Chapter 119 The Anticipated Wedding
People were looking forward to their spectacular wedding, anticipating a dream-like, royal wedding straight out of one’s dream.
Every detail, from the rose-gold chandeliers to the pink flowers, spoke of Peach Harrison's wealth and impeccable taste.
Yet, the air beneath the opulent tent was heavy and cold, a chilling contrast to the vibrant colors. There was something missing.
Love and compassion.
“Peach?”
A soft knock preceded the opening of the door. Mr. Harrison entered, his usual formidable composure was laced with worry.
He watched her for a moment, her back facing him, her posture rigid.
“There it is, the day you await. Also the day you will bargain your self-respect, Peach,”
She didn't turn around. She didn't need to. She simply lowered her head with an unwanted powerlessness, clutching the bouquet rigidly.
“Don’t lower your gaze in shame.” He paused, standing beside her, lifting his darling daughter’s chin to be unbreakable like always.
“I know you. You destroy what you cannot own. You failed before.”
Her softened, distressful gaze lifted.
She knew she might be taking a decision out of sheer submission but backing away was no longer a choice.
Peach flinched. The words were heavy with history, a reminder of a past attempt to control Luke that had backfired disastrously.
“Is this your revenge? Are you going to complete what you couldn’t? Is it all to satisfy your ego or a submission to your love?”
Peach took a deep breath before forming a trembling smile, “What if it’s… both? Will it make me more pathetic?”
He smiled, “You are not pathetic.”
Holding her shoulder, he pulled her into a side hug, a hint of disappointment gleaming in his eyes.
“That is the result of my poor upbringing. If I had given you my enough time, you wouldn’t have to search it in-”
Mr. Harrison kissed the top of her head. She forced a smile, resting her head against his chest.
“It cannot be undone nor am I angry with you, Papa.” She shrugged, gesturing to him to relax and not be vexed about it.
“Please, I want my daughter to be happily married, to have a sacred bond. Not some… deal or hidden motive,” Hugging her firmly, Mr. Harrison whispered desperately.
Peach’s lips parted but she knew she had nothing for his assurance. Forming her lips in a thin line, she stepped back slightly still the string of worry lingered.
“Peach, is this really what you want?”
She met his gaze, all her doubts vanishing, replaced with sheer determination. She was willing to accept the outcome of her actions.
“Yes, Papa,”
A shadow of deep sorrow crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a weary acceptance. When Peach had decided, he couldn’t un-convince her. Her aims had always been absolute.
He smoothed the sleeve of her gown, then offered her his arm, the gesture formal ready to escort her towards the altar.
“If that’s the case then you have my blessings my daughter,”
Mr. Harrison walked Peach down the aisle.
Peach looked magnificent, radiating triumph in a blush-pink gown that shimmered with hand-sewn pearls, face covered with a veil.
All her agitation vanquished when she saw Luke as her soon-to-be husband, dressed handsomely in a white three piece suit jacket.
When her eyes locked with him- it all became worth it.
She had won.
She had demanded the notorious playboy, the coveted Luke, and here he stood, bound to her forever, to be hers.
She required nothing more.
When she came near, Luke immediately offered his hand gallantly.
“Today, I am giving my most cherished possession to you, Luke,” Mr. Harrison gulped, tears filling his eyes when they stepped up.
“Return her back to me if you can’t carry this on but please don’t… break her,” The most successful businessman begged his son-in-law with tears.
Luke smiled, as a respectable gesture, he stepped down and hugged Mr. Harrison to soothe him.
“Relax, Mr. Harrison. Don’t consider me that shameless. Your precious is my precious from now on,” Luke smiled, patting his shoulder.
“Okay, Bless you two,”
After exchanging a sweet smile, he went back to his bride.
But while the priest spoke the sacred vows, his eyes were not on Peach. They were fixed, with chilling precision, on a single point in the second row- Arabella.
Not out of anguish or hatred but out of victory.
Arabella was seated alone because William was beside his brother as the best man, dressed in a formal dark blue suit-jacket, grinning, overflowing with felicity for his brother.
“Your turn, Luke,” William called, dragging him out of his thoughts to exchange rings.
“Ah, yes,”
Arabella glared.
He couldn’t care less about it and pretended she longer exists, keeping William busy too so he won’t get a chance to even glance at his wife.
“I pronounce you as Husband and Wife. You may now kiss the bride!”
Peach’s face flushed, a redness creeping on her cheek with an uncontrollable smile. She could feel her heart hammering rapidly against her ribcage when Luke lifted her veil.
Peach squeezed his hand. She smiled wider, a private, triumphant smile meant only for him, her eyes shone when he observed his bride thoroughly.
‘He is mine. He is finally mine.’
Luke tilted his head, his eyes, cold, meeting hers, lifting her chin with his index finger, moving it gently across her skin, leaving everyone in anticipation.
“Peach, I am giving all my emotions to you, to look after them. Don’t disappoint me this time,”
His words were not a gift, but a threat. He was not giving her his heart; he was handing her the burden of his lack of feeling.
Her felicity diminished yet she kept the smile and nodded.
“I won’t. I promise, I won’t, Luke,” Peach’s gaze lowered for a fleeting second, gathering the last shred of her courage.
Luke smiled feebly, leaning down to kiss his bride. Her eyes shut, to sway in the mystic sensation and kiss properly but he didn’t move.
It was not a kiss of love, or even passion. It was a precise, controlled press of lips, a strict reminder to not let go of their past.
A tear pricked in the eyes, the past weeks, the preparation and his gentleman behavior made her ‘almost’ forget about his blazing heart.
When he drew back, his gaze was already drifting away, leaving Peach utterly frozen. After a three-second cold kiss, he was ready to step down with immaculate acting.
Her fingers dug into his skin anxiously, refusing to let him go.
“Hmm? Do you want to ask something?” He paused, maintaining the grin.
“If…” She gulped, matching her steps with his, “If I managed to hold your heart, will you love me one day, Luke?”
The question hung, heavy and pathetic, in the space between the man seeking vengeance and the woman begging for a miracle.
“Why don’t we find out?”
He lowered his voice, delivering the final, devastating blow. The phrase held no tenderness, no hope, only the cold promise.
That was the moment she knew it was not a wedding, but a trial- for both of them.