"Everyone out." 

"Cleo-"

"Out! You," I point at Hallow, "You," Klover, "you," Ignatier, "you," Mai, "and all of you," the supposed 'stylists' my sister brought in from Paris or something. "You stay," I point to the make-up artist, "And you, you...and you." Last is the hairdresser, the nail technician and Fantasia.

"Glad you know your needs sis," Fantasia says as Mai closes the door behind the complaining party being kicked out.

My bedroom was turned into a studio salon the moment Rip left. I had to put up with everyone, but Fantasia, complaining about how plain my dress is and the fact that I just want a hairdresser and a makeup artist, not a walk trainer, or some designer trying to force one of those other ghastly dresses on me.

"You're only staying because of what you know. I don't need some stranger telling me what's what," I say.

Fantasia just smiles into her champagne. The fruity drink must be her fourth or fifth glass. Like Ethan and Gordon, Fantasia liked to get hammered. I prefer more pharmaceutical methods.

"You look nice," I say, fighting down a glare as the nail technician scratches the side of my finger with the nail file. The hair dresser is behind me doing goddess-knows-what whilst the makeup artist is searching through her things.

"Thanks," she says, raising her arms and twirling in her bridesmaids dress. "Little bit cheap, but I like it."

I roll my eyes. The price of each of those dresses could feed a small family for several years. There are five of them. One for Fantasia, one for Heather, one for Christa, one for Jane and one for the rich girl Demitri is being forced to marry.

"Jane hates dresses. Why didn't you ask Mai?"

"I didn't ask, I just assumed, but she hates dresses even more than Jane, so it doesn't really bother me. Instead she's wearing a suit to the wedding."

"The hell for?" Fantasia frowns.

"I can hear you." 

Oh, I forgot she would be posted outside the door.

◊

◊

Mai rolls her eyes when Cleo responds with 'Rack off adrenaline junkie', remaining stark still in her position in front of her patient's bedroom. 

As soon as the reluctant bride is done, Mai will have about fifteen minutes to get dressed before she is to drive herself and the other Perich girls to the venue, followed by Cleo.

Truly, she knows she should probably stay with Cleo to make sure she doesn't drive the limo off of a cliff or run back to Relaysia with Jane, Christa and Heather behind her.

The surgeon is brought out of her reverie by footsteps travelling down the hallway.

One of the house maids comes scurrying through, followed by a Wayne son. The tallest, with the broad shoulders, unnatural green eyes and white streak in his hair.

Mai shifts uncomfortably and looks away from Jason Todd as he stops in front of her with the smallest smirk on his face.

"Uh, hi," he says, and something tells her not to respond.

Jason reaches into the pocket of his brown leather jacket. At least, that's what Mai sees from the corner of her eye.

"Dick wanted me to bring this to uh, her," he continues holding up a blue box.

Mai finally decides to acknowledge him, stoic expression still there but eyes flicking to what he holds up.

"He fixed the ring?" She asks.

Jason nods, "It has an amethyst now. He thought she would want to wear it, or something."

Mai stares at him for a moment, allowing her eyes to wander his stature for only half a second. Then, still obtaining an indifferent exterior, she holds her hand out.

He places the box in the palm of her hand. Immediately her fingers close around it and she slips it into her pocket.

"Anything else?" She asks.

Jason stares back as the seconds tick by, before his eyes dart to the floor, left to right.

"Are you single?" He asks, gaze flicking back up, smirk moving onto his face.

Mai continues to look back at him with a blank expression, before she looks away, seemingly shifting back into her previous state of ignoring Jason.

"If that is all Mr Todd, good day."

Defeated, Jason spends a second frozen in time before spinning around and hurriedly moving down the hallway.

"Hung out to dry, Todd?" Damian's voice states smugly through the com in the older's ear.

"Where'd you even learn that?" Jason snaps back as he leaves the mansion, dejected.

Damian smirks from beside Tim, who disconnects their feed with Jason whilst uploading another, connected to the new engagement ring Cleopatra Perich had just been given.

Both boys can hear the commotion happening on the above floor. Bruce's deep, booming voice carries down the staircase. Dick's does not, but they know it's him the man is talking to.

