Vice (H.S)

CHAPTER 25 - APOLOGIES

My nerves are aflame as I stroll down the front stairs, burning, crackling beneath my skin. I use a shaky hand to tame my hair against the breeze that blows through the open front door, making sure to smooth my dress at my sides. Mint green taffeta, large silk roses decorating the fabric, candy apple red heels peek out from beneath my skirt like some small defiance. I look perfect. I know I do. My outward appearance expertly masks the emotional onslaught threatening to escape from within me.

As I make my fashionably late entrance into the garden party, no one even glances in my direction. Instead they are too focused on their posture, their drink, caught up in checking to make sure their hair is holding up in the light wind. The thrum of conversation rises above the music— live, a jazz band, strings and brass and a baby grand piano, expensive, of course. Guests spill out from the house, decorating the verdant lawn, each adorned in pearls and gold cuff links. Crystal flutes of champagne glitter in the waning sunlight, manned by clean-shaven waiters who, with calculated movements, undulate across the yard. Their white jackets stick out amongst the colorful evening dresses and sport coats. A black and white checkered dance floor is laid out across the green, though no one is dancing.

The heat-sensitive guests, who originally retreated indoors, begin to extend towards the patio and out into the yard as the day cools off into night. I follow the perfumed line of guests. No one even notices me as I absorb into the crowd. I drift, aimless, waltzing numbly towards a tray of champagne. Somehow, I have retained some strange sort of anonymity at my own engagement party. These people don't recognize me. They don't know me. They know my parents or my fiancé. But... I am a seemingly nameless, faceless Banks daughter set to wed the next president of the United States.

And there he is.

I train my sight on the line that snakes its way through the garden. At its head is Niall, shaking hands and posing for photographs with the strangers who have traveled from near and far to celebrate our future nuptials. But they do not want a photograph of me. They do not want a photograph of the two of us together. I am not the one that matters. The realizations sinks me, anchoring me entirely in my place. This is the life I am slated for, the future I am facing. Empty, lonely years stretch ahead of me. I will be his accessory, his feather-fluffer. I will exist simply to make him look better. With me by his side, he will carry the title of 'husband'. When I bear his children, I will be awarding him the title of 'father'.

When the tears come, steady, silent, aching, there is nothing I can do to stop them in their descent. I am frozen in place, furious fear surging through me. I suck in a shaky breath, trying to ease the sick feeling in my stomach. My eyes squeeze shut on impulse.

It's... too much. It's all too much. I don't want it, any of it. When I blink open again, I'm startled to see someone's focus set on only me. Bright blue eyes meet mine, confusion, concern laced in the look.

I break our gaze, turning, searching for a friendly face in the crowd. When I fail to find anyone, I turn once again towards my fiancé. I'm shocked to find his eyes still watching my movements. And then, in an instant, he's excusing himself politely from the waiting crowd and taking long, slow steps in my direction.

There's no escape as Niall descends upon me. And, as he nears, his face betrays nothing of his emotions below the surface. If he notes the damp tracks on my cheeks, he ignores them.

"There you are." He's careful not to get too close to me. "I've been looking for you, waiting." I doubt it. He would be the only one. The only one noting my absence. And yet... the earnestness in his expression has me second-guessing his words. He glances towards his feet, avoiding my imploring eye contact. "I was... well, I wasn't sure you would show up."

Cold, choked laughter escapes from me. "Did I have any other choice?" He bristles with the realization, meeting my eyes sadly.

            "I'm sorry."