"Please don't do that again."

I know it's Mai without having to glance behind me, which means I don't have to draw my eyes away from the shoreline.

"Did you see that thing? Do you seriously think I'd walk down the aisle in that?" I reply, pulling my knees in tighter. My 'bodyguard' rolls her eyes and drops down next to me.

We're on the far side of the beach the house sits on. My mother had descended the stairs about ten minutes ago, her personal assistants hauling a great, white, monstrosity with them.

Call it cute if she must, but my mother's taste is very opposite to mine. I was out of there before one of her heels hit the hardwood floor.

"It was quite..."

"Ugly?" I answer.

"It had its merits," she counters. I suppose the lower half was okay, but if I decide that at my wedding I wanted to look like a milkmaid then I'll choose the Austrian dirndl style.

So no, it's not going to be my dress.

"Since I know you and you'll leave it to the last minute, I took the liberty of getting you this."

Mai drops a small, square book in my lap.

"What is it?"

'Each gown in there is worth at least $80,000. Your father expects you to spend that, as much as your mother might want you to wear a family one."

Yeah well I'd rather die than wear either.

"$80,000...for a dress," I mumble, opening the book. The first dress feels like a punch to the face. It's train looks like a frying pan, times a thousand.

"That's...big," Mai murmurs.

"And stupid."

I turn the page, finding one slightly more acceptable.

"Why 80,000?"

"He wants it to be in the centre of extravagant. As he put it: Not 1.5 million, like J-Lo's dress from the wedding she never had with Ben Affleck, more around the Madonna/Beckham mark."

I roll my eyes. He always compares what we have to what others have to ensure he has more. My dad is the embodiment of the word asshole.

Myself and Mai spend about half an hour, sitting between the shoreline and the trees looking at pictures of wedding dresses and arguing about how ugly they are. Eventually I narrow it down to three.

{Comment; 1, 2 or 3?}

"I'll let my sister's decide which one, alright?" I tell her, handing her the book back. She takes it from me and puts it in her bag.

"You'll also need a dress for the coming engagement party and the reception after the ceremony."

"For fuck's sake."

"For both of those I have Armani and Dior look books. It's simple really, just point, pick and it'll be here within two days," she eases, ignoring me.

"Fine, fine," I reply. Where would I be, without my red-dyed-headed 'bodyguard'? Mai keeps me sane in more ways than one. "You know you can't be my maid of honour, right?" I tell her.

She gives a rare snort that makes me shoot her a glare, "Good. Which sister?"

"I have friends, FYI."

"Yes, but can you imagine Heather sorting out all of this? Absolutely not. So, you're welcome. I imagine you're picking fantasia, hm?" 

All I do is nod, "Do you know who his best man is?" 

"Some guy named Wallace," she responds. That was my turn to snort.

"So Fantasia's got to walk in with him?"

"Yeah. Jane has to walk in with the asshole brother. Christa gets some guy named Kaldur, a friend. Heather gets Timothy Drake. And Rein Corbin will have to walk with Damian Wayne. You need to decide if you want Logan to ring bear or Jeremy."

"Let them decide, I don't care."

Talk of these plans are starting to get tedious to the point that I want to walk out into the ocean and stay under there for a few...hours.

"Well you should. It might be fake but-"

"I know, I know. Effort and input and all that. I will," I say, moving to get up.

Suddenly I feel Mai reach out and get my wrist in a vice grip.

"Where do you think you're going? You still have the bridesmaid dresses to pick yet!"

And, as I said, for fuck's sake. 

◊

◊

Dick stands on the stage-like prop up in the middle of the tuxedo studio. It is time for him and his groomsmen- Jason, Tim, Damian and the absent Kaldur and Wally- to get fitted for their suits.

"Why are you inviting them to this shit-show anyway?" Jason murmurs, fiddling with the cuffs of his try-on blazer. Dick glances at the change room door to make sure there are no workers around to eavesdrop.

"Makes it more legitimate if they see people I'm acquainted with there. Plus Cleo and I need to have the close amounts of bridesmaids and groomsmen," Dick answers, adjusting his bowtie in the mirror.

"Four groomsmen and the fastest best man alive. Congrats," Jason responds.

"You're just annoyed because you have to walk with one of the friends instead of the bodyguard, like you wanted," Tim says, observing his bow tie in the mirror.

"Tt- Disgusting, Todd."

Jason gives Dick a bewildered look, "When exactly did they join forces to gang up on me?" He asks. Dick can only return a chuckle. "All I said is her guard is hot."

Tim rolls his eyes, "Can we stop calling her a guard? She's not a guard. She's something else entirely, not doubt."

Damian looks at him, "You're referring to Perich's Elite files being fake?"

"Yeah," Tim nods, "Not the only thing that's fake, I believe."

"You saying the bodyguard's credentials are fake?"

