The Consolation Prize

Chapter Two

“Monique! Monique! Monique, open the damned door!”

The loud booming voice of Oliver and his heavy incessant knocking snapped Monique from her sleep. Her brown eyes landed on Nathaniel’s sleeping form. He was lying on a fat blue couch, his long-sleeved polo creased, his arm lying on his stomach while his other arm was lying at the backrest of the couch. She slowly got up from the soft comfortable bed with her jumpsuit still on her body as she opened the door, the hinges creaking.

Oliver’s knuckle was raised in the air, attempting to do another knock. He had a hard look on his face, his eyebrows drawn together while his jaw was clenched.

“What’s happening?” she asked drowsily, her throat parched with water. Oliver’s face hardened even more when he saw his cousin lying on the couch, snoring softly with his mouth slightly parted.

“Monica is gone,” he said despondently, his hands covering his face. There were tears pooling at the corners of his eyes but the look on his face was another story. They looked hopeless. “Your mother called me just as I was heading down for breakfast.”

His voice sounded so broken. She wanted to comfort him, pull him in her arms but she knew she had no power to make him feel better. Monica was always better even when it came to comforting. It was evident when Oliver failed in an exam and Monica wasn’t there. Monique tried to coax him everything would be better but he wasn’t even convinced not until Monica came and all his worries fleeted once he saw her.

Monique felt something tugging on her heart. She was the last one who saw her twin sister. She felt her heart shatter, and she felt betrayed. Why did Monica lie to her? Why didn’t she tell her anything? Why didn’t she tell Monique about something she was struggling? She wanted to help Monica if she was ever struggling with something and now she was gone, she had no idea where to look. She felt helpless and useless, and somehow, she felt that Oliver was blaming her for Monica’s disappearance.

Nathaniel stirred from his sleep, rubbing his eyes. His blue eyes widened in surprise when he saw them. He almost forgot it wasn’t Monica inside the room. “What are you doing here, Ollie?” he asked, his eyes filled with inquisition.

“Monica’s gone,” he reiterated helplessly. His nose pinked while his eyes were filled with tears. It was the first time Monique saw him cry. And it had to be on the day of their wedding ceremony.

“Did you call her phone?” Nathaniel asked calmly. Oliver was growing restless, his body pacing back and forth as he snapped his fingers.

“I tried several times but… but she’s not answering.” He let out a sob on his throat. He breathed soundly through his nose. “I can’t track her. I can’t find her.”

“There has to be some other way,” Nathaniel suggested.

“Your mother suggested,” Oliver said, his eyes looking at Monique, “that you will be my bride for the time being. FBI teams are discretely and hopefully searching for Monica.” He didn’t seem to agree with her mother’s suggestion but his eyes looked tired and he was on the verge of giving up. If the bride wouldn’t show up at the wedding ceremony in the afternoon, Oliver would be humiliated and flustered.

It would be broadcasted in the national news. Business tycoon is bailed by a runaway bride. His reputation would be tarnished from being a business tycoon to a broken-hearted man.

Even if it would be tarnished, the hurt on Oliver’s chest would never go away. He would have sleepless nights and if Monique—if Monique was really going to be the back-up bride, then she couldn’t help Oliver from getting over her twin sister. Or nonetheless, getting over the question: why did she leave?

“Okay,” Monique answered quietly, swallowing the bile rising on her throat. She wanted to say no. But her mouth did otherwise. Why would Monica suddenly disappear on the wedding day? Last night, Monica didn’t seem to talk about any plans of running away. Or maybe she was so good at hiding it which hurt Monique a lot more. Monica was her confidante in everything. She thought Monica would do the same but why hadn’t she told her anything?

With that, Oliver disappeared without even sparing a glance at his soon-to-be wife. She can never live up to her sister’s perfection and as she turned around, she saw Nathaniel’s blue eyes filled sympathy. The first roll of tear fell on her cheek, scalding on her skin and she was suddenly tugged into a pair of arms. Nathaniel’s woodsy scent filled her nostrils as her head dove into his chest, her tears staining his long-sleeved polo.

“I don’t want to be a back-up bride,” she whispered, “but I owe this to Monica a lot. And I’ll do anything to help her, even if she’s not here.” Her voice was laced in thickness as she said those words. Nathaniel remained quiet, caressing her brown hair slowly and she felt soothed with his way of her comfort. If she could only pull that off with Oliver.

“You can help Monica,” Nathaniel replied, “but not being her replacement. It may do my cousin damage in his part, but it won’t benefit you. It won’t make you happy. Do you really want this?”

