Nixon

••• Thirty •••

My mind cannot wrap around the events just an hour away. My head spins with all the thoughts flying through my head, all the endless possibilities, of everything that could happen and if I even want it to happen. With my damp hair blow dried by Opal, my hair stylist, she takes time making sure that my hair looks perfect for the day before me as I sit in a chair before a grand mirror. The room we are in has wooden floors and pastel purple walls, mirrors covering much of the room as two massive windows are on the east wall. This is the ironic church I am to marry Nixon Maxwell in, the building that many werewolves from his pack marry in, the church looking like none other as when I arrived today it looked like something out of a Disney movie. Maybe I will enjoy this day, after all, I am to take Nixon's hand in marriage. The last person to do so ended up murdered by the very hand she took. Would he do that to me?

No. Am I certain? Somehow I am, I am because Nixon sees no threat from another male nor have I ever thought of cheating on him. Sure, Terrance happened, but that was months ago before Nixon became what I lived and breathed like some fish gasping for water as it lays on dry land.

"Beautiful," Opal comments, adding the last pin into my hair as I check out what my hair has been transformed into. There are a few curled pieces to frame my face, the rest of my light locks pinned back into a beautiful updo with multiple fishtail braids, the pins placed in my hair covered lightly with baby's breath, a beautiful flower. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," I whisper, checking out more of the work Opal has completed as she smiles, heading over to the small bag she brought. Taking out the makeup for today, I sit back and allow her to do her work. Natalia, Nixon's sister and my maid of honor, should be back any minute, grabbing my veil that I forgot in the car I drove over today. Yes, there is some tradition that the groom cannot look at his bride the night before, but tradition has never meant much to either Nixon or me. If anything, we spent the night together last night just like the last, the sheets tangled around our bodies, chests rising and falling as our heartbeats were quick, and my mind wondering if I could ever genially smile after this day becomes complete.

"Of my goddess, I love that," Natalia greets, referring to my hair as she holds the delicate bag that contains my veil. How ironic that I wear a veil even though what it symbolizes is something I lost. "Are you excited?"

I nod. I need to be the happy and excited bride, not to raise suspicion over the events of today and if the bride is even wanting to marry her groom. If anything, I am nervous, not because I feel like I will not agree for better or for worse, but because I worry about what life will be like after today. If anything, soon a child will arrive and Nixon will become a father, something I am not certain of. He says he will not teach our child his ways, but I do not wish for our child to grow up looking up to a man who rules with fear and has murdered his wife and once best friend.

"Very excited," I lie, Opal completely the makeup that I wear as I see she kept it light like I asked. Just a simple nude look, the only obvious color being my lips that are slightly painted a soft pink color. "But also nervous."

Natalia nods, checking her watch as I see her hair is curled and her makeup already done. I now have thirty minutes before I walk down the isle and I can already hear people in the lobby of the church. Outside lies guests that think I am either a gold digger, whore, or somehow about to have won Nixon Maxwell's heart. Lily Maxwell...I have not thought about that name till now. It never crossed my mind to test out how that would sound, but I believe that it sounds fitting.

Getting up from the chair, I remove the silk white robe that I wear, revealing a corset that somehow manages to be backless to fit the design of the dress. Natalia opens the box with my wedding dress, a smile crossing her lips as she pulls it out and looks at the masterpiece. "You lucky duck," she comments, examining the dress that I have not really seen except for when Cher had designed it a week ago.