2: Find Me A Bride

"What do you mean 'call off the marriage?'"

Olivia tossed her head petulantly, hands on her hips.

"Exactly what I said. I'm not interested anymore."

"But...but why?" Mason sputtered, his mind spinning. They'd been together for years, building a wonderful life side-by-side. What had suddenly changed? That too at this dying minute??

"You can’t just…the wedding is just three hours away. What has come over you?!”

“What came over me has already come off and that’s why I’m saying I can’t do this anymore.”

Mason was stunned beyond words, he could barely bring himself to think or speak or act.

“You don’t love me anymore?”

"Ha! Love? No Mason, I used to love you perhaps. But not anymore."

"What...what are you saying?”

"Oh, I'm not sure it ever was real love to begin with." Olivia’s sneered and began ripping off the diamond ring he'd lovingly placed on her finger months ago.

"Maybe it was all pity."

"Pity?"

"Yes, pity!" She hurled the ring and it struck the wall with a sharp crack.

"I look at you now and realize I only ever felt sorry for you. A sad, pathetic man who based his entire world around me out of some desperate, farcical notion of romance."

Mason could only gape at her, utterly aghast as she ripped into him with her biting words.

"I'm surprised it took me this long to see it, really. You were never 'the one' for me. I've been living a lie, putting on this pretty little fiancée act because I thought that's what was expected of me. But I can't keep it up any longer, Mason. I won't."

For some reason Mason wanted to believe this was some kind of joke, or a prank. Stuff like that was common these days.

“If this is a joke you should stop it now.”

“A joke, right? Watch me,” as she said this, she turned around and stormed off.

“Oliv–” He tried to follow her.

She spun around again and shot a finger defiantly in his direction.

“Don't you even try crawling after me.”

Then she turned around again, and this time, never looked back.

Mason’s jaws clenched until his jaws thrummed taut as well as his fists, where he stood. All the memories and plans and dreams that led them up to that point…a marriage. Was that how flimsy they all were, to be capable of being thrown away in a matter of minutes.

It felt like everything in front of his eyes was tilting and slowly spinning.

“...I only pitied you.."

Would he ever forget that statement?

Mason had always known he was...different.

From the others.

From a young age, Mason struggled to make the same natural emotional connections that most took for granted. While his peers eagerly professed their innocent puppy loves, he was always so staunchly aloof and detached.

Not until Olivia, at least.

He met her in his college days. Something about her bright, compassionate demeanor and warmth managed to chip away at the barriers he'd fortified around his heart since his childhood.

It was maddening at first—why he couldn’t dismiss her as easily as any other attempt at wrangling his affections? But gradually, Olivia's caring nature slipped past every one of his defenses until she had completely captivated him from the inside out.

And now?

She dismissed everything like it never existed to begin with.

His feeling of hurt and rejection soon transmogrified into anger.

Mason slammed his fist against the nearest solid surface, which turned out to be his car. Again and again, he pounded his knuckles into the side paneling of the vintage until his hand bled.

How dare she?

After everything he had devoted, opened himself up to give her, only to have her turn around and spit back in his face?

He rammed his foot into the tyres with several kicks just try to let it all out.

Did she really think she could crush him to pieces?Or expect him to go sulk in a corner because his life revolved around her?

Pity?

He scoffed bitterly, gritted his teeth at that word then went on kicking and punching and letting out his anger on any thing his limbs collided with,

When he finally stopped he was soaked in his sweat and heaving heavily with loud gasps.

"Argghhhhh!"

Mason hurled his entire body on the hood of the car in a sideways smash. He held his throbbing fists over his head.

Somehow, he felt...nothing. No pain penetrating his bleeding knuckles and aches from his outrageous fit even as his body trembled from the aftershocks of his exertion.

He just felt disembodied from reality.

He was like an unmoored astronaut floating in an endless void. His throat was bitter with spite for Olivia. He hated her for loving her in the first place…genuinely.

Mason shut his eyes tight. They burned.

This wasn’t going to end like this. He wouldn’t let that happen. Olivia can be replaced and he’ll make sure he passed that message across to her.

She was now nothing to him just as he was to her.

Come hell or highwater, there WOULD be a bride crossing that aisle to join him at the altar she abandoned.

Mason wasn’t one to accept defeat so easily.

"I don't care if you have to hire an escort off the bloody street. Just make sure there is someone, ANYONE, waiting in a white dress to be my bride when those goddamn doors open. Do you understand me? And do it discreetly."

This was his instruction to his assistant, who hurried off to set the new plan in motion.

When it was now one hour to the ceremony, Mason straightened up from his chair and tugged restlessly on the knot of his tie, leaving it disheveled and hanging loose around his collar.

The groomer who was still in the room with him, trying to fix his look each time he disheveled it, tried to fix it again.

“Leave,” Mason snapped at him.

“Your necktie..."

"I said OUT!" Mason roared.

The young man meekly backed away and excused himself from the room.

Mason's fingers went to his collar, savagely undoing the first button with a yank. The fabric strained but held, not daring to relinquish its hold any easier than Olivia had.

He snatched up his tumbler of scotch and drained the entire thing in one punishing swallow. The bitter liquid seared down his gullet, almost dulling the chaotic storm of emotions inside him, but for only a few seconds.

He slammed the empty glass down with enough force to crack the antique mahogany side table before going over to the ensuite's sink. He angrily twisted the tap and bent at the waist. Bracing his hands on the wide lip of the basin, Mason doused his entire face and head with a torrent of cold water.

He stared at his disheveled reflection glaring back from the mirror. His black hair was soaked and disheveled like he'd just crawled out of a swimming pool in his tuxedo.

Mason returned to the center of the room on hearing his phone buzzing. As he picked it up and put it to his ear, he heard a knock on the door.

He turned sharply to see a slender figure walking into the room.

Gianna blinked in surprise at the figure in front of her. He was soaking wet, dress shirt clinging transparently to his muscular body and dark hair plastered to his forehead.

‘Is he supposed to be the producer or director?’ Gianna thought in her head.

She sighed and just let herself roll into action.

“Hi, I’m…” she started.

"I'm sure you were told what you have to do," he cut her off brusquely. "So let's skip the rehearsed act and get on with it."

Gianna's brows peaked in surprise at his rudeness. She stepped further into the room, now taking in the general state of disarray.

"Yes, actually, I was told I'll be getting..."

"Good." He didn't let her finish, also raking over her disparagingly from head to toe.

"Go get dressed,” he added, then pressed at a button on the desk beside him.

An older woman came into the room, almost startling Gianna.

She looked at Gianna’s outfit briefly at first then at Mason, who silently and dismissively flicked his fingers.

She nodded and said to Gianna,

“Please come with me.”

“Yeah,” Gianna answered, shooting one last befuddled glance at the dripping, scowling man, before following the other lady out of the door.