Dear Readers: Here comes the bride...

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Scene 3: Almost

A.D. 2015

This was the threshold of the darkest downward spiral of her life.

That was what Daddy would’ve said. But Lacey was alone with her reflection now, before the gilded mirror in the bridal suite. She couldn’t let it matter, how her father felt. Nor anybody else.

Her heart had led her down this path. A heart that loved a man more deeply, more devoutly than she’d thought humanly possible, before their paths had crossed. With the ardor of a hundred thousand hearts, as if a lifetime wasn’t nearly long enough. As if she had already lived that many lives in love with him, and needed thousands more.

Here and now, for her, this was the threshold of heaven. The beginning, in sight at the end of the tunnel. The light.

An abrupt knock on the door—Katherine, who did not wait for a welcome before barging in. As per usual.

“Oh, just look at you,” she gushed as she came up beside the bride. “Perfection, perfection, perfection…”

She parroted the proud word in sync with a series of flourishes, starting from the crown of Lacey’s veil down to her sweeping train. Then scanning upwards from the feet, Katherine spotted a speck of lint, which she picked off like a disease-carrying fly.

Perfection achieved, she positively beamed. “You are a dream—even more so today than usual, the wildest dream of any man.”

Except her own soon-to-be husband, a small voice in the bride’s head snickered cynically. She shut it up. Could not afford to doubt that Matthew loved her, not today. Besides, she shouldn’t have to be his dream—she was set to be his reality. That was what mattered, right?

“I am so thrilled that you chose this dress, over that plain sack of a thing,” her mother effused, referring to the sleeker gown that Lacey had initially selected—less extravagant, less expensive, less of an elitist exhibition. In other words, in Mrs. Weaver’s mind, cheap shit. “What’s a few hundred grand in the scheme of things, hm? This is such an investment in your future happiness.”

Lacey wasn’t sure how this dress was an investment in anything other than her mother’s image. No doubt to be featured in tabloids all across America tomorrow. She could picture it already: Former Model Walks Down Aisle Flaunting Family’s Wealth in Frills… Even a headline that preposterous would do her mother proud, so long as the price tag was plastered somewhere on the front page.

“Well,” Katherine sighed through a spotlight-ready smile, “it’s almost time. Rehearse your vows in these last minutes, won’t you? The altar’s no place for a slipup.”

Lacey tended to trip on her words when forced to speak before a crowd. Such as the time she’d tried to call herself a ‘total nerd’ and blurted ‘nodal turd’ instead. That had been part of a statement meant to highlight her scholarly pedigree, against her inevitable popular persona as a dumb blonde—one of the least successful publicity efforts of her entire career. Engineered, naturally, by none other than her mother. Who would never let her live the blunder down.

But this time, Lacey would be speaking from her heart. Not from a script shoved down her throat. That would make all the difference. How could she trip up on truths set to pour straight out from her soul? She wouldn’t. She believed, knew that she wouldn’t.

“Yes, Mother,” she assented, happy to rehearse the vows anyway.

And with that, Katherine craned her neck to lean in for an aerial kiss—an actual kiss was of course out of the question, as that would’ve left a lipstick stain—and sashayed out of the room.

Moments later, there came another knock. Lacey welcomed the unexpected visitor inside, and turned to see her father at the doorsill.

In spite of everything, he was the father of the bride—and he looked happy. Some small part of him, at least.

Perhaps Bentley simply put on a good front. Perhaps Katherine had demanded that at gunpoint from her husband, lest the paparazzi get a glimpse of the dark cloud that overhung this perfect wedding.

Even if so, Lacey would take the pretense, cling to it today.

She felt a timid prick of tears, and blinked them instantly away. The slightest run would surely ruin her meticulously applied makeup.

Bentley hadn’t moved from the doorway. Even from this distance, Lacey thought she might’ve seen some unwept tears in his eyes, too.

She braved a faint, heartbroken smile and spoke as if she’d always be his little girl. Knowing that she would never be again, after today. “Will you give me away, Daddy?”

