The Other Half by A.N. Hart

Author:A.N. Hart [Hart, A.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781530687046
Published: 2016-06-24T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

Only then I am human

Only then I am clean.”

-Hozier

It’s our wedding day. First dawn of summer. Sun glowing in a cloudless sky. Wildflowers in full bloom—bluebells carpet the ground. My dress is white lace, see-through, but I am not embarrassed. So unlike me. But with him, I am not the Scylla Montgomery I was before. I am perfect. Beautiful, by the magic of hair and makeup. Virginal, by the power of self-control. Believe me, it wasn’t easy, waiting all this time. Worth it? I suppose I’ll have to answer that question tonight, after the festivities.

Slowly I walk toward the altar, a small bouquet of hyacinth and lily of the valley clutched between trembling hands. Creatures of all varieties pack either side of the aisle: dryads, elves, sprites, dwarves and, yes, even two unicorns. Harps strum a song I recognize, but cannot place. My groom stands alone at the altar, his back turned. Hands folded in front. His wedding clothes are made of black brocade with gold trim. What a marvelous contrast we shall be, standing side by side as we take our vows.

I grow closer and there, on the very front row, stand my parents. They smile, eyes glistening with tears. Beside them, my brother beams. His wink almost makes me laugh, but this is supposed to be a serious moment. Not every day a girl gets married. Especially to the man of her literal dreams.

Nervousness roils in my stomach. I close my eyes, then my mouth, tight. Inhale. Exhale. Slow and easy. A few minutes and the hard part will be over.

Yes, Scylla. This is your moment. Your time. It’s finally here.

But when I open my eyes, it is no longer a bouquet of hyacinth and lily of the valley I grasp, but a bundle of fresh black roses. The runner carpet beneath my feet is no longer royal blue but blood red. All that was once white—the flowers, the ribbons, the lace looping over and around the archway at the altar—is blacker than midnight.

The groom extends a hand, elegant fingers furled in a picture-perfect waterfall of silent invitation. Thank goodness. My knees were beginning to wobble. Imagination and nervousness play Ping-Pong in my mind. My hand slides into his and he pulls me forward. How wonderful he smells—nutmeg and ginger with a hint of cedarwood. A new fragrance? Maybe he had it made special for our wedding. How very thoughtful.

“I knew you would make the right choice.”

His voice—oh, my, but his voice is all that is masculine and musical and sophisticated. A drink of fine wine. That first taste of sweet crème brûlée. A marvelous, erotic mixture of honey and delicate—

The breath slams in my throat.

Green eyes dance with delight and something else. Mischief, perhaps.

I start to speak, but can’t form words, and then his head cocks to the side, and I’m fascinated by the sudden displacement of black fringe over his right eye.

“Who—?”

His brow furrows. A shadow passes over the chiseled planes of his face.

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