The Wedding

Emilia's POV

I explained a little of our predicament to Gabby, as far as I could bring myself to accept and understand the aberration that just happened—that we had traveled in time through a book.

Gabby's eyes jumped about their sockets as they wandered from me to the stone walls of the room, the antiques, and the medieval-style bed and furniture. Her eyes shook like she saw ghosts lurking in the room.

“What should we do now? How should we get back home?” She asked, tugging at my clothes.

That brought my eyes drifting low. What the hell? I jumped back, staring down at my clothes.

I was no longer wearing the denim jeans shirt and pants I left my dorm with for class. Around me now was a medieval-style silk dress with heavy fur linings. On my neck was an elaborate gold necklace.

I moved nearer to the window, and the sunrays fell on the gold necklace, burnishing it brighter. The glimmer sparked against my eyes. I drew back before it could blind me.

Gabby gasped around me, her large feet scratching the stone floor as she turned around, also checking out her own dress. The medieval-style dress, though not as elaborate as mine, hugged tight to her large body.

Suddenly, she stopped. She stared straight at my face, her eyes squinted and droopy, almost like a drunk's. I flinched from her, retreating a foot back as she came closer to me. Though fear still lurked behind her eyes, they twinkled now.

“What?” I roared at her, snapping at her to stop. But she kept coming, taking one foot carefully after another, her eyes locked on me, stupefied, like a zombie’s.

She eventually chuckled, “Your face, Emilia. Look at your face.”

I touched my face. “What happened to my—” I froze, eyes wide on my fingers, now stained with white powder and red dye.

I turned, my gaze jumping around the large room, until I spotted a large mirror. I ran to it. I stiffened before the mirror at the image of myself, which was also not of myself.

I recognized only my pale green eyes. Everything other than that, I didn't recognize anymore. My face was heavily made up with powder and rouge on my cheeks. My petite frame trapped in an elaborate white silk dress. My auburn curls were plaited in a thick crown braid over my head, heavily studded with pearls. This was more than just traveling to the past. The clothes, the makeup, the hairstyle. I had traveled into someone's life.

The wooden door squealed open, and a retinue of ladies dressed in medieval silk dresses like Gabby and me flocked into the room.

“What's keeping you, Lady Emilia? The Duke is anxious at the altar, waiting for you. Or have you forgotten that today is your wedding day?” One of them yelled. A brunette with more rouge on her cheeks than mine. She led the group.

Wedding. What does she mean—? I paused. My eyes jumping once again to the dress and the makeup on my face. God! Whichever character this is, she was about to get married.

The brunette lady strolled closer to me. My eyes squinted on her, following her footsteps to me. Behind the extreme medieval makeup she wore was a familiar face.

I recognized the pale blue eyes first, then the streaks of silver in her black hair—my eyes snapped wider on her—my mom.

“Mom,” I screamed, running fast to her. I threw my hands wide to hug her. But she caught my arms midair before they could fold around her.

“There is no time for this, daughter.” She snapped, her voice curt and stern. It cut like a hot whip through me.

Tears stained my eyes as I stared into the stern blue eyes.

She looked like Mom, but she wasn't Mom. Mom always talked to me gently, with love, calling me her little princess. This one looked at me like I was a commodity.

I blinked the tears away before it could stain the makeup. For some reason, I thought this woman before me would tear me apart if I dented the makeup.

“Put on your veil, and come out immediately. You cannot escape this wedding, Emilia. You must marry the Duke. The family needs this alliance.” She snapped again.

Then she lifted my face from my jaw up. Her eyes surveyed the makeup on my face. Her lips twisted in disgust. She turned sharply to Gabby.

“Gabrielle, why is her face this bad? Fix it and bring her down immediately,” she ordered. Her brows furrowed on Gabby, cocked high in expectation of an answer.

Gabby looked sharply at me, her eyes restless in her head, her lips quivering. I nodded for her to just say something.

“Didn't you hear me, Gabrielle?” The woman snapped. There was a sharp, authoritative tone to her voice that had Gabby bowing instantly this time. “I am sorry, ma’am. I’ll fix her face up and bring her downstairs,” she answered, almost shouting.

