If America Wasn't Selected: A Selection Fanfic

Chapter Eighteen: Celeste

Today was my wedding day!

Tonight would consist of a beautiful marriage ceremony, shortly followed by an incredible reception. I was beyond excited to be crowned Queen of Illéa. Finally, everything I've worked so hard for would be handed over to me - the crown, the ring, and Maxon's last name. I would be Queen Celeste Schreave. I cringed on how "Schreave" made my whole name sound ugly and disgusting, but at least "Queen" would be in front of it to balance it out.

I woke up in my silky nightgown, and released my hair from its tight bun. I excitedly jumped out of bed and curled my toes on the purple carpet. I ran to my closet where I held my wedding dress {pictured above}. I shrieked in excitement. I was going to be queen of Illéa! I thought.

"Celeste?" Maxon knocked on my door. I quickly put the dress safely back in my closet. I ruffled my hair and opened the door.

"Maxon!" I exclaimed, jumping into his arms. "We're getting married!"

He nodded, smiled, and kissed me on my forehead. "I know, sweetie. I'm so excited!"

"Maxon and Celeste Schreave. How great does that sound?"

Maxon laughed. "Amazing."

"So, what's up?" I asked.

"Um, the caterers ran out of crab cakes for the appetizers for the reception, and would like to know if either steamed shrimp or quiches would do instead," said Maxon.

What the heck? "Um, neither. I want crab cakes! My parents had crab cakes at their wedding, and I vowed to have the same. How can those stupid caterers run out of food for the future queen of Illéa! This is outrageous!"

Maxon lifted an eyebrow. "You mean, for the future kind and queen of Illéa."

Shoot. "Right." I couldn't let something like that slip out right before the wedding. Maxon couldn't find out how I really felt about him.

He wouldn't.

"Celeste, honey, I'm sorry, but it's either steamed shrimp or quiches. I'm disappointed, but you can't be upset about that."

"Don't tell me what I should and should not be upset about," I blurted.

"Celeste –"

"Just, get out. I'll see you tonight," I ordered.

Maxon sighed and left my room, closing the door.

A note fell out of his pocket.

Curious, I picked the note up and examined the writing. It was some kind of letter.

Dear Maxon,

I am so sorry for kissing you. I didn't know what to do. I felt something between us, something strong and beautiful, but I guess you didn't feel it, which is okay. I'm sorry. I just wanted to thank you for escorting me home and for the plane ticket and for everything. Congratulations on your wedding.

~America Singer.

Kiss? KISS? That musician, a Five, kissed my soon-to-be husband?

Oh, I wasn't angry that they kissed. I'm angry because now that Five has feelings for Maxon, which could definitely interfere with the wedding.

I was determined to get married and be the queen of Illéa. If that Five gets in the way, I will be sure to strip her of her caste and make her an Eight. I will.

I crumbled up the note and threw it off the balcony. I was not going to deal with some Five who had a third grade crush on the prince.

Then, I began to apply my makeup for the wedding, followed by doing my hair. Lastly, I put the dress on.

I looked in the mirror. I murmured, "Queen Celeste Schreave."

Then, I looked at the clock.

It was time.