"Not the credentials...the act. She has training in fighting and guarding, yes, but it's not the type you'd expect a bodyguard to have. Plus her credentials in medical are above that in physical combat," Tim explains.

"So, what? You think the bodyguard is actually her doctor or something?" Dick asks.

"Exactly. Remember at the contract conference when her dad started talking about a 'troubled few years'? PTSD, simple. Some ex-marines go out to horse farms or move in with family. Some get a companion to make sure their stability is okay around the clock, that they're not taking any drugs or trying to take their own lives. I believe Mai Shinshou is exactly that for Cleopatra Perich."

The words weigh down on the room for a moment and Dick feels the guilt creep in. They both suffer the same diagnosis. Post traumatic stress disorder.

"I thought you said she wasn't a Marine Elite?" Jason says.

"Maybe not a Marine but she wasn't just off in paradise for a few years. My equipment is still running some tests on her files. As soon as they pick up a similarity in the encryption we can find out which government- or not- agency she worked for. And, more importantly why they want to hide what she was doing."

When the tailors return, all talking of the situation ceases. As they select their sizes and colours, handing Bruce's card to the store owner, all Dick can do is think about his fiancé.

I'm getting married, he says to himself. It isn't with any joy.

◊

◊

After throwing the bridesmaid's dress book into the air and selecting the dress on the page it opened to, Mai called Heather and demanded the three of us go out for dinner together.

This was her attempt to stop me from going home and climbing into bed with my cats and watching Netflix.

So now I'm stuck in a high-end restaurant with these two, as they look over the dress they're going to have to wear at my 'wedding'.

"I don't think I've ever worn anything that expensive!" Heather exclaims, staring down at the blue Corinne Mikare 'Lush and Sash', costing  $19,000 each because they're made from mulberry silk. We're buying five of them.

"Wrong. Our titanium dipped armour was worth a couple more grand," I tell her. 

She rolls her eyes, "Okay I'll rephrase; I've never worn something that expensive that was not designed to shield my hot bod from bullets and worse. Happy?" 

No, I want to go home. My cats must miss me.

"I'm going to get some air," I say, reaching for my faux fox skin coat and my bag. I know Mai is weary on whether or not I plan on returning to them, but she is holding my car keys hostage, so I probably have to.

I could walk but my penthouse is on the other side of the city.

Where I'm going I'm not sure, but Mai understands that social situations don't come as easy as they used to, even with my best friend and my assistant. 

Heather is probably pumped on lithium so she'll be fine until she comes down. 

I decide on a walk around the block on this chilly summer night. I slip my coat over my shoulders with my arms still out, clutching my bag in front of me.

People sometimes give nervous little waves if they recognise me, but most are talking amongst themselves, not bothering to take notice of the quiet rich brat just taking a stroll.

That is, until someone says my name.

"Miss Perich?"

I look up from the concrete sidewalk, expecting to see one of my father's friends or maybe one of my siblings' friends, but instead bright blue eyes and a huge frame is what faces me.

I stare at him blankly for a second, before finding myself. 

"You know, when we're married, you probably shouldn't be calling me that," I tell him.

The last person I expected to run into was my fiancé himself. Richard Grayson looks swell dressed in black jeans, a navy v-neck and a leather jacket. The wind has disarrayed his hair and for the first time he actually looks normal. 

"I guess not," he chuckles. Something about it seems natural. "Um, where are you going?" He asks as we step closer to the building we're in front of, so we're not blocking anyone.

"In circles. I want to go home but Mai has my car keys," I tell him.

"Oh...well I was just taking a break from the hotel...Would you like me to drive you?" He asks, slipping his hands into his pockets like a nervous habit.

I open my mouth to tell him that it was fine, I'll just head back to the restaurant, but instead I see a bright light flash a few metres away.

From behind a car parked on the street, a tiny little balding man with a big flash camera pops up.

"Geez," Dick murmurs, glaring at him before glancing at me with a sympathetic expression. He steps forward, almost crowding me and my instincts nearly make me slash him, but instead I allow him to press a hand against my back ever so lightly, pushing my along the street and away from the photographer.

"Suppose it's a good thing," is the only response I can come up with.

"Yeah," he says with a little mirth. I try not to pay attention to the attractiveness that humour seems to radiate. "So should I take you home?"

I glance at him from the corner of my eye with a little frown. Immediately he chokes on air and jolts slightly.

"I uh...I didn't mean it that way," he laughs nervously, before stopping himself and drawing an expression that makes it look like he's internally fighting with himself.

I'm guessing it's because he nearly followed up with something like 'But I could' with a sly wink.

"If you could drive me to my penthouse I would really appreciate it," I say, salvaging the situation before it gets awkwardly out of hand.

He throws me a grateful smile. Dammit, stop, boy.

"Then I will. My cars parked beneath the hotel," he says as we near the building he's currently staying in. Right as we cross the road, I feel his hand slip into mine and I can't help but return the hold.

It's all for the cameras.

For the cameras.