I take slow steps down the aisle. I'm dreading every step more than the last, but I know it's necessary. When I was a little girl, I pictured a fairy tale princess wedding- a day full of festivities and colorful decorations where I was treated like a Queen by my handsome Prince Charming, where there would be a horse and carriage to take us back to our hotel suite.
I got none of that. Instead I'm in a rundown venue with a cocky, self-absorbed and quite mysterious billionaire who I'm just meeting for the first time. And my 2004 Ford Taurus to take me back home afterwards because there is no way in hell I'm spending the night with him.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" my mom whispered beside me.
Ever since my dad passed when I was 6 years old, it has always been just my mom and I. She took care of me for all those years without any help. Even now at 23 years old, I'm still my mother's little girl with pigtails and a colorful bow in her hair in her eyes. Now, it is my turn to take care of her.
I snapped out of my daze and realized I looked upset and maybe even a bit angry. After all, I was upset and angry, but I promised myself I wouldn't let it show through to my mom.
"I'm fine," I stated simply and swallowed. "Just the usual wedding jitters is all."
"You know, you don't have to go through with this if you don't want to. We can find another way to get the money."
"I said I'm fine," a little more harshly than I meant. My mother winced.
"I'm sorry. It's just been a lot for me lately. But I really don't mind marrying him. He seems... like a nice guy."
My mother was silent. We kept walking down the aisle until we reached the front. My mother turned to me and gave me a big kiss on my cheek. "Oh, you look so beautiful! Your father would have been so proud."
"Thanks, mom. And thanks for walking me down the aisle. I don't know if I could've done it alone." She gave me a quick hug and shuffled back to her seat, waiting for the ceremony to take place.
I drew in a long, deep breath. His back was turned. He refused to look at me the whole time I was walking down the aisle, but now he slowly turned. He was even more imposing than in his Tinder profile picture. But damn, he was gorgeous.
He had cropped, dark brown hair spiked ever so slightly in the front with eyes to match, a firm jaw that stayed clenched as he looked me over, and tan skin. He had to be at least 6 feet tall. His muscles were bulging through his- very expensive Italian leather, might I add- tuxedo. Then, he smiled at me with that crooked half-smile and that's when I knew I was in trouble.