Written in Ink

Eight | Reagan

 It's been a week and a half since my life was signed away, and I haven't seen Alonzo since he was furious with me. I have literally seen no one apart from Marco and a few maids. They have even been bringing up my food, so haven't even left my room. Not going to lie— being stuck in this room sucked the first day, but now I've figured out the television and I've watched a crap ton of movies and TV shows.

Watching TV all night has taken a toll on my appearance though. Dark bags have stained my under eyes. If I want to look decent at this wedding, I should go to sleep more. But then again, it's four in the morning and a new episode just started.

Supposedly the wedding is in a couple of weeks. I've been given these nasty drinks that make my stomach hurt so much that I can't eat anything. After looking in the mirror, I have found that it's some sort of weight loss shit because I definitely look skinnier. I mean I am not complaining. But it makes me that much more insecure in front of anyone and everyone.

Just as I lay back and get comfortable again, an urgent knock rattles against my door. "What?" I whine.

Instead of my regular, Marco coming in, a large staff of maids rush in, holding all types of supplies. Nico is right behind them. "Get up. The wedding will be today." He states frantically.

I sit up straight. "What? No, it's not for another few weeks." I counter.

"Plans have changed. Do what they say." He grunts before leaving the room as chaotic as he entered it.

"Ms. Johnson, please get into the shower." A lady orders me to do, with a gentle, but pressing tone in her voice.

I scoff as I get up and practically stomp into the bathroom, shutting the door forcefully behind me. I then aggressively strip off my clothing and turn the water on cold.

I don't understand why the wedding would be today! It isn't supposed to be for a few more weeks. Honestly what the f—

"Ms. Johnson, be sure to shave." A voice pops it's head into the bathroom to inform me.

"Yup, okay." I roll my eyes, evidently annoyed.

Mumbling small nothings to myself, I continue to wash myself, and once I am done, I shave everything so my skin is all smooth. I be sure to take my time just so I can stall.

But all good things must come to an end. "Ms. Johnson, we've given you an hour. Can you please come out now?"

I scoff and step out of the water. I pull a warm towel around my body and sit on a chair that was placed in front of the large sink vanity in the bathroom. "Okay." They waste no time and barge in to begin to work on me.

I try to be reasonably respectful because they are just doing their job. But I can't help but just be angry.

The hours pass at an agonizing rate. Finally, around one-ish they finally let me stand, but only to walk into the bedroom to put on my dress and shoes. "Can I put the dress on when we get there?" I suggest.

"You're going to." They answer. "Just please put on the shoes."

"Okay." I reply quietly. She hands me the high heels and I put them on. One of the maids offers me her hand and I take it to hold me steady as I stand up. She then hands me some undergarments and a silk robe. They all turn as I put on the skimpy white lacy thing— thing. Singular. There is no bra. Joy.

Once I am finally ready, "dolled" up, they lead me out of the room and to the front door. Marco joins us when we walk out the front doors.

"Ms. Johnson." He greets.

"Marco." I return with a cold glare. He laughs at my foul attitude. I just ignored him and got into the back seat of the car. The road and car are flipped and it confuses me for a hot minute. I fold my arms over my chest, leaning onto the car door as I look out the window.

This sucks. I don't want to go and get married. Maybe I can fake my own death. Maybe I can open the car door and roll onto the streets. Why in hell would my parents allow them to take my hand in marriage? How despret where they were before I was born? They love me. I know they wouldn't do this unless they had to.

I always dreamed of this wedding. On a beach with fireworks. Pinterest board. My parents would be there— my mom patting away tears in the front row as my dad holds my arm as we walk down the aisle to that special person waiting for me.

Instead, I am forced to be married where? I don't know. To whom? Couldn't truly tell ya'. My parents can't even imagine what they've really gotten me into— gotten their daughter into. My parents aren't even going to be there.

Marco drives down the road swiftly. I attempt to crack the window so I don't get car sick but I am prevented from doing so by a child lock. "Can I open my window?" I speak up. Marco looks at me through the rearview mirror with suspicious eyes. "I'm not going to jump out through it." I scoff.

"Why?" He questions.

"So I don't throw up." I spit, rolling my eyes.

He sighs and reluctantly opens my window just enough for some air flow. I am flattered you believe I can jump through the window.

I begin to palm my thighs nervously. I've never been married before so I'm evidently nervous!

By the time we arrive at the venue, I'm on the verge of throwing up. Throwing up what? I don't even know. I haven't consumed healthy nutrients in days. But I am surprisingly not fatigued. Between the nervousness from the wedding and the car sickness, I don't trust myself to speak or even open my mouth, afraid to vomit all over.

Marco opens my door and offers his hand to me and I take it, leaning into it for support, as my other hand clamps over my mouth. "You okay, Ms. Johnson?" He asks as if he truly cares.

"I'm fine." I lie as he leads me inside. Every wall is lined with guards. Why so many guards at a wedding? To keep my thoughts too busy to be nervous, I ask questions instead. "I've never been to a wedding, an Italian one nonetheless. So is it special or different in any way?"

Marco continues to walk me through the venue— which I have to hand it to them, it's beautiful. Everything is decorated with neutral colors "It's different. A ribbon will be tied over your and Mr. Napolitani's mouths. A Mafia wedding here is one of silence. When the Priest nods to you, you'll remove his ribben and he'll then remove yours. Then you'll kiss and yata yata." He must see the fear in my eyes. "It's a long boring ceremony that could have been an email." He tries to make me laugh.

I do laugh but it's just forced, nervous laughter.

We make it to a door and he pushes it open. As soon as it opens, women parade me with questions and demands. But my eyes fix on the dress that is hanging on a hanger.

It's pure white. Lace down the entire thing. It's train seems to be double my height. The front has an undefined neck line. Laced white flowers cover the correct places. The entire back is exposed, covered by nothing, not even a thin layer of sheer fabric. The sleeves are long, full of lace flowers. It's breathtakingly beautiful.

A maid comes towards me with pleading eyes, and pulls me over to a pedestal, helping me step onto it. They begin to speak their language as I stand here, not knowing or understanding a single order and request.

Their chaotic chatter soon ends as they turn me around to allow me to see what I look like. My breathing stops in shock.

I look so frickin fantastic. The dress is fitted against my curves until it falls out into the long ass train in the back. An engagement ring is placed onto my ring finger. It's so subtle yet extravagant at the same time. It's a silver band with a large diamond on the top. I look so beautiful for a man I don't love.

The door suddenly opens. Marco walks in. "Ready?" He asked me.

I sigh. "Yeah." At least I look sexy in my arranged marriage to a Mafia Don.

Thoughts?