My marriage, their funeral

“I am not inviting Mrs. Thompson to my wedding.” Alina slammed her curling iron down on the vanity table, narrowly missing a bottle of glitter spray. Her reflection in the mirror glared back at her with dramatic outrage and half-done royal blue hair. Across the room, sprawled lazily on a beanbag chair, Ria blinked. “You cannot uninvite your English teacher three hours before your wedding.” “I absolutely can,” Alina snapped. “It’s my wedding. My rules. My chaos.” Ria dragged a hand down her face. “Alina, you once tried to adopt a stray goat because it looked ‘emotionally misunderstood.’ You don’t get to talk about rules.” “That goat understood me.” “You live in the city.” Alina spun around in her chair, blue strands flying. “Mrs. Thompson hates me. She always has. Ever since that poetry competition in senior year.” “You submitted a poem titled ‘Ode to a Traumatized Potato.’” “It was metaphorical!” “It was about mashed potatoes.” Alina waved her off dramatically and turned back to the mirror. She lifted another bright section of hair and inspected it with satisfaction. The color was bold, reckless and very alive. Royal blue. Ria stood slowly, staring at Alina’s head as if it were a ticking bomb. “You’re really doing this.” “Yes.” “For your wedding.” “Yes.” “With the purple dress.” “Yes.” Ria pressed her lips together. “Alina.” “Yes, my doubting peasant?” “You are aware brides traditionally aim for elegance, not… cartoon villain origin story?” Alina gasped. “It’s not villainous. It’s sentimental.” She turned softer suddenly, her fingers brushing through the dyed strands. “It was Mom’s favorite color,” she said quietly. “Royal blue. Bryer said I should wear it so it feels like Mom is walking me down the aisle. Like I’m wrapped in her love.” Ria hesitated. Bryer... Alina’s stepsister, a girl who was always polite and composed, always perfectly dressed, always perfectly spoken, and always watching everything around her. “You know,” Ria said slowly, “Bryer also suggested you pierce your nose in tenth grade because it would ‘empower your grief.’” Alina shrugged. “And it did. I look fabulous.” “That’s not the point.” Alina’s voice softened again, stubborn but sincere. “Bryer cares about me,” she insisted. “I know people think she’s… I don’t know, competitive or something. But that’s just how she is. She pushes herself. She’s actually been really supportive. Especially with the wedding. She’s done so much for me.” Ria didn’t answer. Everyone knew Alina’s stepmother practically controlled half the school board through generous donations and carefully hosted charity dinners, so teachers bent easily to her influence. Alina got away with skipped assignments, harmless pranks, and even her dramatic hallway speeches, while Bryer was held to impossible standards and expected to be nothing less than perfect. Alina thought it was because her stepmother pitied her, loved her and felt sorry for her losing her mother. Ria knew better. But she also knew arguing with Alina was like arguing with fireworks—loud, pointless and dangerous. A knock came at the door. Without waiting for permission, Bryer stepped inside. She was breathtaking in a soft lilac dress, her dark hair sleek and elegant. She looked like someone who belonged in glossy magazines. Her gaze landed on Alina’s head. “It’s perfect,” Bryer said warmly. Ria choked. Alina spun in her chair. “See? I told you!” Bryer walked closer, adjusting a curl gently. “Royal blue suits you. Aunt Elise would have adored this.” Alina’s eyes glistened instantly. “You think so?” “I know so.” Ria stared at Bryer’s face, searching for cracks in the kindness. She found none. “The purple dress is ready,” Bryer added smoothly. “The tailor just delivered it.” Alina gasped. “Already? Ria, go look at it! I'm sure it’s stunning.” Ria blinked. “Me? Alone?” “Yes! I trust your dramatic judgment.” Bryer smiled faintly. “It’s in the guest suite.” Ria hesitated, looking between them. Blue hair. Purple wedding dress. Alina practically glowing with reckless joy. “Fine,” Ria muttered. “If it looks like a grape exploded, I’m staging an intervention.” She left. The door clicked shut. Bryer turned to Alina. “You’re happy?” she asked softly. Alina grinned. “I’m marrying my best friend. I’ve never been happier.” Bryer’s eyes flickered. “Good,” she said. There was another knock, softer this time. Alina’s fiancé, Liam stepped inside. He was handsome in a quiet, familiar way, the kind of face she had seen for years in classrooms and during late study sessions. “Can I talk to you?” he asked gently. Alina beamed. “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony!” He smiled faintly. “I won’t look.” Bryer stepped aside. “I’ll leave you two.” Alina waved her off. “No, stay! We’re all family.” Liam's jaw tightened almost invisibly. “It’ll just be a minute,” he said. Bryer hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll check on the caterers.” She slipped out. Alina turned to him, her cheeks warm. “Are you nervous?” His eyes lingered on her hair. “It’s… bold.” “You hate it?” “No. If you love it.” “I do. It’s for Mom.” He nodded, distracted. “After the ceremony, can we leave early? Just us?” “Of course.” He kissed her forehead. It felt soft and familiar but not quite like love. “I should go,” he said, pulling away. “Okay.” When he left, Alina smiled at the closed door for a moment before she remembered she still needed to ask her about the bouquet. Alina hopped off the chair and hurried into the hallway. The mansion was quieter here and most guests were downstairs. She turned the corner toward the guest suite. Voices drifted through a slightly open door. She recognized them instantly. Bryer. And him. Alina slowed, confusion knitting her brows. “…she actually dyed it,” Bryer was saying, laughter in her voice. “Royal blue. I almost felt bad.” He chuckled. “You’re terrible.” “You’re the one marrying her.” There was a pause...then the unmistakable sound of a kiss. Alina mind went blank. Her brain rejected what her ears heard. Inside the room, Bryer’s voice softened. “After today, it’s done. Everything transfers to you once you’re legally her husband.” “And then?” he asked. “Then we file the accident paperwork. She’s impulsive and reckless, no one will question it.” The room went brittle. Then his voice. “I love you.” Alina’s stomach dropped. Bryer laughed softly. “I know. And she is so stupid. So desperate to be loved. She never questions anything.” He exhaled. “She thinks I’ve loved her since high school.” “She believes whatever she wants to believe.” “And tonight,” he murmured, “it’ll all be ours.” Alina felt something inside her c***k. The door shifted slightly under her trembling hand. Bryer’s voice lowered. “Just a few more hours. Then Alina disappears.” A kiss. Another. Alina stepped back slowly. She couldn't believe her ears. Everything she believed and thought she knew was a lie. Inside that room was her best friend and her fiancé—the sister she trusted.