three days to stop worrying about cancelled consultation and delayed follow-ups, late invoice and my staff’s quiet panic whenever the phone didn’t ring. Even now, standing behind the bride, I could feel my mind tugging back to unfinished reports and unreturned calls. My best friend’s floated down the aisle like sunlight in lace. The soft hum of the string quartet wove through the guests’ murmur.

When they kissed, slow and tender, the guests erupted into applause. I clapped too smiling. She deserved this. I found myself thinking maybe love isn’t just a case study or a theory or things she analysed for clients as emotions.

The ceremony erupted into reception, the white canopy affair near the beach, all champagne and cotton white dresses like a beach party. Musicians played soft jazz, waiters drifted through with trays of shrimps and oysters, and lanterns began to glow as the sun sank low.

I found myself relaxing for the first time in these few weeks, even laughing without my sketch book. I was enjoying the dance between the couples when the air shifted. I looked to the direction of the guest who arrived late. I rummage through the crowd, already annoyed someone has drifted the attention of the crowd on the couple to himself.

And there he was. Dmitri Saint Clair.

He moved through the crowd with an elegance that didn’t need permission. Tailored black suit, pale gloves that caught the lantern light, posture like someone who lived inside his own order. There was something about him, not loud wealth but contained power, the kind that drew attention by being utterly controlled.

I noticed the gloves first then the sharp blue eyes, deliberate, cataloguing every detail as though he couldn’t help himself. Alexander walked up to him greeting him, murmuring introductions, and that’s when I heard my name. My pulse skipped. His gaze found mine across the lights, something in his composure fractured, just for a second, like a spark behind glass. He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, his gloved hand brushing briefly against mine.

“Dr. Evangeline,” He said when he reached me. His voice is quiet but precise, the kind that made conversations stop around them. “It’s a pleasure to see you once again.”

“Actually it is Dr. Pierce. My friends call me Evangeline,” I said with a frown. “Why are you here? Are you here to have your revenge?”

“Following you?” He smiled- a precise, restrained movement. “You could say I was...curious. You shouldn’t have being on that plane if you didn’t want to be found. Coincidence doesn’t happen often. I simply followed the pattern.” He is calm, clinical and observant.

“That’s not an answer.” My voice wavered. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you enough to know that you notice everything before you speak. You state clear boundaries and you hide behind smiles and logic when you are afraid.”

“How did you know that? Are you watching me?” I asked alarmed. He just gave a small measured smile. “It is called observing,” He corrected me softly. “There’s a difference.”

“Then why are you here?” I pressed further. “You aren’t even in the guest list.”

“I want to maybe get rid of the thoughts I have when I see you.” He smiled, his gaze roaming over my pulse, my cleavage and down to my legs. “You seem like you could use some relaxation too.”

Her lips parted, an instinctive retort rising, but she stopped herself. He wasn’t wrong. The last few weeks had been nothing but deadlines, bills, and exhaustion. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t walked away yet. She needed something to take her mind away from the firm. “You came all the way to say that? Even after I spilled coffee on you?”

“I came because I wanted to see you.” There was no pretence in his gaze just fact, calm and unnerving. “But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe that’s why I can still see you clearly.”

I looked away, down at the back water below the cliff. The champagne had left her limb warm and her thoughts slower than usual. I could feel the pulse in my throat. This is a bad idea. “This is wedding, Mr. Clair.”

“I noticed you are the only one not celebrating.” I gave a small laugh, soft and defensive. “Maybe I don’t have much to celebrate.”

He didn’t smile, but his gaze softened in a way that she didn’t expect. “Then let tonight be an exception.”

The words land heavier than they should have. I wanted to refuse it, I wanted to say it out loud but my thoughts tangled with the slow music, the faint scent of his cologne and the glint of light off his gloves. He didn’t move closer but the space between us was electric. I mean, he was gorgeous with blond hair almost white and blue-grey eyes and a sharp chiselled jaw line that could cut glass. His cheek bones were prominent and his fingers, long and veiny.

Something inside me gave way. Just for a night, I wanted to stop holding it together. We left the reception, only that the night air was cooler than she expected and that his voice stayed low, steady like a promise she wasn’t supposed to believe.

“Yes let’s do it.” I said giving into my lust.