"And now, you may kiss the bride."

Feather-light snowflakes floated down, coming to a rest on the magnificent, domed glass ceiling, while the serene night sky watched on from above. Cameras flashed, and cut glass chandeliers cast their spectral glow over the guests, illuminating their expensive silks and pristine pearls. Practiced smiles sat on painted faces, ever prepared to face the tabloids.

The bride in question, though, had not smiled all night.

Warm brown eyes held hers, but she could hardly pay them much heed; not when she could feel the sharp pressure of hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into her, and hear every snap of the camera lenses. Her grip on the bouquet of white roses tightened, the ring on her finger feeling heavier and heavier by the second.

Rosaline Beaumont was not used to getting married.

Her already shallow breaths quickened further as her almost-husband stepped forward, ready to kiss his bride. She distantly wondered what she must look like to him, standing stock still, fingers clenched. Was her face beginning to redden? Was there sweat beading on her forehead despite the cold? Could he see that even the thought of kissing another man felt like a betrayal?

Her jumbled thoughts were abruptly cut off as he lifted his hands, reaching out to cup her face. They were warm, she noted, and rough. Nothing like his. They did envelope her face though, just like his once did, and for a split second, the weight of all those eyes seemed to lift. It was just her, and this man she barely knew, swearing the rest of their lives to each other.

It was the slight question in his eyes, the hesitation in them, that made her nod, ever so slightly, not daring to close her eyes, wanting to see his every move. He leaned in, and she could feel his warm breath graze her lips. Her heart thumped in her ears, and her whole body felt like it had turned to ice. Her groom still had his eyes open and fixed on hers, filled with something that looked halfway between concern and curiosity. His brows knit together as he studied her face, before suddenly relaxing. Almost as if he realised something. His head dipped, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting.

But the kiss never came.

Her eyes flew open, realisation dawning in them. His hands were covering most of their faces from view, positioned so the ever thirsty cameras get tricked into believing it was a real kiss. Her lips tugged up into a small smile – the first real one that managed to fight its way onto her face since all of this started.

"Thank you," she mouthed, feeling a small droplet of hope, and a huge wave of gratefulness.

He pulled back, mirroring her tiny smile, as the priest announced that they were now wed. Smile dwindling again, the bride turned to face the sea of people and cameras, her heart thrumming in her chest to the beat of a hummingbird's wings.

In the far back, unseen by everyone, a man with the most radiant blue eyes silently slipped out.

-🥀-

Rose sank into the tan leather seats of the car, the interior thick with that new car smell. The silk and lace of her voluptuous bridal dress took up most of the space, and she almost felt bad for the person having to sit beside her.

Not just any person, of course. Her husband.

Sebastian Price.

A cold shiver went down her back. She was going to have to live with this person, this man she barely knew. She had only ever met him thrice before, on 'dates' set up by their parents, but they hardly talked.

Correction, she hardly talked. Sebastian had tried. He asked questions, talked about his alma mater, his family, and eventually the weather. But she hadn't replied. She had sat, quietly, resigned to her fate.

Now, as she looked at him getting into the car, she wondered if she had messed up. She could have tried getting to know him. Could have tried talking to him. But now, it was too late. She was going to live with a stranger, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

Sebastian finally settled into the car, and Rose took a moment to look at him. Actually look at him. He seemed to be doing the same. Both of them, trapped in an inescapable situation, finally taking a beat to really look at the person they just married.

He looked good, Rose noted, with his dark brown eyes and even darker hair, and a face that was all angles. His hair was styled, pushed mostly back, with a few stray strands falling over his forehead. Intentional, Rose knew, much like the seemingly careless curls that fell out of her elaborately done chignon. Everything about their life was an act. It was all plastic and glitter and frosting, with no real substance.

But substance or not, her new husband looked good. At least that was something. A small consolation.

Done with her fairly shameless judgment of his face, Rose started to turn away, only to be stopped by his voice.

"So, um," he started, eloquently. "Hi."

Rose looked at him blankly.

"That was... a really beautiful ceremony," he continued, looking slightly distraught as Rose continued to mutely stare at him. "And you look really beautiful."

At this, Rose let out a quick, short bark of laughter.

"Yeah," she finally said, face half turned to the window. "You look good too."

"Like we would be allowed to look otherwise," he said slowly, eyes trained on her. Rose cocked her head towards him before cracking half a smile.

"Yeah."

"So, do you know when exactly the reception is?"

"Mhm," Rose started, turning back towards the window. "It'll be in a week. After we come back from our honeymoon."

"There will be a much bigger crowd then," he said, and Rose simply nodded, not offering to carry the conversation further at all.

They sank into a heavy silence, with Rose quietly watching the snowy landscape on the other side of the window. She leaned her head on the cold glass, lulled into a sleepy daze by the warm streetlights filtering through. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a warm and inviting darkness took over as she gladly sank into a dreamless sleep.

—🥀—

A/N: I am so excited to finally tell you Rose's story! She has existed in my head for years, and it's time she saw the light of the day.

Hope you'll enjoy reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Do tell me your thoughts! Constructive criticism is always appreciated.