The Wedding - 1

"Get out of the way, Tosser!"

That bellow which was spat from the man in front, threatened to have me pushing out this moving vehicle, dashing onto the traffic laid ahead, but every part of me knew better.

Oh, the girl in me dare not.

If it was some other day, if the situation wasn't as intense as I found it to be, perhaps I would spare a listen to those words which poured out the lips of Timothy, while he got into a road brawl with the number of cars which came by us.

And at each passing second, it would be one insult or the other, him finding his next victim to get into a game of fast and furious with, as if we weren't already half an hour behind.

I could feel that prick on my skin.

Nah, believe me. It sure wasn't the prick at my heart. That burn which had lingered with me since the night father dropped the news. In fact, I had gotten so familiar with the burn, I could tell just when it differed.

This was something far different. Of course, I knew.

I could feel the itch on my skin. That itch spreading all the way down my thighs, while I wrestled with the wedding dress I had been thrown into.

To my left, I caught sight of a bunch of girls, treading the roadside, each one of those faces clouded with what one would presume, happiness. They went scurrying onwards in their skimpy dresses, with the sound of their chatters mixing with that of car honks blaring.

Perhaps it was the trail of those forms and the ruckus they pulled about, or it could be just how their skimpily clad figures were sure to glisten under the midday London sun that had every driver, males in particular, turning heads to their direction, watching as those long legs from the belles, treaded along the pavement.

I could hear the whistles following, and what more could one ask for being stuck in traffic, and having six starlets, coming out of nowhere having the road turned into their own runway.

But amidst that, it was their joy that had me struck.

Such joy they exhumed, I could only wonder how it felt having such freedom.

To my right, a bunch of kids went scampering around the local park set there, each one of those figures appearing wholesome, seemingly unbothered by the tumult breaking out on this end.

Once again, it was their joy I envied.

It was only three days ago, when Mother and Father had returned home, bearing such news that marked the start of my grief.

I remembered all which came with that hour.

And it was at that same hour I got forced to make a call to David, calling off our relationship of five years, putting an end to it at the spot.

Believe me, it wasn't as plain as I state it to be, for the instant I was found locked in that moment, I swear, I was bound to be scarred.

Perhaps that was enough reason for the hurt to clutch at my heart.

Brrrrrinnnngggg!

I didn't need a soothsayer to tell me whose contact was showing up my phone screen.

Already, I could tell just who it was, who so felt it proper cracking into the not-so-much-calm. And the instant I turned to that phone, I saw her name flashing on it.

If it wasn't her aching to know how close we had gotten, it would be her calling to check up on me, wanting to know if I hadn't done something that would leave the rest of my family raging.

Brrrinnnnngggg!

There came the rings yet again, phone blaring. And this time around, I was sure to pick up the cell.

"Bloody bell, Isabella! Where are you?!" That yell was the first my ears caught onto.

Silence.

"Isabella" I heard the voice of mother roar from the other end, and without uttering a word, I ended the call, switching off my cell, and only then did the tears I struggled so hard to suppress come rushing to the surface.

I still couldn't tell whatever her agitation was. After all, it was her and father who had pushed me into a car with two Roman warriors, believing they would prevent me from running away, like I had anywhere to go to.

Who could blame them though?

I had threatened to pack my things and leave after they dropped the news on me.

"You are to marry Luca Bonnucci" Those were the exact words mother told me that night I returned from David's home.

What were they even thinking?

They could have at least dropped the news a week prior, two weeks perhaps, a month even. And maybe then, just maybe, I would have had the time to run off to some Slavic country, where I was pretty sure not even father's dogs could sniff me out.

But my own parents barely cared about me, I should have realized that by now. I should have known better after they had Lola flown to study in some American academy, and I was made familiar with the public institution at the back of our home.

Or could it be that summer Suzy was taken to Maldives in celebration of her birthday, and as for mine, well mother so happened to be considerate sending me off to spend such blessed day with the orphans at St. Agatha's.

Adrian always told me I was the outcast of the family, and bless the man's soul, but he surely meant that as innocently as it could be.

But was he wrong though? Already I felt an outcast, it was only fair someone had that put out in words. It just was unfortunate it had to come from our butler.

One would think I had it all.

The girls in my school used to say that after all—Having a father who owned such massive empire, a mother known for her numerous designs spread across the country, two sisters who were known for always gracing the T.V screens of every American household, and there was me. Plain ol' Isabella.

Don't take it serious, that's what my sisters call me, and it so happened to have stuck by.

Honk! Honk!

There went the blaring of Father's Mercedes yet again, accompanied with the threats of Timothy aimed at whoever dare block our path.

He pushed hard on the accelerator, having the car going past the limits, and believe me, there was no need to fret, as even the cops wouldn't have time pulling us over, issuing us a ticket. For all around town, set on the pages of every magazine in the country, was the wedding of Luca Mauro Bonnucci and Isabella Mae Campbell.

The wedding which seemed to be the rave of all, so happened to be my doom. Or so, I thought.