What family does

The Wrong Bride

The door clicks shut, and my head snaps up. Doctor Matthews walks out, a calm smile on his face. I rise to meet him.

"Calla," he says softly, taking my trembling hands in his.

"How is she? Is she?"

"She's fine. Weak. Dehydrated. But stable."

I let out a ragged breath I didn't know I'd been holding and let myself fall back onto the sofa.

He squeezes my shoulder, handing me a prescription before walking out.

I glance at her door. Steeling myself, I rise to my feet, knock, and go in.

She's tucked into bed, her face a brighter shade, the blue tint fading from her lips. She opens her eyes and stretches a trembling hand towards me. I move forward, taking her hand in mine. Letting my warmth ease away the numbness in her fingers.

"Calla…" She calls out weakly.

I shake my head slightly. "Don't try to talk yet. You're too weak. Sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

I watch as her eyes flutter shut and her breathing evens out before leaving the room.

~

Later in bed, I pull out my phone to FaceTime Dorian. He answers on the third ring.

"Sorry, I was in the shower," he says, setting his phone on his nightstand.

My cheeks redden. "I can see that."

His hair is wet, water dripping down from his face to his bare chest. My eyes trace the droplet of water to where the screen cuts off.

"Calla?"

"Yeah!" I say, snapping out of my daze. I look up to see him grinning. I clear my throat and look away slightly as he starts getting dressed.

"How's your aunt?" he asks, pulling a shirt over his head.

A whimper of disappointment escapes me at the lack of exposed skin and I cough in an attempt to cover it up.

"Shall I take the shirt off?" he asks, smiling mischievously.

I nod. "Yes." My eyes widen. "I mean NO! Heh, that's not why I called. Let's not go off topic now."

He chuckles as he picks up the phone and sinks into bed. "I miss you already."

"I miss you too. Everything's fine here, though. I was just calling to say that."

Dorian is silent for a while. He starts to speak, then stops, a vein ticking in his jaw.

"Dorian? What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. How's your aunt?"

"She's fine. Stop changing the subject. Talk to me."

He runs a hand through his hair. "My dad met with a councilman today."

"Wait… What? Why?"

"He tried to talk them out of our match. Said it's a ridiculous farce." He chuckles dryly.

"Oh."

"But don't worry. I'll handle it. I'm on your side, Calla Lily."

"Right. I know that. Goodnight, Dorian."

"Goodnight, Calla."

Setting my phone down, I settle into bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind wandering where my body cannot, beyond these walls to Velmoor.

Thoughts of what Richard Crestwood is capable of fill me with dread, but I can't let myself dwell on it.

For Aunt Rosie's sake, I must remain happy, or at least appear so. My eyes flutter as I slowly drift off to sleep.

~

The days that follow fall into a rhythm. I tend to Aunt Rosie till she falls asleep at night, cooking, cleaning, and when it's time for bed, I talk to Dorian till I fall asleep.

Apparently, he settled things with his father. Our wedding planning was already underway.

We'd finalized the venue and menu. I also wanted to get married in our yard. It's big enough and serves as a sort of tribute to my parents, like they got to come watch me marry the love of my life.

I began to count down the days till I got to go home to Velmoor.

~

Knocking softly, I step into the room.

"Aunt, you called for me."

Setting her book down, she looks up to me. "Ah yes, have a seat, child."

I obey, pulling up a chair to sit in front of her. Her eyes hold a questioning gaze that makes me curious, but I know she'll speak when she's ready.

She sighs. "Calla, what are you still doing here?"

"Huh? I'm taking care of you."

She snorts. "I'm 72 years old, I'm bound to get sick again. At this point, each day is just a step in my race to the finish line." Her eyes soften. "But you, you have your whole life ahead of you, so go on and live it."

"You're still unwell, I can't leave—"

"It's not a request, child. I already put in a word at the station, got you a ticket. The train leaves at first light tomorrow. A week ahead of schedule."

I stare at her, speechless. Part of me happy at the thought of being reunited with Dorian; the other sad to leave her and worried something might happen to her.

I feel hands on mine and I look down at them. Her hands are so frail, so old. A tear escapes me unbidden.

She wipes it away, raising my face with her finger. She smiles at me warmly. "You have your mother's eyes. She'd be so proud of the woman you've become."

"You always used to tease me when I cried. When did you get so old?" I ask, sniffing.

She laughs heartily. The kind that comes from deep within. It was a sound I was familiar with.

"Stop worrying about this old crow. I'm not dying yet. I'll live to see you have children, just you wait."

She grows quiet for a moment, something distant crossing her face, like she's looking somewhere I can't follow.

"You know," she says slowly, "your mother wasn't your father's first match."

I blink. "What?"

"Oh yes. I remember it well. He was matched to some Adams girl. Very put together. Very sensible." She laughs, soft and dry. "Safe to say they made a terrible couple."

"What happened?"

"Your father took one look at your mother across a ballroom and decided he'd found his match instead." Her eyes crinkle at the memory. "Then he told the council to shove it."

I go quiet. I've heard pieces of my parents' story before, but never this piece.

She takes my hand again, her grip steadier than it's been in weeks.

"I'm telling you this," she says, "because I want you to know it's alright to want something different than what's been laid out for you. This match. Your father's company. Whatever happens—you decide, Calla. Not the council. Not—" She pauses, weighing the name. "—not Vivienne."

"Aunt Rosie—"

"Stop running," she says, gentler now. "You owe yourself the chance to actually live. And whatever happens, know I'm right behind you. That witch has it out for you, I've always known it. But you're strong, child. You're your parents' daughter. Both of them."

"Two days," I say, resting my forehead against hers.

"Two days," she echoes. "This will be good for you. You'll get to surprise your boyfriend—"

"—Fiancé," I cut in.

"Right. But where's the ring?"

I instinctively glance at my ring finger. "We'd just gotten engaged before I came here. It was unplanned, we had little time to do anything."

"Of course," she says, nodding. "Go on now, your things won't pack themselves."

I rise from the chair and give a slight curtsy, making her chuckle, then I head for the door. My hand on the knob, I pause.

"Aunt Rosie?"

"Yes, child?"

"You'll be at my wedding, right?"

A pause. "Of course, child. Wouldn't miss it."

With that, I turn the knob and head to my room.

---

The days go back quickly, and before I know it I'm boarding the train home, a full week ahead of schedule.

The street leading home is awfully quiet, almost like the neighbors were out for the day, but it's noon, on a weekend. I push the thought away as I round the corner to my house. Stepping into my yard, clothes rumpled from the trip, I freeze at the sight before me.

Lilies, as far as the eye can see, adorn every corner. Rows of seats have been set up, an aisle between them leading up to a gold-carved makeshift altar.

Standing at that altar is a groom, my groom—Dorian.

I almost laugh with relief, already moving toward him, already imagining the look on his face when he sees me early—

Then I see her.

Standing beside him in white.

Not me.

Celeste.