Unwilling Bride

Emry’s POV

"You're doing it again."

My father didn't look at me when he said it. He stood beside me at the altar with his hands folded, his eyes on the pews.

"Doing what?"

"Your cufflinks. That's the third time you've fixed them."

I dropped my hands to my side. Every seat in St Mary's Cathedral was full. Doctors, business partners, society faces I only knew from donation dinners, and rows of reporters near the back that my father had even arranged.

My father had turned the scandal into Cardiff's biggest love story, and the whole city had come to watch.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"Why would I be?" I tugged my cuff again, just to annoy him. "It's not as if I'm marrying the love of my life."

"She'll come around, Emrys. Give it time."

"Come around?" I let out a short laugh. "She hates me. You dragged us both into this mess, and now I'm supposed to sit and wait for her to like it?"

He turned his head at last. "The reason this marriage is necessary..."

"Don't." I kept my voice low. "I don't want another speech about family, or reputation, or the Llewellyn name. I've heard them all."

My father's mouth went thin. He gave me a long look. I knew better than to mistake his silence for giving up. 

I thought of the blue folder in his desk drawer, and my mouth went dry. I had signed that contract in two seconds, in big clear letters, so nobody would see how badly my hand wanted to stop.

My father gave my shoulder a brief pat before returning to his seat in the front row. He had done his part. Now it was my turn.

The organ started playing, every guest rose with a rustle of silk and expensive perfume. At the back of the cathedral, the doors swung open.

Claribel stood in the doorway in a white dress, and her mother beside her. The lace hugged her waist and spilled to the floor. She looked beautiful, and I hated that I noticed. 

I let a smirk settle on my face. It was easier than whatever else I was trying to get out.

She didn't move.

The guests turned, waiting for her to start down the aisle. One second passed, then five, then ten. Someone coughed from somewhere in the front row. 

The priest glanced towards the doors, then at me, back towards the door again.

"Is something wrong?" a woman whispered. 

"Maybe she's nervous, wedding jitters I guess," a man muttered.

Claribel's face was white, but her eyes were locked on mine. She wasn't crying or smiling. She stood still, refusing to take another step.

My father's smile disappeared, his fingers tightened around the programme on his lap. 

"Fix this." 

Well, this was going beautifully.

My father had spent days making sure everything went according to plan. The guests, the reporters, the flowers, even the story Cardiff was supposed to believe. And now the bride was standing at the entrance like she'd rather be anywhere else.

I couldn't blame her. I wasn't exactly thrilled to be there either. But if she refused to move, we'd have a bigger problem than an unhappy bride. My father would make sure of that.

I looked at her mother, who was whispering in her ear, and Claribel shook her head once, hard. The whispers in the cathedral grew louder.

I wasn't going to stand at the altar and let almost five hundred people watch my bride refuse to come to me.

"Emrys," my father warned under his breath.

I ignored him and walked down the aisle.

Every eye locked on me as I passed. My shoes were loud on the stone. By the time I reached her, the whole cathedral was holding its breath, and I could see how hard she was gripping her bouquet. Her knuckles had gone white.

I held out my hand. She stared at it as if I'd offered her something unpleasant she would rather not touch.

"Are we going to stand here all day?" I asked quietly.

"You seem to be enjoying this, Emrys." 

"Not particularly." I glanced down at my shoes. "My feet are beginning to hurt."

She looked at me like she wanted to slap me again. I leaned closer and kept my smile on for the cameras.

"Come on, Claribel. Don't give them another reason to talk."

She didn't take my hand but she moved.

"I hate you," she muttered, still smiling for the crowd.

"Noted," I said. "Now, smile wider."

We walked side by side, close enough that her veil brushed my sleeve. Guests smiled at us as we passed. A few whispered how brave she was, how sweet it was that I had come to fetch her.

Halfway up the aisle, I bent and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, like a man comforting a nervous bride.

A woman sighed out loud. Someone said “aww”.

Claribel went stiff under my lips.

"Keep smiling," I murmured against her hair. "Unless you want tomorrow's headlines to be about how the bride refused to walk down the aisle or not smiling on her big day."

"You're unbelievable," she muttered.

"Maybe. But those cameras are waiting for something. Don't give them more than they already have."

She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine. Then she slid her hand through my arm, gripping it so tightly that her nails pressed into my skin.

We both smiled for the cameras.

The words tasted like my father's. I had spent years telling myself I wasn't like him. Yet here I was, using the same kind of pressure he would have used to make someone obey. I hated that I had to do it, but I had little choice. I pushed the thought aside. This wasn't the time to think about it.

At the altar, the priest cleared his throat and began. He talked about love, about trust, about two people choosing each other for life. I looked at Claribel while he spoke. The irony nearly choked me.

"Emrys Llewellyn," the priest said at last. "Do you take Claribel Evans to be your wife?"

"I do."

My voice came out steady, and I was proud of that. My father nodded once.

The priest turned to claribel.

"Claribel Evans, do you take Emrys Llewellyn to be your husband?"

She didn't answer.

The silence dragged for a few seconds. In the front row, her mother pressed a fist against her mouth. 

I watched Claribel throat move. Her eyes shifted towards her mother before returning to me. She clearly wanted to walk away, but she knew what another public scandal could do to her. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I do.”

Callum stepped forward with the rings, wearing a grin that told me he was enjoying this far more than a good friend should.

"Try to look more happy, mate," he whispered, handing them to me. "You're ruining the wedding photos."

I shot him a look. His grin only widened before he stepped back.

I slid hers onto her finger. Her hand shook so badly the ring caught on her knuckle, and she let me push it the rest of the way without pulling back.

When her turn came, she shoved mine on so hard her nails scraped across my palm.

I glanced down at the ring, then back at her. She was still looking at me like she wanted to wipe that smile off my face. At least she hadn't lost her fight. I was beginning to think married life with Claribel Evans would be anything but peaceful.

"By the power vested in me," the priest said, beaming, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

I reached for her veil but before I could lift it, she leaned in.

"Don't think this means you've won.”

She grabbed the front of my tuxedo and kissed me.

The cathedral exploded in applause. Somebody whistled. In the front pew, my father clapped slowly, the first real smile of the day on his face. 

A camera flashed, a dozen more followed. Her mother was crying into a handkerchief, and I couldn't tell which kind of tears they were.

For a second, I forgot the cameras, my father, and the contract. There was only her mouth against mine, firm and furious, and the surprising way she had caught me completely off guard.

Then I felt her fingers twist harder into my jacket.

She wasn't kissing me because she wanted to. She was making a point.

I pulled back, keeping my smile in place while the guests clapped. Her fingers were still knotted in my lapel. She didn't let go.

"Enjoy the applause, husband," she whispered against my lips. "Because this is the last time you'll ever get a kiss from me."