The Time Capsule (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 43

Madden's POV
Wedding Day

   I'm sitting in a chair while one lady works on my face and the other does my hair in intricate curls and then some kind of fancy braid, with a golden and pearl hair piece that will be added as the finishing touch.

   My mother and a couple other women are running around amuck making sure everything is in place and perfect for this day.

   My wedding dress is hanging up on a thick wooden hanger, and there's a seamstress in front of it who is steaming it and making sure there isn't a wrinkle in sight. Anything less would be a tragedy to these people.

   It's a beautiful dress, I'll admit. Even though I wasn't the one who picked it out. And you'd think that would be one of the main things bothering me today, but it wasn't.

   It wasn't even about the fact that I was getting married in a venue and not on a beach like I've always wanted. I'll have high heel fancy shoes, instead of barefoot with the sand going between my toes, a feeling I've always loved.

   Nothing about this day has been my choice, but strangely enough, that's not what's bothering me.

   It's who I'm marrying. That's the only choice I had to make today, and even that didn't feel right.

   Picking up the champagne flute from beside me, I drain my glass again and immediately look around for the girl who I demanded refill it every time she saw that it was empty.

   "Madeline..If I may.." My wedding director starts as she looks at me nervously. "That's your 7th glass of champagne dear. Most brides like to walk down the aisle, not stumble."

   I belch in response, and smile at her as the young girl refills my glass, despite the look of murder both the director and West's mom shoot at her.

   "Leave her be, she's fine." My mother says, shooting the woman a warning glare from the flower arrangement she's currently perfecting. "If she wants to crawl her way down the aisle, that's her choice."

   "Okay, honey! You're all set!" The lady says as she shoves the last Bobby pin into my hair, saving all of us from an argument that was sure to ensue after my moms last retort.

I knew she wasn't happy about this day either, because like me, she and my dad hadn't had a say so in anything and were told time and time again they didn't need to help with anything, though they wanted to.

   She turns my chair so I'm facing a mirror, and I see myself for the first time today.

My blonde hair is curled down the sides just framing my face, while the rest is pulled back into some kind of bun that has my hair braided and wrapped around it. The hair piece sitting on the back, with my veil already in place.

My blue eyes are lined in gold and shimmery eye shadow, and I have big fake lashes to make everything pop just a little more. My face looks smoother and fuller than it's ever looked before.

I look beautiful, there's no doubt about it. Not at all.

So why don't I feel beautiful?

Why do I feel this humbling, swelling, ball of pure ugliness stirring around inside of me and taking hold of everything?

It's overshadowing any kind of good that could be said about this day. I can't even fool myself into believing it.

After everyone in the room gushed over my hair and face, the seamstress and her assistant took quick work of getting me into my dress and making sure it looked perfect.