Dear readers...first off, sorry for the corny tagline. Second off, thank you so much for reading this and *hint hint* voting and *even louder hint hint* commenting. You guys rock!
Chapter 4 is coming soon, cross my heart, but maybe not as quickly as this one did, because I'll be going through some intense changes over the next few weeks. But never fear. You'll get to hear more about Donovan and Scarlet soon enough. I'm also beginning work on a story for Joey and Danny, so keep a look out for that delish one =)
And now, without further ado, here's chapter 3!
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Scarlet couldn't have picked a more fittingly dismal day for an equally dismal wedding. Outside the mansion she was imprisoned in, thunder and lightning raged, and fat raindrops pelted the windows.
She sat, huddled on the bed, glaring at the beautiful, if simple, white gown she was supposed to be wearing. It was nothing she would have ever chosen for herself, but even from just a glance, she knew the silky satin gown would be almost perfect on her small figure. The slightly dropped waist would reveal her subtle curves, and the strapless sweetheart neckline would accent her small, but very full breasts.
Which, she scowled even more, would be ridiculous, since her groom was blinder than a bat. It seemed wrong, anyway, to wear a real wedding gown for this sham of a marriage.
She heard Abner's approach out in the silent corridor. A moment later, there was a hesitant knock. "Miss Lennox?" She made no reply and the man continued. "Lord Alford is waiting."
"And wait, he shall." She murmured to herself.
"Please, milady."
She laughed at that. Every time Abner came to speak to her, on his boss' behalf, he'd called her 'milady.' The term was so outdated, like the man had stepped out of a story book. This whole situation was, in fact, straight out of a Grimm Fairytale.
"Annabelle." At the sound of her name from her captor's lips, her small bit of amusement faded. "You will be downstairs in no more than twenty minutes. And you will be wearing that gown. We are getting married, whether you like it or not."
She didn't move a muscle. He couldn't get through the door with that desk in front of it; he'd tried already. And if she wasn't there, they couldn't marry. It was a paltry rebellion, because she knew deep down inside, that he'd eventually hold her mother's welfare over her head and she'd surrender and go downstairs to a fate worse – she supposed, anyway – than death. But, for now, she'd stay exactly where she was, in her regular clothes.
"You must be hungry." He called abruptly, startling her. She stared at the door. "Abner has prepared a sort of celebratory feast for after the wedding."
Scarlet was hungry; she hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, but *he* didn't know that. She didn't need food terribly, and he wasn't going to lure her outside with the promise of it.
"I think he made an apple pie to finish it off. That is your favorite, isn't it, Annabelle?" Donovan's voice was muffled, but almost wheedling.
Scarlet's stomach growled. How the hell he knew that she liked apple pie was beyond her. She continued to ignore him, though.
"In fact, I think the whole meal is all for you. There's macaroni and cheese with four kinds of cheese. Salmon. And you love strawberry cheesecake, don't you?"
"Those don't even go together." She muttered to herself. She stood and paced across the carpet to keep her mind off her stomach's increasingly loud demands that she open the goddamn door. "Why the hell does it matter to him if I come out or not? He said he doesn't want to marry me. And how the hell does he know my favorites?"
Donovan stopped describing the various foods Abner had made, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He'd gone, at last. A few minutes later, though, he proved her wrong. "Annabelle, please come down. We can talk about this, if you'd like."
She stopped her pacing, confused by his somber and nearly apologetic tone. And, against her better judgment, she replied. "What is there to talk about?"
He took a moment to respond. "Please. I don't want this either, but we'll have to make the most of it. I promise you, if there is any way to get out of this without ruining you or your mother, I'll find it. Just...marry me now."
She found herself leaning against the desk, almost ready to push it aside. When he talked like that, softly and so not dictatorially, something in her wondered if being married to him wasn't so bad as all that. She shoved that irrational little piece of her in the very back of her mind. No way in hell was he going to sweet talk her into surrendering. "Why does it matter to you if my mother and I have nothing?"
"I don't know." He sounded as if he was leaning against the door on the other side.
"It wouldn't be so awful, you know," Much to her own surprise, she perched on the desk to actually talk to the barbarian. "I could get a job. We don't have to be rich, after all. You don't have to marry me just to make sure me and my mother are cared for. We can do it on our own."
"And what about when the hospital bills came?"
"Those were taken care of already." It would all work out, she mused. If he'd just let her go, she could build a life for her mother. Granted, it wouldn't be nearly as flush as they'd become used to, but they'd done it before and they could do it again. They'd do it better this time around. "Don't you see - you don't need me, and I don't need you."
"Not yours. And not your father's." He was...sad? Regretful? "Your mother's."
She hesitated. "What are you talking about?"
