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1104 Words
Nathaniel Hart
A flicker of surprise flashed across my face as her lips pressed softly against my cheeks.
Emotionless.
Calculated.
Brief.
It was a kiss aimed to seal a deal with no strings attached—just enough to satisfy the crowd, rather than a passionate one that promised devotion and affection.
Would this even classify as a kiss?
Not that it mattered anyway. I didn’t plan on making any intimate moves toward her, especially not after the strange looks she’d been throwing my way tonight.
I averted my gaze back to her, noticing how she was already looking in my direction. This time, I didn’t look away. I looked at her.
Really looked at her.
The ivory lace of her gown hugged her curves like they belonged to her, the delicate material glistening underneath the lights hanging above us. The veil was slipped back, revealing the gorgeous angles of her face—the kind of beauty that seemed fragile, like it could shatter in a million pieces if it were to be tampered with.
Isabella Monroe was gorgeous.
But it was her eyes that drew me the most because they weren’t filled with disgust or malice like the others did.
There was something else, but I couldn’t seem to comprehend it.
It was almost like I couldn’t figure her out, and something about that didn’t sit quite well with me.
Almost immediately, applause and cheers roared through the hallways, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I leaned back into my chair, narrowing my eyes at their pretentious acts.
Anyone could see right through them—their polite gestures and words, the way they say my name like it was a punch line. If anything, I’d say they enjoyed seeing me in this state so much that it was feeding whatever was left of their egos.
“Why don’t we leave the latest couple on the dance floor? We Harts are pretty known for our distinctive dancing skills.” Evelyn’s voice surpassed all of theirs, reaching my hearing distinctively, forcing our eyes to meet instantly. Unspoken hatred and malice sizzled in our gazes, my clenched fingers taking out most of my anger on the armrest of my wheelchair.
Evelyn Harts.
My cousin with vicious words and hatred that ran deeper than knives.
The truth was, she wasn’t always like this. She had never been this bitter, at least not for the few times that we’d been close over family banters, business proposals, interviews, or just a casual dinner night for a change.
I wondered what had changed so much.
Could it be because of my disability? Was she afraid of being seen with me in public? Or was it just based on a whole different perspective that I wasn’t aware of yet?
A part of me already knew the answer to the overwhelming questions, but I just didn’t want to acknowledge the truth yet.
I’d known Evelyn to be a calm, highly intelligent woman. A woman of class and sophisticated words. She’d do anything she deemed right to pursue her ambitions and dreams, as long as it didn’t put a stain on her name.
So, maybe now…I’d become that stain.
A muscle ticked in my jaw as I recalled the earlier statements she made during my marriage initiation. She wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore, she was now making it a public stunt.
Gosh, I wanted to stand. To make them all lose their words, and have them on their knees like I once did.
But my body…my body no longer answered to me.
Not after the accident.
I had completely become a shadow of myself, the past becoming a blur with each day that passed by, reminding me of everything I’d lost. I hated the harsh reality; that I couldn’t do anything about it.
I’d tried every renowned medical specialist I could find, including professional chiropractors, and taken countless trips in a futile attempt to break out of this cycle, but nothing worked. I was always left with the same robotic response: “I’m sorry, Mr Hart, but there’s nothing that can be done about your condition. Your neural system has been quite damaged, it’ll take a miracle for you to stand. I’ll recommend the continuous dosage of analgesics, massages, and use of crutches or wheelchairs for movement.”
Everyone had turned their backs on me. Friends, alliances, fans, and even my own family. A pang of pain and embarrassment went through my chest as I watched Evelyn try to mimic my wheeling movements to a few of her elite friends.
My chest heaved with the suppressed urge to throw my glass at her figure from where I was seated, but I knew better than to cause a scene.
I wasn’t going to give them the reaction they wanted.
Not anymore.
So, I did the only thing I could.
I turned away from the crowd and grabbed the wheels of my chair, tugging at it towards the direction of the exit doors; the collective gasps from the crowd followed suit immediately. I could imagine the wide eyes and mocking expressions on their faces as they found an even better topic to gossip about.
This time around, the headlines could be something like: “The crippled ogre seen running from his marriage ceremony”
I didn’t really care about that. Let them talk, wonder if I was too cruel, proud, or perhaps too broken to accept this marriage like it was a consolation prize of some sort.
I’d expected the humiliation.
But definitely not what happened next.
I paused in my tracks as a hand reached out from behind and grabbed my wrist, my muscles tensing up instantly in shock and fear at the invasive act.
I turned to look up at the person, my chest—for some reason relaxing with relief when I saw that it was only Isabella.
I furrowed my brows questioningly as she stood before me, her eyes placed firmly on mine as she tried to discretely gather her composure before moving down to her hands on me and slowly withdrawing her touch, leaving a lingering warmth in their wake.
The noises from the guests were muted and sounded distant behind as we were now passed the heavy ornate wooden doors, leaving us outside in the open garden, the fresh evening breeze swiping furiously across our faces. My eyes were suddenly transfixed on the veil swaying gently behind her, blatantly admiring for a moment how ethereal it made her look, that I thought I’d misheard the statement she finally made.
“Can I come home with you?”
- Writer
