A WEDDING FIT FOR THE DEAD

Vladimir did not give Ivy any opportunity to respond.

The moment he voiced out her options, he turned around, and walked out of the room.

As he closed the door behind him, the spell that had pushed Ivy into a trance, broke.

“The nerve of that blonde man! How can he– how dare he– who does he think he– I can't eat Grandma's liver!” She concluded with a shriek.

Although she didn't understand this nightmare, because what else could it be described as? What would one call going all their life believing one thing, only to be smacked in the face by an opposing thing?

She didn't understand what was happening, but she knew for sure she couldn't live with the knowledge of her beloved grandmother who she always thought would outlive her because of how strong she was, laying in a coffin somewhere.

“You can do this Ivy. For grandma.” She gave herself a pep talk.

Without waiting for her racing heart to slow its pace, her feet began to move towards the door.

Standing in front of it made her hands clammy, but it was stepping out and finding a man waiting for her that made her realise there was no going back now.

“Boris Bratva, I will be holding your arms to the altar,” the man said, as he stretched his hand to her to build some sort of quick connection through a handshake.

Ivy looked around her first. She saw she was in a hallway that was dimly lit, and her confusion grew.

Her gaze returned to the older man with the outstretched hand.

“I'll walk on my own, thank you,” she said, averse to the idea of shaking a man's hand.

“Oh,” he withdrew his hand. “As you wish.” He stepped beside her, and cued her in towards their direction with a nudge.

Ivy, with a heart as heavy as an overfed pig, walked towards her slaughter ground as she described it in her heart.

Her eyes were pinned straight ahead, while her head rummaged through bitter thoughts.

Extremely lost she was in her thoughts, she didn't realise they had arrived at the entrance of their destination, until she felt a slight brush on her arm.

Her reaction was visceral, pushing her gaze towards the man who had touched her, when she thought she made it clear she didn't want that.

“We're here,” he quickly divulged.

Ivy looked away from him, and her eyes flickered on seeing where they were.

A big hall, with an isle that stretched too long, in her opinion.

It was almost dark in there, with the candles spread about as the only source of light.

Because of how dim it was, only the silhouette of the people seated in the rows of chairs were visible.

Ivy dragged her eyes away from the rows, because the silhouettes reminded her too much of one demon she was very familiar with- Millicent.

“Is this a wedding ceremony or an occultic initiation?” Ivy wondered, as she began the rigorous long walk towards the altar.

There was no music. Not even a whisper. It was dark, silent, and brooding.

“A funeral. My bloody funeral!” She panicked in her mind.

Whilst her tongue grew bitter, and bitter in taste, Vladimir observed her from the altar.

Aligned with the dark, he could see her perfectly.

He wasn't too proud to admit when he had been caught off guard.

Even on his death bed, his father had ensured he remembered that when the time came, he was to marry the Greene heiress.

Naturally, he thought part of the reason why he kept hammering on it was to prepare him for an ogre.

He was truly prepared to overlook the physical appearance, and focus on what they could achieve together.

Then he saw her, and she stared at him with her big green, expressive eyes.

His first thought? “A doll”

She looked like a doll that life was breathed into. It was the only way he could describe how breathtakingly beautiful she was.

And now she was walking towards him, to become his wife.

“Wife,” he thought, very much amused by the word.

Ivy finally arrived at the altar, took her position, and halted.

She didn't look up. She couldn't bring herself to look at the man that was forcing himself on her, and practically validating her disdain for men.

“Dearly beloved–” An unexpected English accent rose through the silence, grabbing Ivy's attention.

“Dearly beloved? Definitely a funeral,” she thought.

The priest went on and on for about ten minutes, but then he skipped the vow exchange, and proceeded to declare them husband and wife.

Silence descended again, only for a table to appear before them.

On the table were two documents, and two pens.

“Your marriage certificate. Sign here,” the priest ordered.

Ivy stepped forward first, just wanting to get this over with.

Picking up the pen, she swiftly signed as directed, and stepped back.

Impressed by her willingness, Vladimir signed too, and also stepped back.

“Well Vlad, by the power vested in me, I present to you your bride. You may kiss her.”

Her stomach flipped.

He must be joking! She thought.

There was no way in hell she was letting a man kiss her. A strange man at that. No way!

It was one thing to get married without an explanation. But intimacy? That was impossible. She would die with her grandma first before she–

“No need for that. See you at the reception room,” Vladimir said, turned around, and walked away.

A scoff hung in Ivy's throat. She couldn't believe how audacious he was.

Sure she didn't want to kiss him, but why did he think he could be so dismissive? Who made him the boss that dictated how everything went?

She was about to go after him to give him a piece of her mind when someone touched her from behind.

Her body spun around, ready to tell them off when her eyes caught the outline she recognised all too well.

“Grandma?” She blurted out in a confused tone.

“Congratulations, Princess. If I had my way, you wouldn't ever be in this position. But long before I got custody of you, your fate was sealed by your parents. I want to believe they know what is best for you. It breaks my heart, Princess, but there's nothing I can do about it.”

“I don't understand, Grandma. Why? What is happening? Please explain it to me. I'm so confused.”

She saw her grandma's lips moving, but before the words could truly come out, someone else interrupted.

“You've done enough. Your granddaughter is a Bratva now. She must start acting like one,” the feminine voice said through an unfriendly tone.

Ivy closed her eyes, and prayed for this nightmare to end.

It in fact did not end.

How could it, when it was only just the beginning?