The woman glanced back at me, her eyes swept me for a moment as if to make sure of something, and she turned for the door. Her flock hurried after her.

I realized I had been holding my breath as I heaved a huge, lengthy sigh of relief when the door slammed close behind the last of her gowned flocks.

Gabby hurried to me. Her whole self shaking terribly. For a minute, I just stared at her, watching the once fiery and naughty lady I know jittering like a drenched kitten before me.

“What do we do now, Emilia?” she asked, her lips trembling.

“I don't know, but first, we run,” I answered, enunciating the last words for her to stress the urgency of the task. I turned quickly for the door. “The last thing I wanted was a marriage to a duke—”

I paused in my stride. Duke. The word repeated itself in my head. Just like the words of the bookstore owner: The Duke needs a Duchess. If I marry the Duke, I’ll become a Duchess. Was all this a coincidence, or did she plan for this to happen?

Gabby had already beaten me to the door. “Come on, let's run. What's keeping you waiting, Emilia?” She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I resumed for the door, fingering the gold necklace on my neck unconsciously, my eyes trapped on Gabby. Yet, I wasn't really seeing her. I was reimagining the scene in the bookstore in my head—the scene playing again in my mind. The book subtitle read, The book that writes itself, and the book pages were empty.

Could it be that we didn't actually travel in time, but we had traveled into a book whose physical setting just happened to be a medieval one? And could it be that our presence in the story—living out the story like this—is how the pages of the book get filled up? Like the book writing itself through our point of view.

I grinned at myself, the metal soothingly cold against my fingers, my thoughts running on. That would be wild and interesting.

“Why are you always so unusual, smiling when we are practically doomed?” Gabby snapped beside me. Her voice drilled through me, and I started.

She shook her head grimly, and she snatched my arm, dragging me out of the room with her.

We peered our heads through the door, looking down the corridor, down the lock stone walls and floor—left—right—no one—we ran out of the door and down the corridor as fast as our legs could go.

Gabby winced behind me, her voice drifting as she slowed a bit in her run, tugging desperately at her tight dress.

Reports of feet climbing up the stairs brushed my ears when I reached the stone stairs. I dashed back to avoid whoever was coming. Only to slam into something sturdy.

My first thought was that it was a wall. It was sturdy and strong, yet strangely comforting. My gaze fell on the wall. But the wall had on a velvet suit, with gold embroidery and buttons made of shiny, glittering pearls.

A shrill scream tore out of my throat as I started back. My legs slipped on the stone stairs, and suddenly, they were free of the ground, my body suspended in the air. Another shrill scream split my throat as I felt myself falling freely in the air.

A thick, strong arm locked around my waist, pulling me up—back to the clothed wall. I threw my eyes up—I gasped, staring into the most entrancing pair of eyes I’d ever seen—icy grey with a sharp silver sheen.

The man before me looked regal and proud in his velvet suit and the embroidered coat, with large fur linings wrapping around his broad shoulders.

The smooth planes of his devastatingly handsome face creased into a gentle smile. I bowed my head from him, suddenly reminded of my inferiority, reminded that despite even the medieval make-up, I was nothing next to his manly beauty.

I felt thick fingers raise my jaw, bringing my eyes to level with his. “You shouldn't look down, Emilia. You are going to be the Duchess of Duchester.” He said, his voice low and sweet, it sounded like melody to my ears.

My eyes snapped at some point, widened like large O’s on my head as I stared at him. How did he know my name? What does he mean by I was going to be the Duchess of Duchester?

His smile widened. “Yes, Emilia.” He answered as if he had read the questions in my mind. “You are going to be my wife. I came to walk you to the altar myself.”

I pressed down a gasp from my mouth with my palm. My gaze swept his big body fast, with a flash-like flutter of my eyes. He was the Duke! I was still struggling to couple up my thoughts when he snatched my wrist.

Surprisingly, I didn't struggle. I didn't resist but submitted to him as he pulled me to his big body. He planted me just an inch from him so that I could feel warm heat leaking from his body. Then he leaned low with his head, and his lips came for mine.