Scars of Love
Pain flared.
Cassandra lingered just long enough to stoop and whisper, "Have a good play, darling. I'll make sure to wave as I kiss him."
She spun on her heel, and there was laughter from the marble.
The ceremony went on. Jake sat, eyes wide in wonder at being the participant in yet another performance for yet another audience he didn't care about. Cassandra sparkled, every move choreographed, every smile a posed photo opportunity.
The speaker at the ceremony said, "You may now kiss the bride," and my stomach coiled in knots with anxiety. They kissed reluctantly, hard, awkwardly, slowly, painfully. Not love. Victory.