Second Thoughts

1928 Words
Alyssa POV I opened the box with a sense of trepidation and anticipation, the ribbon sliding away from my trembling hands, the box opening to reveal its contents. Part of me expected the box to contain something of significance or sentimental value, such as jewelry or some other kind of trinket, related to my upcoming wedding to Theodore. I was shocked to discover the box contained something far more nefarious and sinister, my hand shaking violently as I reached in and grabbed the magazine, my eyes narrowing as I saw the photograph, the other magazines also showing the photograph underneath. My eyes shot to my stepsister, Dahlia, who looked speechless, while I struggled to find the right words to express the anger and the betrayal I was currently feeling. My lower lip quivered. I saw Dahlia’s complexion go even paler as I continued to stare, the magazine still held in my trembling hands, an expression of disbelief on my face. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my chest so tight that it was almost painful. My father and stepmother had remained silent up until now and I realized that their heads were turned, and they seemed to be transfixed by the television screen, my own eyes instinctively looking as well. I blanched. “Theodore Trace, once an infamous playboy and one of the most eligible bachelors up until recently before becoming engaged to Alyssa Jones, has been caught in the scandal of the year; a photograph capturing him with another woman in a position that can only be described as extremely intimate. The mystery woman is none other than Alyssa Jones’s own stepsister, Dahlia Evans, and looking at the photograph of these two and how cozy they are, it appears there’s more going on between them than meets the eye. Will Theodore Trace issue a statement in regard to this scandalous picture now rocking the media and will his wedding to Alyssa Jones still go ahead as originally planned or are his plans about to go up in smoke? Has Theodore Trace been captured as a liar and cheat, days before the wedding?” I felt nauseas. My heart was thumping loudly in my chest. The magazine I was holding between my hands dropped carelessly to the ground with a heavy thud, startling everybody in the room. My stepsister looked at me panicked, her eyes widening as she took in the glacial look in my eyes. “Alyssa, it’s not what you think” she pleaded as her mother and my father quickly came to her side in a show of support, “Remember when you sent me to Rose Valley? To get your flowers? I fell and tripped, injuring my ankle” she stammered, her eyes begging me to believe her, while I held up a hand, trying to think, wondering if her explanation was at all plausible. Rose Valley. I remember it well. I had sent Dahlia there, in my place, in order to get my flowers for the wedding. That part was truthful. I had been unwell and unable to go myself, Dahlia offering to go for me. At the time, I was grateful to her for the assistance she was lending to me in my time of need. Theodore had gone as well, wanting to offer his input on the flowers as well, considering his groomsmen would have matching ones in their jacket pockets. I looked back at the photograph still on full display on the television, frowning. Theodore was holding Dahlia in his arms, tightly, a small smile curved on his lips as he cradled her against his chest, her own arms wrapped around his neck. It was intimate. There was no denying that. But it was also harmless, if Dahlia’s version of what happened was to be believed. I hesitated as Dahlia licked her lips, looking on the verge of speaking again. A voice spoke from behind me, sounding irritable and filled with annoyance. “Alyssa” he barked as I stiffened, “I’ve been trying to reach you on your cell phone, but you haven’t been answering” he growled. He had? I blinked. I must have left my cell phone in my room when I came downstairs, I thought absently. Dahlia made a wild gesture towards the television screen, and I saw a scowl cross Theodore’s face as he glared at it. He strode to the remote and pointedly turned the television off, looking mutinous. “Could you please give me a few minutes alone with my fiancée so that I can explain myself to her?” he said tightly to my father and stepmother. They reluctantly left the room, but Dahlia refused, remaining behind as I glowered at her. She seemed determined to make me hear her version of the story. “Theodore”. I was on the verge of tears, feeling embarrassed and humiliated. “Why are there photographs of you and Dahlia plastered all over the television and in the magazines?” I fought to keep my voice even. Theodore grimaced, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair and shooting a quick glance at Dahlia, who flattened her lips. My fiancée lost control of his temper. “Are you doubting my loyalty to you, Alyssa?” he demanded scathingly as I blinked at him, “because you should know by now that I would never cheat on you. This has all been blown completely out of proportion” he snapped. “You know what the media and the paparazzi are like” he vented as I stood there silently, and Dahlia