Chapter 6: The Cold Wedding Ceremony

Towering columns of the cathedral loomed overhead, throwing long shadows over the waiting visitors. The exquisite aroma of roses that graced the altar permeated the dense air mixed with the costly perfume. Through the stained glass, the sunlight created vivid red, blue, and gold tones across the space. Still at the altar, Scarlet Langston sensed none of the warmth the sunlight promised.

The coldness radiating from the man next her had nothing to do with the temperature in the air. Standing upright, Tucker Beaumont closed his jaw and looked ahead as though he were staring through the throng instead of her. Like his attitude, his hands were held hard and uncompromising in front of him. As always, his suit was perfectly fitted black as the night, with a subtle sheen suggesting the riches it stood for. His visage was fixed in stone unreadable and apathetic. Scarlet could sense he was a guy without room for sentiment, without patience, and without love. His body shouted every inch he was here as he had to be, not because he wanted to be. Scarlet sensed every inch the outsider in her gorgeous white gown.

The complex lace embraced her body, but she felt imprisoned in it, as though the dress itself represented the cage she had freely entered. Her heart hammered wildly against her breast, but no one was there to console her; only the weight of the commitment she had given would do. The wedding was for obligation an agreement, not for love or a shared destiny. Her life the life she had known was sliding through her hands; all she could do was survive. The vows arrived promptly, mechanical, practiced. Her voice stammered somewhat when it was her time.

"I, Scarlet Langston, take you, Tucker Beaumont, to be my legally wedged spouse...."

She stared at him, at the guy who had once held her heart, who had once pledged to be at her side through anything, and the words stayed in her throat. She now only saw a man in a suit, driven just to punish her for her errors. Then, when it was Tucker's turn, he spoke coldly and precisely, "I, Tucker Beaumont, accept you, Scarlet Langston, to be my lawfully married wife." His voice lacked the affection that had previously throbbed between them. It was also barren of warmth. Rather, it was an assertion of control a directive bearing the weight of all she had lost. She felt it deep in her bones, the knowledge that this was a business deal rather than a relationship founded of love.

Her eyes strayed momentarily to the guest faces as the ceremony progressed. The grandeur of the event seemed to mock her right then. The grins, the whispers, the arrogant looks all felt as an illusion. An event staged for the elite. Underneath the surface, though, Scarlet's stomach turned over with guilt, annoyance, and a great sense of loneliness. She was the woman who had left Tucker, seeking a future her own, but in this instant she understood just how far away that future had grown. The officiant asked whether anyone disagreed, and for a brief moment Scarlet dreamed of screaming. To cancel the wedding, to flee from the mess she had discovered she was in.

But none of the words came. Her surrounds were just the weighty silence of the chapel. The rings were swapped, and before long they were clearly husband and wife. But the words lacked true resonance. They felt not like a beginning. They felt as though a chapter's finality, that of a door closing, was about here. A cold smile drew at Tucker's lips as they turned to face the throng. nothing real; merely a deliberate action. It seemed as though the contract had been signed and now it was time for the next stage. Scarlet could see the fractures under his polished front when others couldn. She could sense his wrath pouring off him.

As the ceremony ended, the suspense in the air intensified. As guests started to clap, Scarlet heard hollow claps. She hardly heard the visitors congratulating them chatting, laughing, or clinking glasses. It was all a blur too quick, too chilly, too empty. Then, though, a shadow passed over the altar, as if to make the situation much more intolerable. Tucker's father, Wyatt Lockwood, had wandered into the church. Wyatt always exuded tall, broad-shouldered, austere might. His sharp, calculating eyes were fixed on Scarlet, as if she were nothing more than a barrier in his path. His salt-and-pepper hair was well combed. His eyes stayed fixed on her as he descended the aisle. No warmth or grin existed. Just a frigid, stifling glance that made her feel little, useless. The room seemed to quiet as he got closer. The air thick with Wyatt's obvious hostility dwindled down even the whispers of the visitors.

His eyes moved from Tucker to Scarlet, and his lips turned into a grimace as if he had lately tasted something bad. "Wyatt," Tucker muttered, his voice still as frigid as it had been, but Scarlet could sense constriction in his throat. There was a flutter of something he tried to disguise, a disquiet. Still, it wasn't sufficient to hide from Scarlet. As Wyatt addressed the couple, his voice came out sharp and contemptuous. "Tucker, I never considered you would really carry out this charade." His eyes never left Scarlet as he spoke, as though she were beneath his contempt. This... lady... She is not at this place. Son, you have made a mistake. You would come to regret it. Tucker stayed austere, his face blank, but his jaw clearly tightened. "It's finished, Father." I will take care of it. Wyatt still had to finish, though. He dropped his voice to a whisper only Scarlet could hear as he leaned closer. She is not good enough for you.

Never forget that, always. The celebration was a spectacular event sophisticated, opulent, and full of smiles not quite visible to those engaged. The chandeliers above glittered golden light over the well placed tables and visitors dressed to wow. The actual drama playing out in the center of it all was like a background against the laughing and clinking of glasses. Scarlet couldn't get rid of the sensation she was surrounded by total strangers. Those who murmured behind their hands, peering at her with inquiry, mistrust, even contempt. She seemed to have been thrown into a world far apart from her modest beginnings, one she did not belong in. Tucker had already turned into a corner, surrounded by business partners and friends, politeness but not really engaged. This wedding was obviously only means to an end for him, nothing more. Conversely, Scarlet sensed the weight of the quiet between them, the distance separating them over the years widening. And last there was Tucker's cousin Gabrielle Richards. She found herself staring coldly, judgmentally at Scarlet. Gabrielle's lips tightly closed into a smile as their eyes locked, the type that suggested she barely trusted Scarlet one bit. It served as a quiet alert.

Scarlet felt the heat of her inspection. Nearby, Tucker's mother Magnolia Prescott watched Scar with a bewildered, almost cynical expression. She hovered. Having a history of being under control by her husband, Wyatt, she was a woman of tremendous beauty and minimal warmth. Her presence accentuated the stifling pressure surrounding Scar. Of course, Wyatt had not slackened. Scarlet was supposed to be reminded of her position by his cutting remarks, muttered just loud enough for her to hear. She neither fit here nor did he. Every time he looked at her, she could feel the weight of his stare, a continual reminder she was the outsider. Scarlet sensed the walls closing in as nightfall progressed. She was a puppet in a play she did not own, a woman assigned a part she never desired.

Then, when she started to believe it couldn't get worse, she spotted Wyatt grinning as he murmured something to Magnolia. Her pride, her sense of self, seemed to be erasing as if all she had battled for her house. Her hands closed into fists at her sides, and that night she experienced the first surge of wrath. It was enough to inspire her to wish she could undo all she had been pushed into. Still, the question remained: how could she possible fight back when everything every single person seemed against her?