ALPHA SIN

Two

ARTEMISIA'S POV

I sighed and then settled into the chair in front of the vanity. After a moment, I stood and began pacing around the room. Walking over to the window, I noticed a few cars parked in front of the cathedral building, not far from our house. Today was the day I would be married off to a total stranger, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread about the cathedral. It was a place that would forever be associated with sealing my fate.

Returning to my chair, I failed to pay attention to the new arrival that pulled up in a limo. These were all my parents' friends, mostly my mother's acquaintances. You see, we were part of an aristocratic family; my father held the title of Earl, although he had chosen to live away from the estate that was part of his inheritance.

I wasn't concerned about where my father chose to live; we were doing well enough, and I didn't particularly care for titles—my time at Lone Oaks High had been filled with teasing, as most of the students found it hard to believe that someone like me could be from a well-to-do family, given how I behaved. Not that I cared about their opinions. I cherished my solitude and preferred being alone. While I wasn't a loner or a bookish nerd, I did hang out with the popular crowd, though I still cherished my alone time.

What surprised me most was how quickly Julie and I had become friends, considering how different we were. She was everything I wasn't. Just as I was lost in my thoughts, a knock echoed through the room, followed by the twist of the doorknob. Julie's head poked in, and a bright smile illuminated her face as she approached.

"Found you," she exclaimed.

"Clearly," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"You don't seem too excited about this," she observed, moving to stand behind me. With deft hands, she retrieved some pins and began reworking the high chignon bun that my restless hands had undone.

"Would you actually be happy if you were in my shoes?" I asked, studying her reflection in the mirror.

She shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, and then she perched herself on the edge of the bed. "Well, I'd certainly enjoy the idea of a rich man taking care of me."

"Even if he wasn't good-looking?" I questioned. Julie's emphasis on appearances was hard to ignore. She had always been particular about dating attractive guys, at least as far as I knew.

"Looks aren't everything, hun. A man's got to have the ability to protect and provide for his family. That's the key," she stated matter-of-factly before rising and picking up the lacy veil that lay on the bed. Skillfully, she secured it in my hair, completing the finishing touches of my makeup as I stared at myself in the mirror.

It was as if the image I saw before me matched the one I had imagined. The turquoise blue of my eyes seemed even more expressive, with hints of gold catching the light. My lips, shaped like a cupid's bow, were painted in a soft shade of pink. A touch of bronzer adorned my cheeks and the tip of my nose, giving them a subtle radiance and definition.

I appeared the epitome of a blushing bride, but deep down, I understood this was far from perfection. This wedding felt more like an illusion, something I had tried to make appear artificial, perhaps as a way to come to terms with the new life I was about to enter.

"Artemis, time's running out, and second thoughts won't help. Even if you had them, there's nothing you can do now," Julie reminded me, her words carrying an uncomfortable truth.

I resented the accuracy of her statement. I couldn't take any action even if I wanted to, which was infuriating.

"Let's just get through this," Julie cheered, assisting me to my feet. She clutched the veil, its length matching that of the train on my white dress.

Before taking a step, I glanced downward and behind me, ensuring I wasn't stepping on the dress's hem. I didn't want to break my neck before facing my imminent fate.

★★★★

As I held the bouquet of roses, my hands trembled involuntarily. My heart fluttered in my chest, and I released a breath, stealing a glance around the hall. The space was filled with people, though not in the same way as during a typical Sunday sermon. This was an entirely different affair.

It felt almost like I was about to marry a prince. Or maybe I truly was, given that I spotted a woman who I assumed to be the groom's mother. She sat on the right side of the hall's first row, the space usually reserved for the groom's parents. Having attended numerous weddings, I knew the protocol. She was adorned in a purple sequined dress, with a silver tiara perched atop her whitish blonde hair. Her striking grey eyes locked onto mine, seemingly assessing my worthiness to marry her son, who had his back turned to me. Her nose wrinkled slightly, and she looked away, her handsome face void of any smile. It was quite possible that my presence disgusted her.

I couldn't help but wonder if her son had inherited her striking looks. So far, I had only seen his perfectly tailored suit, highlighting a well-sculpted back and a slim waist. His physique left an impression on me; he appeared to be someone who worked out regularly. Certainly not the pudgy man I had envisioned. I couldn't help but hope that his face would be equally pleasant.

"Darling, you'll ruin that beautiful bouquet if you keep gripping it like that," my father's voice interrupted my thoughts. We stood at the entrance of the cathedral, and I hadn't realized I was clenching the bouquet too tightly. I was grateful he pointed it out, as the flowers already looked slightly rumpled.

"Are you feeling alright?" he inquired.

"I-I am," I stuttered, though even if I weren't, I knew he wouldn't intervene.

"Let's proceed," he said.

As his hand rested on the small of my back, covered by the layers of netting, I felt oddly exposed. My mother was the one to blame for dressing me as though I were headed to a nightclub instead of a wedding. Despite no one mentioning it, I could sense appreciative gazes upon me, and it made me uncomfortable. The dress revealed more skin than I would have preferred. I had contemplated discarding it altogether, but the alternative was showing up naked, as my mother had suggested.

"Remember to breathe and wear a little smile. You're making this appear as though you're headed to a funeral instead of your own wedding," my father advised with a faint smile.

"That's because I'm practically heading to my own funeral," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Smiles aren't exactly customary at a funeral, are they?"

He chose to disregard my question and instead offered a smile. "At least put on a small smile, even if it's a plastic one. You look odd frowning so much."

I shrugged in response. My gaze shifted to my mother, who beamed at me. Her smile was manufactured, not reaching her eyes. She didn't need to exhibit true happiness; she had mastered the art of pretense. I had witnessed her fake smile countless times. True joy seemed to evade her.

"Hey," my father's voice pulled my attention. I realized we were already in front of the altar.

A grimace tugged at my lips as I noticed the significant height difference between me and my groom-to-be. Although I wasn't standing right next to him, I could tell he was well over 6 feet tall. In comparison, I felt dwarfed. Yet, I found solace in the fact that I was still taller than most women.

With a nod from the priest, my prospective husband turned to face me.

My breath caught, and I felt paralyzed.

It wasn't just due to his impeccably chiseled features and strong jawline or even his intense obsidian eyes that seemed to bore into my soul. His lips, with their subtle curve, formed an amused smile as he sized me up.

It was him.

I could sense that he remembered me, evident from the way he looked at me. But, goodness, two years had treated him well. Even as I appreciated his near perfection, I couldn't deny that there was something stirring within me. It seemed my feelings for him had grown over time. Yet, it didn't translate to happiness about marrying him.

The smile on his face vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, replaced by a grimace. He shot a glare toward the side where his mother sat before his gaze turned skyward as if seeking divine intervention in this predicament. Whether his expression was frustration or prayer, I couldn't discern—it wasn't like I could read his thoughts.

One thing was clear, though: he wasn't thrilled to see me or to stand at the altar with me.