Arguing with may be a more accurate description.

Dick slams the draw shut, turns to Bruce and glares as he fights his own fingers to get his tie on.

His foster father isn't even paying attention, ignoring him over being sick of their constant topic. Which is, of course, the marriage at hand.

"If you don't want to do this," Bruce finally says, acknowledging the elephant in the room, "Then just say it, and I'll make it all go away. You know I wouldn't force you to do anything you don't want to, Dick."

The younger man groans loudly as he falls back onto the luxurious sofa in the corner, "I don't want to do this, but I know I have to. All I'm saying is we could have gone about this in a better way."

"Such as?" Bruce responds, doing his own tie with thick fingers fumbling over the material.

Dick glares at him, eyebrows nearly sinking down his cheeks, "Not recording her conversations, for a start," he says, standing up, "bringing her into the investigation instead of making her a suspect."

"We're not including her in our side of the investigation, because we don't know if she is innocent yet. Recording her conversations tells us exactly that."

Slapping his hands over his face, Dick falls back into the sofa's cushions.

"Why would she be talking about it while she's wearing the ring? She'll only wear it when the public will see it."

"And other times," Bruce immediately counters, "it will be sitting in her room. Barbara will review all the audio tapes."

It was easy to get sick of arguing with Bruce, especially if you've been dealing with it for eighteen or so years.

"She was a Marine Elite, you know," he says, standing up and moving towards the door, "Have some respect." 

◊

◊

Apparently my first 'word' was dada. I'm annoyed that dumbass baby-me couldn't say something a little more intelligent.

When I was three I pronounced the word truck as fuck, but Demitri's pronunciation skills were much worse. My mother worried she'd have to take us to a specialist.

My father supposedly sat with us, night and day, during his paternity leave. He'd say the words clear and slowly so we'd understand. He worked with us, to ease my mothers worries and to prevent people from laughing when we spoke gibberish, because they did.

On my first day in millionaire-kindy I spoke just like -sometimes better than- the other kids.

So a lot of the time I considered everything my father had ever done to be in all of our best interests. That the scamming and the lies lead to my siblings being happy.

But I'm not happy. Demitri has no goals. Ethan is afraid to come out. Fantasia has no friends. Gordon is closed-minded. Hallow is a hoe. Ignatier is cold. Jeremy and Klover are snobs.

If that all exists, what's the point?

Logan, I can still save. Saving him means getting to the bottom of the company's sketchy happenings.

So looking across the room, donned in my dress with my makeup and hair done, it's hard to find any joy in the moment.

My father looks back at me, obviously astonished that I am going along with his plan. If I weren't so half-dead when I got out of Mai's car earlier, perhaps I would have noticed the abundance of security I can now see outside the window.

They were waiting for me to try to run. He expected me to. But, I'm doing what Rip says, so...

"Cle-"

"Don't say anything," I whisper, head held high. This dress and its expensive mulberry silk material is suddenly too hot, too trapping. Turning away from him I open up the window and the sea air breezes through the room.

Just the smell of the salt and the water is enough to make me feel a little bit calmer, but not enough to suppress the urge to turn around and punch him.

"Are you ready to go? Mai is-"

At my mother's voice I turn back around.

My parents are both gawking at me now, my mother's eyes almost immediately well with tears at the sight of me as she stumbles forward, arms stretched wide.

I groan awkwardly as she hugs me. I don't like hugs like these.

"You look so beautiful," she gasps, placing her hands on my shoulders and stepping back to take it all in. "Where did you get this dress?"

"Friend dropped it off," is all I say, frown moving onto my face at her little care over the entire day. Not like I'm being sold off like a mule (in their eyes. In mine, this is a service, sort of).

Brushing past them, I grab my handbag off of the hook by the door. It doesn't go with the dress, but it's full of adderall and guns, which is all I might need today.

"Mai?" I call out, striding down the hallway. These heels aren't too high, so I won't be taller than him.

"Ready?" She asks, stepping out in a style that definitely suits her.

"Looks better than I thought, it would," I say, looking her up and down before nodding to the hallway.

