✓ | TOUGH AS THE IRONWOOD (A.FORRESTER 2)

Confession. Chapter Twelve.

Some days had passed, and they were certainly overflowing with important business erens and complicated matters all in need of sorting before today. The day of the wedding. It may have been rather sudden, but Rodrik had been right, the pair had waited far too long waiting for this day, and risking something bad occurring before they had the chance to seal their love was not worth it. So, but days later, the morning arrived and the entire house filled with immense excitement. 

"Stop fidgeting!" Cynthia exclaimed, laughing through her words as Elaena picked and fussed over her dress - it was one lavished in silver material, with white and golden embroidery expected from a wedding gown. It wasn't extravagant, nor did it have to be; it was beautiful. Elaena had insisted that Cynthia assist her in dressing that morning, given she was panicking fair too much to accomplish it herself - and though not fond or familiar with the routine of dresses, Cynthia had no qualms with playing a part in her preparations. "There. Done." Cynthia beamed, spinning Elaena about to stare in awe at herself in the mirror. "Beautiful." She whispered, brushing strands of loose hair from Elaena's face. 

"You look like a princess!" Talia gushed from Cynthia's bed, on which she sat playing with an old figurine Ethan had made for her, and dressed in her own delightfully decorated gown. Cynthia too, against her will, had managed to be forced into an ornate, ivory dress with lace and embroidery that even she could not deny looked stunning - perhaps just not on her. "Doesn't she?" Cynthia smiled in pride, mostly from managing to successfully prepare Elaena for her wedding and avoiding doing an irreparable damage to the lovely dress in question. "Thank you," Elaena said quickly, still absentmindedly fiddling with parts of the dress and looking at them intently. "Do you like it?" Cynthia was quick to question, leaning in and keeping her voice respectfully low so that the child would not see or hear the nerves that Elaena radiated. "I love it." She grinned, twirling and giggling in the dress and continuing to look at it with adoration. 

"Come on then, ladies, time to go downstairs. Cyn, I believe Asher needs to see you." Elyssa beamed from the doorway, holding tightly to Talia's hand as she led the two other women out of the room. 

Cynthia hadn't seen much of Asher recently, she hadn't been able to force herself to face him after the incident earlier that week; she couldn't tell if it was her fear of collapsing into him like she constantly wished to do, or if it were she was too weak to face his continuing love for Gwyn after all she'd been through for him. And that was it. He made her week, her love for him and the way he made her feel demolished any strength she should have around, and given all that she felt for him, the idea of him still loving that harlot now, and wishing to go back for her, made Cynthia feel as though she'd never be able to look at him again without falling to pieces, her heart no longer proving to last the waning sadness that carried on with every second she believed he loved someone else. 

Sighing, mostly in discontent, Cynthia caught one last look at herself in the mirror. It was almost noon, the sun was lavished in gold and the glittering light that fell through the nearby open window basked Cynthia in the same orange haze, one that illuminated the dress in all sorts of beautiful, morning colours and made her entire aura look ignited. She smiled, sadly, at her reflection, regretfully admitting to herself that the dress was beautiful, and Elyssa's attempts on her hair had made her look like a real lady - a rather pretty one at that. And yet it did nothing in the way of making her feel any better about herself or the situation she was about to walk into. 

"Cyn?" A rough, thickly laced accent arose questionably from the doorway, proceeding to make Cynthia's body seize up in complete shock. She didn't even find the ability to turn and look up to the man she loved so much, as, like always, any capability or conscious ability to move she'd previously possessed had now flown out of the window. "Could you give me a hand with this?" Somehow the softness in his voice, and the pleading tone he used so quietly, granted Cynthia some movement, and as she turned to face him her face bloomed into a light pink and her throat constricted. Asher's arm was still locked in a sling, and his leg was bandaged heavily due to the extent of his injuries - even the wrap around his torso could be seen given the circumstances - and his shirt lay open, his ability to dress himself still not being up to scratch.