One of the tears in Bentley’s eyes almost escaped as he entered the room, came toward his baby daughter. “Of course, Lacey. Of course,” he assured her. “Why else would I be here today?”

She raised her shoulders in a slight shrug, or a sigh—a bit of both. “To object,” she murmured, only half in jest.

He breathed a tragic laugh and then engulfed her in a hug, fighting hard against oncoming sobs, fatherly hands patting her back as they embraced.

Katherine would have thrown a fit, to see him place his palms upon the priceless pearly fabric, minutes before the bride’s big moment. Who knows what kinds of grease and grime are on those fingers, she would groan—Bentley, have you even washed them since breakfast?

Lacey couldn’t have cared less. She felt her father’s love, here in his hands, and that was worth whatever mark it left. Even if that love did not come with approval, it was worth the world to her.

His heavy smile was sincere, however sorrowful. “This is your life. Your choice,” he willingly acknowledged. “I’ve said my piece, too many times. I’ll hold my peace today.”

And so he would. Leaving a kiss upon her forehead, the father turned to leave, before the bride could see the single tear he spilled.

Moments later, another knock. Was it Madeline, she wondered? Her sister had sworn to stay out of the suite, in the final hour before the ceremony. So as not to stir up any last-minute stress—Madeline often came down with vicarious jitters during milestones in her little sister’s life. Well, Lacey thought, perhaps she’d changed her mind. It certainly wouldn’t be the first spontaneous decision Madeline made.

But no, it wasn’t Madeline. It was one of Lacey’s bridesmaids.

Tess pushed the door ajar and poked her head in, through an opening barely big enough to accommodate her billowy blonde updo. “Sorry to be disturbing you right now…”

“Oh, don’t be! Please come in.”

Tess tiptoed in carefully, as if setting foot on the turf of a queen. She’d always seemed to regard Lacey as royalty—a dynamic that had almost strained their friendship, back in grade school, when Tess had taken her borderline-worshipful emulation just a little bit too far. By approaching her uncle, a plastic surgeon, with a picture of Lacey and requesting a ‘doctor’s version of a makeover’ to look exactly like her.

That’d been forgotten since, brushed off as typical for a preteen. In high society, the limits of ‘typical’ typically had to be stretched.

Now, Tess was one of Lacey’s closest, dearest friends. Along with Madeline and Dan, she was among the few people on earth with whom Lacey could truly let her guard down, be a person for a moment. Not a piece of plastic posing for the public and the press.

“I thought you’d want to know…” Tess expressed, “…I overheard the concierge tell your mother—the last RSVP just came in. It’s a no.”

Lacey nodded, knowing straightaway of whom Tess spoke. The last RSVP the Weavers hadn’t yet received was from the one friend Lacey treasured most.

Or had treasured, until she’d lost him, not so long ago.

Some part of her had held out hope that Dan would show up, in the end. In spite of everything, he was her closest friend. Didn’t that mean something—didn’t that mean more than his wounded pride?

And yet she knew it wasn’t fair, to frame it in that way. She knew that more than just his pride had gotten hurt. For she’d imagined what it must feel like, for him—she imagined watching Matthew marry someone else, and just the vision left a scar across her heart.

Still, she had hoped. But she knew better now. No one should ever have to bear a scar so deep.

“Thank you, Tess. I’m glad you told me,” she replied.

Tess smiled weakly, bowed her head and swiftly left.

The notion flashed across the bride’s mind that her two best friends might make a perfect couple. Everything Dan adored in Lacey, surely he would find in Tess—shiny hair, sizable breasts… whatever else he saw in Barbie. And Tess had always wanted to find love, with someone who could love her loyally and fully. Dan could be that man.

Just as Matthew would be, for her. The bride almost believed it.

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Do YOU believe it? ;)  I know Matthew is still a mystery man - but please trust me, we'll meet him when the moment in the story is just right!

Any other feels from this scene? Bentley? Dan?? :'(

Next scene starts off with the Fates back on Olympus.... And if you liked this one, please don't forget to vote! :)