Beautiful Mess ✔ [Completed]

Teaser

There was a full-length mirror in the one person room. It was hung on the closet door, as they usually are in hotels, to save space. This one had a crack near the top that no one had yet bothered to fix, presumably put there by a former patron who had slammed the door shut out of anger...or maybe just kicked it closed on their way to check out, carrying too many bags. However it got there, Daya chose to ignore it as he stared down his reflection. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, made sure his boutonnière was pinned firmly into place, and ran slightly jittery fingers through his hairs for the hundredth time that morning. He tried to make the man in the mirror look calm and composed, not the wreck of nerves it was reflecting. He drew his lips into a smile, which helped a little. He had a beautiful smile; hardly a day went by when someone, usually a complete stranger, didn't remind him of that fact. Even though it made him feel like a bit of a narcissist, Daya had to admit that they were right. It was probably his best feature and, more importantly, had always served him well. In his childhood, one flash of that bright grin and he usually got what he wanted.

As an adult, he'd learned to use the expression to gain trust, quell fears, and generally charm other people. That was his real profession, real life's work... being unbelievably charming. He might write down his occupation as "psychic medium" (much to the amusement of whoever was reviewing the form), but it really should have read "charmer". He was very good at his job. He could charm people into tears, into anger, into a trance, into a confession, or out of their money, in under two hours...guaranteed.

There was just one person he'd never been able to work his magic on, not really anyway. He supposed he'd impressed her with his parlour tricks, endeared her with his smile, strung her along on a joke, but really pull one over on her? Never. The woman just a floor below him, who was no doubt fussing over her own hair and fiddling with an expensive white dress, had never fallen victim to the charm of Daya Shetty.

"Hey! C'mon Daya, limo's here! Time to get this show on the road!"

...and she was going to marry him.

Genuinely smiling now, Daya gave his best man a nervous laugh and headed out the open door and to the waiting limousine.

The ride to the ceremony was quick, but not nearly quick enough as Daya sat, staring out the window, feet tapping and hands fidgeting, looking more anxious than he had allowed himself to in a long time. The analytical part of his brain was trying to figure what in the world he was so nervous for, it was just a wedding! All he had to do was stand at the altar, smile, and repeat after the priest. Simple. However, the emotional part of his brain wasn't listening. It was his wedding. Obviously, the personal aspect of the situation was causing irrational behaviour.

The old, ornate church was packed and sweltering when they arrived. Outside, much to the groom's amusement, there were even a few cameras taking snapshots for the local tabloids. He had expected something like this; it only meant that his grand plan for success was moving along wonderfully. It was probably lucky they were getting married now, who knew what kind of publicity he might be getting in a couple months, once the painting was auctioned. This was the one thing that worried her as he worked his way towards becoming a "renowned artist". Would they lose their privacy? Become a rag mag freak show? No, he assured her, with a smile, he could get any of them to back off with a snap of his fingers.

Before he even had time to sort through his thoughts, Daya had been guided to his place next to the altar and the sanctuary had gone silent as a few notes of piano music began to play. As the bridal party meandered slowly down the aisle, Daya worked to compose himself into a confident appearance. Internally, he was hopping. For once, he knew what it felt like to have butterflies in his stomach. He looked at the people seated in the congregation, trying to distract himself a bit by reading their emotions. On "his" side of the aisle was his aging aunt with tears in her eyes, mostly because she was thinking her sister should be there to watch her son get married, although she secretly relished the fact that Daya has become a sort of surrogate child for her.

Daya raised his eyes to the back of the church just as the oohs and ahhs began to echo around the room. She was walking, arm and arm with her father. The details on her princess-worthy gown catching the light of the stained glass windows, light brown hair arranged under a long white veil, smiling, with her eyes fixed on him.

She reached him at last, her father said something that Daya didn't bother to listen to, she put her hands in his. Something hot was running down his cheek but he didn't want to take his hands away from her to wipe it off.

It's true, what people say about weddings, that you spend months planning and worrying over something that will happen in a flash. Before he knew it, Daya had said his vows and was walking down the aisle with his wife; that winning smile feeling like it would never come off his face. Next was a limo to the reception, also picture-perfect and beautifully arranged, thanks to her eye for style. The only minor annoyance was a police siren speeding by the villa as the couple's first dance began, but even that couldn't dampen the moment. Everyone agreed they were the most beautiful couple, the most in love, and destined for the most wonderful life. Daya, looking down at his wife as they cut into their wedding cake, had to agree.

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"You do love me back, don't you?" he asked almost shyly, and he knew his eyes were open and vulnerable.

He wasn't afraid any longer. She was his home, his shelter.

"I love you, Daya," she said honestly, framing his face with her hands. "please, my love- never doubt that I do."

He nodded slowly. He wouldn't.

And he knew he would fight to the end to make sure that she would never doubt his feelings, either.

"I love you too, Shreya"