Pre-wedding Drama

CELESTE

"Get up, we have to go to the hotel already!" Stella’s voice cut through my restless sleep, jarring me awake.

I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. My body felt like lead. Between the endless wedding preparations and staying up half the night tearing my room apart to find that sketch for Declan, I was running on empty.

"I don't think she realizes she's getting married tomorrow," Sloane murmured nearby.

"Get... up!" Stella shouted right by my ear.

I jerked upright, tangling my legs in the sheets, and tumbled out of bed. My butt hit the hardwood floor with a solid thud. "Ouch," I whimpered, rubbing my backside.

"What do you guys want?" I grumbled, squinting at them. The morning light filtering through the curtains felt blinding. Stella and Sloane were already fully dressed, their hair styled and makeup flawless, looking way too energetic for this hour.

I needed sleep. The reality of tomorrow was an unbearable weight on my chest. I was marrying Declan Vance. A stranger. The sheer thought of stepping into the massive, intimidating Vance family merely to wipe clean my family's debts had given me relentless nightmares. Now, everyone wanted to crowd my space when all I craved was a moment of peace.

Sloane sat on the edge of the mattress and patted my shoulder. "Calm down, girl. Are you okay?"

I let out a harsh breath, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face. "No. I am getting married way faster than I ever anticipated. To a man I barely know, who happens to have a terrifying father and a fiercely sweet mother. Thank you for asking, but I am definitely not fine."

Stella dropped onto the floor beside me, her expression softening. "It isn't all bad. You like Declan, don't you?"

A faint, involuntary smile touched my lips as the memory of his deep, teasing voice from last night flickered through my mind. "I do. I really do. But talking on the phone is different from standing next to him at an altar. It’s different from living under the same roof. I am not ready for this. Being a Vance carries a terrifying amount of power and expectation. I wish I could hit pause. Just give me a year to breathe."

I rested my head against Sloane's knee, staring blankly at the wall.

"I know," Sloane said softly, stroking my messy hair. "I wish I could make it all stop for you. But the debt is real. Your family owes them, and this marriage is the only way out right now."

Her blunt words stung, but they were true. This was a transaction. A life-saving deal for my family.

"It will be okay, Celeste," Stella chimed in, trying to force some optimism. "The beginning might be rocky, but you will find your footing."

They didn't know what else to say. Neither did I. The silence settled over us, thick and heavy, until three soft knocks echoed from my bedroom door. It cracked open, and my dad peeked inside.

"Good morning, pumpkin," he said, forcing a bright tone.

"Morning, Dad," I replied.

His forced smile vanished the second he took in my tired, pale face. The lines around his eyes deepened, making him look older, worn out by a burden he couldn't shake. "Is something wrong, Haze?"

I sighed. He only used the nickname 'Haze' when he was trying to soften me up or ask for a favor. Sloane and Stella exchanged a quick glance, sensing the shift in the room's energy. They silently stood up and slipped out the door, giving us some privacy.

Dad walked over and sat on the floor where Stella had been. He cleared his throat, his shoulders slumping. "What is it?" he asked, his voice rough with worry.

I pulled my knees to my chest. "Do you think I will make a good wife?" I blurted out, not knowing how else to vocalize the knot of panic in my stomach.

"You have been an amazing daughter. The best," he said gently, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Being a wife won't change your heart. You will be wonderful." He paused, studying my eyes. "But that isn't what is really bothering you, is it?"

"Everything is moving so fast," I admitted, my voice trembling. "I'm just scared."

Dad looked down at his hands. When he spoke, his tone was shattered, thick with profound pain. "Every time I think about how this marriage came to be... I feel useless. I feel so guilty."

"Dad, don't," I whispered, my chest tightening.

"I wasn't a good enough father," he confessed, tears pooling in his aging eyes. His voice broke pitifully. "If I had just worked harder, if I had secured more money, your life wouldn't be turned upside down like this. It kills me, Celeste. It physically hurts me to watch you do this, and knowing I can't fix it makes me feel like a failure."

A single tear escaped my eye, tracing a warm path down my cheek. Seeing his absolute heartbreak was more painful than any fear I had about the wedding. He was suffering, burying his pride to apologize for a situation he couldn't control.

"That isn't true," I told him, shifting closer to wrap my arms around his neck. "You did everything you could. You are the best father anyone could ever ask for. Let's just call this fate. You couldn't have stopped it."

He hugged me back, his grip tight, and pressed a long kiss to the top of my head. His hand smoothed down my messy hair.

"We can stop all this, Haze," he murmured against my hair, desperation lacing his words. "Just say the word. Tell me you want out, and I will find a different way to pay the debt. I will work three jobs. I will sell everything. Just say it."

