Sinful Nostalgia | Hetalia

17 || Our New Beginning

A pure white dress.

Flowers placed in hand.

Hearts beating in anticipation.

This could only mean one thing, and one thing only. A wedding.

Monica Beilschmidt stares at her reflection in the mirror, peircing blue eyes blinking back at her. She assessed her attire quickly, and felt... strange. She could go back in time even after the vows had been said, and still never be able to imagine herself as a bride.

Even after seven careful months of planning, Monica didn't know if she was ready to be wedded. To her, it would always be the biggest surprise of her life. Never did she think one word would get her where she was. Yes.

Off to the corner, a certain white-haired German cried her eyes out. "My sister is getting married before I am!" she wails shrilly, though inside, her feelings were much deeper. Inside, she was truly happy for her little sister. Believe it or not, Julchen Beilschmidt's heart is actually bigger than her ego.

"Stop your crying," Monica scolds her sister sternly. "Your makeup is starting to run."

"No, no, NEIN!" Julchen shouts loudly. "Today, my makeup does not, and shall not matter! Today, we make sure you are all dolled up for YOUR wedding day!"

Monica sighs, sitting down in the chair in front of the vanity. "If it were up to me, the contract would've just been signed and over with."

"If it were up to you, no one would have fun!" Julchen retorts shrewdly. "Now, smile and walk down that isle with so much confidence, the audience will flinch! Show me your confidence face!"

Monica makes a comical face, that was either extremely angry or extremely constipated. Julchen bursts into hiss-like laughter, in which Monica frowns deeply in dissaproval. Julchen finally manages to say, "Or we can just... forget about the confidence face. I think you'd scare away the guests."

"Ha-ha-ha," Monica glares sarcastically, crossing her arms against her rapidly beating heart. It pounded persistantly against her chest, which at this point, would show how nervous she really was. She couldn't even breathe easily at this point.

"C'mon, sis, you shall do AWESOME!" Julchen shouts, pumping her fist in the air. "Not as awesome as me, of course, but you'll do wunderbar! C'mon, now, show me the strong Monica face."

"You'll make fun of my face again!" Monica argues, displaying her extremely rare childish side. She lets out a long, strangled sigh, and tries to stand, but almost trips on her long dress. Julchen hisses in laughter once more, except this time, she had a bit more pity for her young sister.

She stood up and fixed her Monica's dress with slender, pale hands. "You look beautiful, you know that?"

"Thanks for humoring me," Monica mutters beneath her breath, casting her gaze to the left with a small amount of pink appearing on her cheeks. "Can I get this over with now? I just want to go out now."

"Well, yeah, they're actually waiting on you," Julchen shrugs, as if she couldn't care less. Monica's eyes practically buldge out of her head when she discovers that she's been waiting all this time when she could just get it over with.

"Schwachkopf!" she shrieks, rushing out of the room and down the halls of the chapel, looking for the place that she was to be wedded. "You could've told me that!" Julchen just laughs the whole way down, where the people who were in the wedding were lined up and ready.

"Oh, she's finally ready!" the planner shouts. "Cue them in, would you?!"

The music began to play as two by two, the people who were in the wedding began to file into the chapel. The attendees, or guests, watched in anticipation, just waiting for Monica to make her way up. Her father came up to her, tears swimming in his eyes. He was a man of few words, but he said enough without even opening his mouth. Monica takes his arm, and he nods assertively. I'm proud of you.

When Monica made her way inside, everybody stood up to admire the bride. Her side included a lot of grumpy-looking Germans, and a few friends she'd made at school. The groom's side included a lot of Italians who didn't stand up for Monica at all. That didn't matter, though. All that mattered was the love the couple shared, and will share for centuries to come.

She delicately made her way up the steps, where her groom waited for her. As always, he greeted her with a smile, brown eyes shining. She took his warm hands as the preacher began to run his mouth about marriage, and vows, and how they must always love each other, for better or for worse. That didn't matter. They already did.

"So, Mr. Feliciano Vargas," the preacher drones, looking at the restless Italian groom. "Do you take Ms. Monica Beilschmidt to be your lovely and lawfully wedded wife?"

"Si," Feliciano replies, perhaps a bit too excitedly. A few audience members tittered, and his best man, Lovino Vargas, rolled his eyes at his overly-enthusiastic younger brother.

"And do you, Monica Beilschmidt, accept the same vows?"

"Ja," Monica replies, much more calm than her husband to be did. The preacher motions for the couple to kiss, which they did. Sweetly at first, then growing more and more passionate by the minute. It was a wonderful experience, and when they pulled away, all they could see was each other. Monica was officially a Vargas.

They said three words, and three words only, before the guests started lining up to share their congratulations to the bride and groom. They were words that they never felt more relieved or thankful to be able to say.

"I love you."