Rules of a Rebel

Rules of a Rebel || Epilogue and Fanart

FOUR YEARS LATER

(warning: this is very long)

(but also very good)

 - () - 

Two weeks until the wedding. 

I twist my engagement ring around my finger, a recent nervous habit, and look out the tinted window. The beginnings of the hotel poke out from the horizon as our stretch limo rolls up the driveway.

"Peyton, open the windows," Melody nudges me with her shoulder. "We want to take pictures."

I press a button and all of the sixteen windows roll down. Florida air, hot and sticky, breezes through the window. Everybody, including me, sticks their head out to get a better look.

Florence Estates is a celebrity among wedding venues. Based on the arched gates and rolling green fields, I can tell why. It looks more like a palace than it does a hotel. Palm trees rustle and and the faint scent of rose petals lingers in the air. Cream-colored towers, polished and proud, raise up to the cloud sky. I half-expect to see a princess running through the fields. 

"Wow," Melody clicks her camera rapidly, trying to get every angle. "This is already so romantic." 

"Just imagine getting married here," A girl behind me muses. 

"I wish it were me," Says another. 

"Me too." 

"Bettie's such a lucky girl." 

Everybody sighs in agreement. 

"I can't believe her luck," May, a bridesmaid that I recognize, says. "Not only does she become a famous writer, but she gets the one of the hottest and richest man in the world? So jealous." 

"So jealous," The rest repeat. 

My phone dings. 

I lean back into the limo and swipe the screen to see that one of my coworkers, Minnie, has texted me to confirm a recent case we want to take on. I reply in a couple of brief sentences and put it back on my purse just in time for us to arrive at the front steps. 

Bettie and her fiancee, Damien, wait at the top.

Their friends rush out of the limo as soon as the driver opens the door. I'm the last one to exit, thanking the driver before I walk up the steps. Everybody crowds around the groom and bride, chattering excitedly. 

I consider escaping. 

Maybe I can go through the back door or something. But then Damien catches my eye. 

Damn.

I wait until most of the crowd disperses before walking up the steps. 

Bettie offers me a strained smile. A little queasy, I return it. Don't look down, I tell myself, but can't help it. I try not to look down, but I can't help it. In just eight months, her belly has swelled up to the size of a watermelon. She has her hands rested around the curve, the diamond ring glinting brightly, and smiles at me through her Gucci sunglasses. 

"Hey Peyton. You can meet my eye, you know," Her brunette curls fall to her waist, shifting with every small movement she makes. "I'm pregnant, not poisonous." 

"I know," That doesn't mean that the sight doesn't make me uncomfortable. "Um. How's the baby doing?" 

"Babies, actually. We're having twin boys," She leans next to her husband. To complete the perfect picture, he kisses the top of her head. "And they're doing just fine, last time we checked. I just hope they wait until after the honeymoon to be born."