Hearing his desperate plea solidified something inside me. I pulled away from his embrace, meeting his gaze with an unyielding resolve.

"No," I told him firmly. "I am doing this."

Our lives were already improving because of the Vance family's intervention. If sacrificing my dreams, my personal freedom, and my own mapped-out future was the price to keep my family safe from the jaws of poverty, then I would pay it. I would pay it a thousand times over.

"Are you sure?" he asked, searching my eyes for any trace of hesitation.

"Yes," I said, forcing a confident smile. "I am sure."

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "I love you, Haze."

"I love you too, Dad."

He pushed himself off the floor, offering me a hand. "The cars are here. They have been waiting outside for an hour."

"Wait, what cars?" I asked, confused.

Dad managed a small grin. "Mrs. Vance had a lot to handle at the hotel, so she sent a fleet to escort us."

I took a quick shower, the hot water washing away the lingering traces of sleep. Downstairs, I forced myself to eat the breakfast my mom had prepared. Every bite tasted like a goodbye. Leaving the house today meant I would never return as the same girl. Next time I stepped through that door, I would be a married woman. The realization made my throat tight, but I swallowed the food anyway. I needed the energy.

When I stepped out the front door, the sight waiting for me made my breath hitch.

Four sleek, pitch-black luxury cars idled in the driveway, forming a massive fleet dispatched by the Vance family. Imposing guards in sharp black suits stood at attention by the doors. The moment I appeared, they bowed in unison. The synchronized movement was intimidating. It was a stark, visual reminder of the sheer, undeniable power I was marrying into.

My parents and sister were already settling into the first car. A towering guard opened the door of the second vehicle, bowing low as I climbed into the plush leather interior. Sloane and Stella followed right behind me, squealing with excitement as they took in the luxury of the ride.

As the convoy rolled out of our neighborhood, my anxiety spiked again. My phone buzzed constantly with news alerts. The media frenzy surrounding Declan Vance’s sudden wedding was dominating every channel and social feed. Pushing through with the marriage was one thing; facing the public scrutiny of being a Vance was a whole different burden.

Declan had promised he wouldn't force me into anything I didn't want, but the looming reality of our wedding night still sat heavy in my mind. Would he really keep his word when the doors were locked and the cameras were gone?

Two hours later, we pulled up to the most prestigious, highly guarded hotel in the city. The sheer size of the building was dizzying. As we stepped out of the cars, a swarm of security personnel immediately formed a tight barricade around us, physically blocking the flash of cameras and the shouting reporters trying to get a glimpse of the bride.

My family was escorted to their suite, and my friends to theirs. I was led down a quiet, heavily guarded corridor to a private suite reserved solely for me.

The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal Declan’s mother, Vivienne, standing in the center of the massive room. She was surrounded by an entire team of professional stylists, makeup artists, and assistants holding garment bags.

"There she is!" Vivienne announced proudly. She crossed the room and pulled me into a tight, warm hug. "Isn't she just beautiful?"

The team of stylists murmured their agreements, offering me polite smiles. I felt my cheeks heat up under the attention.

"Alright, get to work," Vivienne commanded, clapping her hands. "Prep her skin, figure out the color palettes that suit her best. Make her natural beauty pop."

The women nodded and began unpacking an arsenal of beauty products.

Vivienne turned her attention back to me. "The gown should arrive by morning. The decorations are being set up as we speak. I just need to make sure everything is flawless; I do not want Declan breathing down my neck."

I frowned, glancing around the empty suite. "Wait. What gown? I thought the dress arrived days ago. And you said the decorations were already finished."

With the wedding mere hours away, the idea that the dress wasn't even here sent a jolt of panic through me.

Vivienne smiled, a soft, knowing expression on her face. "Declan made some last-minute changes."

My jaw dropped. "Changes?"

"He changed everything," she explained, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "That is why I have been so swamped. Declan has literally been barking orders at every vendor and planner since last night, tearing up the original plans to make sure the entire wedding looks exactly the way you described in your sketches."

I stood completely stunned.

The conversation we had last night. The frantic search for my drawing book. He had actually listened. He had taken my rambling descriptions and the rushed photo of my sketch, and he had overhauled a multi-million dollar event just to fit my personal dreams.

A sudden, massive flush of heat rushed to my cheeks. He actually cared enough to do that for me.

"But is there even time to change everything?" I asked, my heart doing a strange flutter in my chest.

"Declan always gets what he wants," Vivienne said simply, patting my arm. "And he made it very clear that this is what he wants. Do not worry about the logistics, sweetie. Just let us pamper you."

I gave her a slow nod, my mind spinning. There was so much I didn't know about the man I was marrying. His father was a tyrant, his world was terrifying, but Declan... Declan was surprising me. He was paying attention.