"You too," she says plainly as we both walk towards the stairs, "Have you taken anything?"

"Nope," I say, before we hit the ground floor. She grabs my wrist and yanks it up in front of her, but I'm used to it. The only sound is the pills popping out of the tray and into my hand.

"Here," she says, pushing a water bottle into my chest. I down my prescription medication quickly. "I took your sisters to the hotel. You, Christa, Jane, Heather, Fantasia and Rein Corbin will be able to sit in one of the rooms while you're waiting. I'll bring Rein Corbin to you."

"Who?" I ask as Mai opens the front door.

Roughly, I grab my dress and pull it up. I hate these things. Short dresses I don't mind, but long? Give me a break.

"Rein Corbin," Mai repeats as the chauffeur opens the door for me. I ignore the offered hand as I slip in, safe from the paparazzi because we're still within the private gates.

"Yeah, you're not making it clear."

"The girl Demitri has to marry."

Oh, right, that's her name. 

Mai gets in the limo beside me and shuts the door. I squeeze the material between my fingers as the stretch vehicle drives off the property and into a scattering of media.

The windows are tinted of course, so they won't get anything.

"Are you nervous?" Mai asks, without looking at me.

"Of course not," I say, watching the streets pass by. I wish I was sitting on the other side so I could watch the water.

I'm going to miss it.

"Do you want your vows now?"

"No," I answer immediately, stopping her from searching her pockets, "I already memorised them."

How could I not? I used to be able look at battle plans once and know all the ins and outs. A glance at a couple of dopey words is all it takes to remember them.

The hotel isn't far. 

I don't really have time to stress before the limo is entering the private entrance, not allowing the following media cars to come in after us. 

Maybe, my heart rate goes up a little bit and my stomach stirs.

"At least you're not going straight from the limo to the ceremony," Mai says, because normally that is the tradition.

She gets out first and I hurry behind her, the car feeling too closed in, too claustrophobic. Once out I can hear the waves crashing against the water. I want nothing more than to run towards them and dash beneath the blue. I'd sit in the sand, ruin my dress, let my heels sink in and turn brown.

Instead, Mai pulls me through the door and into the back room of the hotel; one used for conferences when businessmen stay here. Lining the wall is a bar and before I know it I'm walking that way.

"Catch!" Someone exclaims. I turn and reach up just in time to grab the air-borne shot glass.

I stare down at it in my hand, before looking up to see my loser bridesmaids/teammates sitting there. Fantasia looks oblivious to everything around her, but Heather, Jane and Christa hold up shots to me.

"To the reluctant bride," Jane announces with a big grin on her face.

"Forever shall she be a cold bitch," Heather adds.

True, true. I catch the bottle they throw me and tip a single into the glass, raising it to them as I climb up onto one of the bar stools.

"Oorah," I respond. With that single affirmation I knock back the shot. Mai is shaking her head in the corner, but knows not to say anything.

When my head levels again I refuse to jump at the sight of a group gathering at the door to the rest of the hotel. My eyes meet with that of crystal blue before I immediately glance away.

"Uh, hi," that person, front and centre greets. I'm confused as to why he is here. The others swivel around and come to face the same sight.

Richard Grayson, backed by his ensemble of groomsmen.

The red head one chuckles in an attempt to diffuse tension, "Isn't it bad luck to-"

"Ugh," Christa groans, slumping back, "so original."

"Hey," Jane calls out to me, "which one's the asshole?"

"White hair," I answer, pouring and downing another shot.  I think Jason moves to say something but Richard elbows him.

"What do you want?" I ask, nonchalant, keeping my eyes on the bottle to avoid looking at how nice he presents in his tux.

"May I talk to you, Cleo?" He says.

Ah shit. Our heart-to-heart chats always make me far too giddy.

Taking a deep breath, I pour another shot and down it, before standing up and walking towards the third external door. Mai starts to move but I wave a hand, gesturing for her to stay.

"Sure," I drawl.

I guess this is the last of our little chats as just fiancées.

'Cause I'm about to be Cleoptra Xanthe Grayson.