Monique swallowed slowly. In a firmer tone, she responded, “Yes. I want this. I owe Monica my life. And I want to help her. Maybe if I just become his replacement bride for the time being, we will search for her together. The idea seems farfetched but I know that we can find her.”

When she stared into Nathaniel’s eyes, they didn’t look like they were agreeing to her words but there was still understanding laced in them. He nodded slowly, and they distanced themselves with each other, Nathaniel’s arms letting go from her waist. Monique felt a rise of heat on her cheeks, and she stuttered, “I-I should, uh, we should—.”

“I should go,” Nathaniel said. “See you at breakfast.”

“Y-yeah, see y-you,” she replied and Nathaniel was gone, leaving her with a flushed face and a question that never bothered to leave her. If only she knew Monica that well, then maybe she could find her in just a single blink of an eye.

*

“Where have you been Monique? I’ve been calling your cell for five times and you aren’t picking it up,” her mother, Celestine, asked, wiping the smudges at the corner of her lips. She was delicately eating the breakfast dish of the day, the leaves on her plate unattractively stashed together. Whoever the chef was, he or she was slacking in cooking the meal. But her mother seemed to eat it, the plate halfway done once Monique arrived.

Her eyes searched for a familiar blonde boy who she only met last night, and there he was sat at the other table, with a brooding Oliver who wasn’t moving the food on his plate with his brows drawn in a line and his jaw clenched together. He was radiating an angry aura that spread in the whole restaurant. Monique sat across her mother. Her mother looked nothing like Monique. She had strawberry blonde hair that fell in waves, and had hazel eyes with flecks of blue. Monique got her looks from her father. He was nowhere to be found and somehow, it gave her an uncomfortable feeling being alone with her mother.

“I was preparing myself decently,” she quietly answered. It wasn’t a reasonable excuse because it earned her a sharp glare from Celestine. She cowered in fear, covering her face with her dry brown hair. She wasn’t able to put conditioner on her hair because her cell kept ringing which meant, Celestine was in serious business.

“You look halfway decent!” Celestine almost yelled, but it was enough not to cause attention to other people. “If Monica was here. Goddammit why did it have to be her to disappear.”

It stung. Her mother’s words stung so badly. She didn’t expect for her to say those words and a pinpricking needle dove to her chest. She didn’t want to disappoint her mother but this was the best she could do. Her heart shattered to pieces and she could hear them breaking like glass.

“You’re a disappointment, an embarrassment, a walking disaster,” she continued whilst Monique kept quiet, the bile rising on her throat. She listened to her mother insult her, the tears rising at the corner of her eyes. She pursed her lips into a straight line, preventing herself from letting out a sob.

“What are you doing, Celestine?” Alas, her father came. His hair was growing white, the wrinkles smiling in his eyes, his brown eyes chastising his wife. “Stop insulting our child as if it is only mine.”

“She should grow up, Zach, look at her.” She eyed Monique from head to toe, and then said, “She is such a disgrace.”

“Then you are a bad parent then,” Zachary, her father, said calmly, which shut her up and a traitorous smile conquered Monique’s lips.

“Eat now, Monique, we’ll discuss what we’ll do with the wedding,” her father said and she stood up, headed her way to the buffet. Her stomach growled loudly. Her hand immediately found its way to the porcelain plate, and to the eating utensils. Chefs with their white uniforms cooked in front of her, smiles embedded on their faces.

“Are you really going to push through becoming the back-up bride?”

Monique almost lost her contact with her plate, spoon and fork as she felt Nathaniel’s presence beside her. Her eyes widened in astonishment as she gave him a slight glare. “You almost killed me,” she whispered in reply.

Nathaniel only smirked. “What can I say? My charm takes a toll on everyone,” he playfully responded, filling his plate with food. “So are you? Saw your mother mad.”

Monique shrugged. “I will still do it. Even if I can’t help Monica now, I’ll help Oliver. I owe her remember? A lot. And I want to find her, too, because I want to know why she left, just like that. And on the wedding day.”

“You make it sound so easy. Being married is a different world, Monique,” Nathaniel reasoned. Monique hadn’t pondered over that, the thought of having a married life with someone.

“They wouldn’t know if I’m Monica or not.” And if Monica would be found, then it was like she didn’t marry Oliver after all. “Why are you so concerned about it?”

Nathaniel’s brows shot up to his hairline. “Why won’t I be? This is my cousin we’re talking about. I care for my cousin Oliver and this is not what he needs right now. And I don’t want you to rush into decisions then later on regretting it.” Monique grabbed a large spoonful of salad dressing onto her plate, as well as Spaghetti Bolognese.

“I’ll think about it,” was what Monique managed to reply. “Thanks for the concern, Nat.”