002 *Bailey*

I didn’t find another groom.

I found a bar instead.

And I began to drink my organs to death.

On my fifth shot of vodka, I realized I was drawing attention to myself, apparently a woman in a wedding dress drinking like she’s training for the Olympics is a spectacle.

Sighing, I clear the bill and walk out of the bar, wandering around for a while until I eventually end up at my favorite place in the City, Lancaster Gallery.

The place is busier than I've ever seen it. I stop a passing server, desperate for an explanation, anything that makes this day make sense, really.

“A wedding." The server says cheerfully, his brow lifting when he notices my dress.

I go still, unable to believe my ill luck.

Of all the days my safe haven could have been used for a wedding, it had to be today? Looks like the universe isn’t done laughing at me yet.

Just fucking great.

Groaning, I grab a glass of champagne from his tray, and I head for the door, racking my brain for somewhere to hide until the day ends.

“Miss? Miss!”

A petite woman in a headset chases after me, breathless. She grabs my arm before I can step outside.

“What are you doing? Let me…”

“There you are. God, we’ve been looking everywhere. You can’t just disappear like that, your groom is losing his mind.” She goes off, oblivious to my discomfort.

“My… what?” I stutter when her words sink in.

She freezes, her eyes widening as she finally focuses on my face.

“You changed your dress? And your hair? Why on earth would you do that?!” She yells. I stare at her, at a loss for words.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. We don’t have time. The minister is threatening to leave, and your fiancé is very upset. So just, please, come with me, let's get you to the altar.”

Her urgency steamrolls my sanity, and before I can protest, she’s pulling me down a hallway. I mutely allow her, still trying to understand what's going on.

She releases me when we reach a room set up like an office, but it looks more like a mini conference hall/showroom.

I look around for some clarity, and I immediately spot my favorite painting, Gloomy Sun. It’s a sunrise, but painted so cold and hollow that instead of hope, it drags you into loneliness.

A sunrise that doesn’t rise for anyone.

I walk towards it, running my fingers over it gently in amazement. I love this piece, I've always wanted one but I can't even afford a copy. Noticing the initials below it, I freeze, realizing this isn't a copy. It's the original.

Oh my goodness.

“Whose office is this?" I ask with bated breath, suddenly becoming aware of the other arrays of art in the room—all originals.

Holy fucking shit, no way this is happening.

“Your fiancé, Miss." She replies urgently, frowning at me.

That word again!

“And who is that?"

"Romeo Lancaster.”

“Romeo Lancaster?!” I sputter, choking on my own saliva like an idiot.

"Yes, Miss.” She huffs. “Are you okay?” She sighs. "Miss, please sit so the makeup artist can touch up on your makeup.” She adds, eyeing me like I'm crazy.

Maybe I am.

“Who are you?" I ask.

"Miss, please. We don't have time for another mood swing.” She mutters but when I don't budge, she sighs.

“Sarah, Miss, Your event planner." She says slowly, “You hired me this morning after you fired the last one for not getting your vision right. Don't worry, Miss, you're going to love what I've done with the hall. It's exactly as you described it." She speaks carefully, clearly looking to get my approval.

Nodding slowly, I say,

“So today is my wedding day to Romeo Lancaster, and I hired you, my event planner, this morning, on my wedding day, yes?"

"That's right, Miss.”

I pause for a few seconds, waiting for the cameras to pop up or for her to laugh, anything to assure me this is all just a prank, but nothing happens.

She's not joking, is she?

What?!

I chuckle bitterly, throwing my hands up.

Is this the universe mocking me?

First my wedding was ruined and now I'm supposedly getting married to a man I've adored from afar for years now?

Romeo Lancaster was my childhood crush and biggest fantasy before Crawford came along. But I knew nothing could ever happen between us.

He is a multi-billionaire businessman and a successful celebrity artist, and I? I'm a wannabe painter who owns a bakery shop courtesy of her wealthy fiancé. Former fiancé.

So how the hell is it possible that I'm getting married to him?

Sarah helps me into a chair before I can say anything else, someone walks in, and she orders her to start working on my face all the while I keep waiting to wake up from the crazy dream I must have slipped into.

When the makeup artist is done, she throws a veil over my face and steps back, frowning like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“What is it?" Sarah asks the makeup artist.

“I don't know, I just…” she trails off, glancing at me uneasily before facing Sarah. “She just looks… different.”

"All that doesn't matter right now. After the scene she caused earlier, I'm not too surprised if she's acting strange again. Let's just get her to the aisle before everyone gets tired and leaves. We'll sort the rest out later.” Sarah mumbles but I hear her and now it's my turn to frown.

Someone knocks on the door before I can say anything, and she rushes to answer it, half-open, assuring them that we'll be out in a minute.

“Can we go?” She asks. And the makeup artist nods.

She helps me stand up, leading me out of the office down a hall. Soon, we're standing in front of a door, and I suddenly feel the urge to run.

"Are you ready?” She asks, and I hesitate.

I'm a loner. If I had married Crawford today, no one would walk me down the aisle because I don't have a father, I’d have no chief bridesmaids, no flower girl, absolutely nothing. And it never bothered me until this exact second, when it suddenly feels like it always has.

Sarah squeezes my shoulders gently, like she could read my mind.

“You can do this, Miss."

The door springs open, the music comes on, a bouquet is placed in my hands, and the crowd stands up, waiting for me to walk in.

Drawing in a deep breath, I take my first step, my breath hitching as the violinist hits a high note. I look down the aisle, pausing as I see the man I'm supposedly marrying.

It's really him.

Romeo stands at the end of the aisle like a carved statue; tall, sharp, and impossibly composed. His usually ruffled black hair is now styled backward, and half his beard is gone, giving him a boyish look. It's a shame, I loved his full beard.

His eyes sweep over me in a slow and dissecting manner that's too sharp for comfort. His brows lift just slightly, and a cold and calculating expression flickers on his face.

It doesn't look like recognition or affection, but it's closer to suspicion and maybe disdain? My breath trembles, and the room tilts. For a moment, I consider running, but the doors shut behind me, sealing me into a reality I'm starting to debate isn't a dream after all.

I force a brave smile, hoping for a soothing one in return, but he only nods coldly as he inconspicuously motions for me to keep walking with his fingers.

I blink, jerking back into action. As I walk, I try my best to keep my gaze straight, but something— someone familiar catches my eyes at the front.

Not believing my eyes, I look again, and I see it's my father; the man who's spent my whole life rejecting me at every chance he gets before I finally got tired and did the same to him. I only bear his name, but I don't have his love or acceptance.

He's frowning, but he smiles when our eyes meet, making me freeze as my heart slams against my ribcage.

In what world is my father at my wedding? Or even smiling at me?

What cruel game is my mind playing with me?

First my wedding got ruined, then I'm supposedly having another one and the father who ruined me is present?

“Is that her? She looks different… and lost.”

“Maybe she changed her mind.”

Whispers come from behind me, jolting me out of my shock, and I hurry down the aisle, exhaling when I finally reach Romeo. Our eyes meet, and the sheer intensity in his blue ocean sucks the air out of my lungs.

His lips move slightly into something that borders on a grimace and a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkle, exposing his age a little, yet he looks so damn good; devastatingly handsome and entirely unreachable.

I stare at him like a mesmerized fool, his scent, his aura, and our proximity overwhelming me.

“Hi,” I whisper, breathless for reasons that have nothing to do with nerves.

“Hi." He grunts, his eyes narrowing as he gives me a thorough once-over.

He hesitates when our eyes meet, just a second too long, like he’s trying to remember something, but then he sighs and turns to the minister, saying,

“Let's get this over with."