Before I could overthink it, the styling team descended on me. For hours, I was scrubbed, polished, manicured, and massaged. I had a facial that left my skin glowing, followed by a light lunch.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Vivienne pointed a firm finger at the massive king-sized bed in the corner of the suite.

"Sleep," she ordered forcefully. "I refuse to let my daughter-in-law walk down the aisle with bags under her eyes. You need to be sharp and refreshed."

I didn't argue. The emotional toll of the morning had drained whatever energy the facial had given me. After a quick check-in call with my parents and my friends, I crawled under the luxurious duvet. I forced my eyes shut, knowing that staying awake and letting my anxiety fester would only make tomorrow harder. Eventually, the softness of the mattress pulled me under.

I had no idea how long I was out. A loud, persistent ringing dragged me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I groaned, fumbling blindly on the nightstand until my fingers closed around my phone. I squinted at the bright screen.

Declan.

I swiped to answer, bringing the phone to my ear. "Hello?" I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.

"I fear you are going to sleep your entire life away if you don't wake up soon," his deep, rumbling voice filled my ear.

The sound of him instantly chased away the fog in my brain. I sat up, pushing my tangled hair out of my face. "Declan!"

He chuckled. "The one and only."

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked, the casual tone of his voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

"Not yet," I replied, covering my mouth as a loud yawn escaped.

"You know the wedding is tomorrow, right?"

I rolled my eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "How could I possibly forget? Every single time I remember, my nerves spike so high I feel like I might pass out."

He went quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. "Yeah. Me too. But if it brings you any consolation... I will be right up there at the altar with you."

I laughed softly. "Well, if you aren't up there with me, who else would be?"

"Wrong line," he teased, his voice vibrating with amusement.

I laughed harder, leaning back against the headboard. The heavy, suffocating anxiety that had plagued me all week seemed to evaporate whenever I talked to him. The banter was so easy. The connection felt effortless.

The laughter slowly died down, leaving a comfortable, intimate silence between us on the line. I traced the pattern on the duvet, my heart beating a steady, calm rhythm.

Then, the atmosphere suddenly shifted. The air in the room felt heavier.

"I never knew I could be more drawn to you after all these years," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, thick with an emotion I couldn't place.

I froze, the smile falling from my face. Deep confusion sharply spiked through my chest.

After all these years?

We had only just met. Our families had brokered this arrangement mere weeks ago. I had seen him, spoken to him a handful of times. What years was he talking about?

My brow furrowed as my mind scrambled to make sense of his words. Was he confusing me with someone else? Was he joking? No, his tone was far too serious, far too intimate for a joke.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, gripping the phone tighter. "What years?"

The line stayed quiet. The silence stretched, turning thick and incredibly uncomfortable.

"Va—" he started to say, the first syllable of a name that wasn't mine slipping from his lips.

Before he could finish the word, a sharp beep echoed in my ear, and the call went dead.

I pulled the phone away from my face, staring at the black screen. The battery wasn't dead. I quickly tapped his contact and hit dial. It rang once, then went straight to voicemail. I tried again. Same result.

My chest tightened. The easy comfort from moments ago vanished, replaced by a cold, unsettling dread. Who did he think he was talking to? Why did he say that? He was acting like we had history, like there was some long-standing connection I was entirely oblivious to.

I tried calling a third time, but it absolutely wouldn't connect.

Deeply unsettled, I tossed the phone onto the mattress. I couldn't let my mind spiral into panic. Not tonight. I needed a distraction. I picked up the room service menu and dialed the kitchen, ordering a massive plate of buffalo chicken enchiladas. Comfort food.

When the food arrived, I sat on the edge of the bed and ate until my stomach ached. The spicy, savory flavors helped ground me, but the bizarre comment continued to echo in the back of my mind. After finishing, I pushed the empty tray toward the door and collapsed back onto the bed, heavily stuffed and mentally exhausted. The suite was deathly quiet. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for room service to come collect the dishes.

Suddenly, a sharp ring from the suite's doorbell shattered the silence.

I groaned loudly, rolling over and burying my face in the pillows. I was way too full to move.

"Who is it?" I called out, my voice muffled.

No answer.

I waited a few seconds. The doorbell chimed again, louder this time. I glared at the heavy wooden door across the room.

"I said, who is it?" I asked again, raising my voice.

Complete silence answered me. A prickle of unease washed over my skin. I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Just as I debated ignoring the visitor altogether, a single, deep word vibrated through the heavy wood.

"Declan."

My breath hitched, and my heart instantly raced into complete overdrive.

He was here. Standing on the other side of my door. The man I was marrying tomorrow. The man who had just hung up on me after saying something completely inexplicable.

Am I finally going to meet him in person?