nodded in agreement, “It doesn’t bloody matter if it’s the truth or not with those people as long as it makes a good story” he complained. “I was just telling her that I injured my ankle in Rose Valley, and you were carrying me back to my room” Dahlia interjected hastily as Theodore looked at her. Theodore sighed and fixed his eyes on me. “Your stepsister twisted her ankle. All I did was carry her back to her room at the hotel”, he said with sincerity as I tried to hear any sign of subterfuge in his voice. I continued to feel hesitant, although I couldn’t quite figure out the reason for it. Dahlia looked exasperated, grabbing my hand and squeezing it painfully. “How can you believe the media and reporters over your own fiancée?” she said, and I felt ashamed of myself. She was right. I was treating my fiancée as though he was nothing more than a criminal on somebody’s hearsay. I gave them an apologetic look as Theodore looked over at the box still sitting on the table, his gaze sharpening. “Who sent that?” he demanded icily. “I don’t know, it didn’t have a name or return address. I thought it was from you” I stammered nervously. He scowled “From now on don’t open anything that doesn’t have a sender on it” he advised, and I nodded, flushing. He slammed the remote control onto the coffee table, and I winced as I heard the sound of cracking, the wood splintering in places. “Damnit” he snarled “Now I’m going to have to go to the trouble of issuing a statement”, he cursed. I felt remorseful “I’m sorry Theo, I didn’t mean to…” my voice trailed off while Dahlia subtly left the room. “It’s not your fault, the media are bloody vultures” he continued to glower, sitting down and kicking his shoes off with a huff. I gingerly sat down next to him and rubbed his thigh, attempting to convey my sympathy. He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. “Why didn’t you answer your phone” he said abruptly. “I left it upstairs” I whispered apologetically. He gave a groan of exasperation as I bit my lip. His hand snaked out and grabbed me around the waist, picking me up and placing me directly on his lap. He slowly pulled my heels off, letting them drop to the floor. I remained silent, not wanting to provoke him or anger him. He placed his arms around me and stared up at me, exhaling deeply. “After the wedding we can get away from all this nonsense, even if we have to slightly delay the honeymoon a little.” I frowned, wondering if I had misheard him. Delay the honeymoon? I straightened, looking at him sharply. “Delay the honeymoon?” I asked, fighting back my rising anger. “Why would we need to delay the honeymoon, Theo?” The honeymoon had already been booked and paid for. I knew it wasn’t a big deal to somebody as wealthy as he was, but it was a waste of money not to go. “I’m afraid it can’t be helped. I have several important meetings with some valuable clients and the money that would bring in alone, not to mention the increase in my company’s reputation” he began dismissively. Money. It always comes back to money. I felt bitter as I slowly slid off his lap, causing him to look at me confused. “You promised” I said softly, feeling disappointed again, “you said we would go, that you would take time off”. I blinked back tears. Now he looked angry as he spread out his hands. “Get this through your head Alyssa” he growled as I stood there stunned, “You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to marry me. You knew the company was always going to be a priority. Sometimes sacrifices will have to be made in order for this marriage to work between us.” I felt a lone tear trail down my cheek. Even now, he didn’t fully understand what I was so upset about. I doubted he ever would. I looked at his face, at the stone-hard expression he had and felt something inside of me break. “Why does it seem like I’m the one who is always doing the sacrificing then, Theodore?” I sobbed pitifully, unable to look him in the eyes any longer and rushing out the doorway as he let out a strangled sound of frustration, my body rushing upstairs and into the bedroom, before collapsing onto the bed and finally giving way to the tears I had tried so hard to keep at bay. This whole wedding felt like a farce. I was spending so much time walking on tiptoes, trying to please my fiancée and my demanding family, that I wasn’t sure of what I wanted anymore. I was beginning to question everything, namely whether I wanted to marry Theodore or if I was simply bowing down to what everybody expected of me, including him. I had never wanted to marry for money, but for love. I glanced at the ring shining brightly on my finger and gave a twisted smile, feeling as though it was a noose around my neck. Theodore had just proven once again, that he couldn’t put my needs first, and had stated that the company would always take priority in his life. Was this the life I wanted for myself, I wondered, glancing morosely out the window, or was I simply too frightened to break away from a man that had shown what he was capable of when he didn’t get his own way? I had no answers.
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