Faking It

Olivia was a wonderful seamstress and designer; this was something the whole family had known for a long time. But I never expected her to be able to produce something so beautiful for someone who didn't even want a wedding.My floor-length, lace white dress was covered in embroidered flowers and leaves that I knew must have taken hours to delicately perfect; the sheer sleeves had a branch of leaves falling down to the slim wrist. I felt like a princess, but one who was being tortured when I was handed the shoes I was supposed to wear.Whilst Olivia and I were completely different sizes in clothing - I was the thickness of a stick and five-foot-one, compared to her healthy weight and height of five-foot-five - we could still wear the same shoes. And Olivia happened to wear a lot more heels than I did, so the pair of peep-toe white heels with matching flowers embroidery and a thin ankle strap, would not have been a problem for her. I, on the other hand, was barely able

Armani and I sat down in the midst of both of our families. He was beside his father whilst I was beside my mother, and the rest of our families stretched on from there at the long table.Looking around the room, I didn't know many of the people, but I figured they were more Dad's friends than Olivia's, so I didn't have to worry about anyone wondering why the bride had been switched. Most would convince themselves that they'd simply had the wrong sister in mind - this was what my mother told me when she caught me staring at the guests.Dad made a short toast to bringing our families together, which he was clearly overjoyed about since it meant he didn't have to pay lots of money to the Cartellis. I pondered over how I could replace that money, as it must have been a large sum for my father to sell one of his daughters just to avoid it. But then, Dad had always been protective of his cash.After a meal that allowed me to rest my feet for a while, I was forced to

"Do I need to drug you?" "W-what?" I flung upright from my seat, my eyes locking on his. I could have sworn there was a glint of amusement in them but it could have been insanity. "Do I need to drug you?" he repeated in the same serious tone. "I can't stand how tense you are. It's making me uncomfortable." My posture collapsed. "I-I'm sorry, I've just... never really been on a private jet before. Hardly even a normal plane." "Does your father not own a private jet?" I shook my head. "I thought a man such as himself would jump at the opportunity to own one, but I could be wrong." "Could be?" Armani brought his drink to his lips. "Even the people closest to you could be hiding something, Rose." When he put down his glass, a thought flickered across his eyes. "What will ease your nerves, then? A drink?" He pushed the glass toward me, but I quickly pushed it back. "No, thank you... I don't..." 'I don't want

Seeing the very town we had passed by so quickly earlier without any rush was exciting. After parking just down the road, we walked as if we were any other couple along the streets, admiring the little stores, cafes, eateries and restaurants that littered the long stretch of concrete. Just behind the stores on one side, you could see the ocean, which many little cafes took advantage of with a decking facing the beautiful view. People looked at us and smiled. The few that scowled or showed any sign of contempt were often put in their place by a simple glare from the man hovering behind me. I couldn't help but watch him each time we passed a window. I needed to know if I was with someone mean, but he was as kind to most of the locals as I was. Still, I never saw him smile. Once the sun had set - which we enjoyed from the railing of the parking lot where Armani's fast white convertible sat - we headed back to the private beach house. It had been mostly quiet bet

From what I understood, we only had a few days left of our honeymoon. Armani tried to avoid answering whenever I asked about when we would be going back, though I didn't know why, so at some point, I stopped asking. He'd been slightly busier than usual today and had been missing since dinner, which was two hours ago. Sitting in the living room watching a nature documentary on TV, I was acutely aware of Bill standing outside likely cold, watching over the house and therefore me. I'd tried to invite him in but he said it was his duty to keep an eye on the house's surroundings, so I eventually just let it go and worried about him in silence. When I heard the front door open, I turned to see Armani dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, a shockingly casual attire that I'd only seen one other time during this trip. He walked over to me on the couch and sat down without a word, stretching his legs out onto an ottoman that I couldn't physically reach if I tried. I opened my mouth t