Chapter 3 Looking like a nightmare

Chapter 0003|Looking like a nightmare

AMELIA'S POV

"You look like a dream." my nanny, caregiver and, only loyal guest in all my life events gushed even as she swivelled the full-length mirror towards me and I couldn't help but agree with her and not because of the sky blue mermaid gown that constricted my breathing with its too tight waistline and made me uncomfortable with its plunging neckline that had made me gape at the gown in total disbelief when my tutor in being a proper lady, Ma Eleanor had presented it to me as the gown handpicked for this charade of an event I'd rather be anywhere in the world than be at, since it was nothing like I have been allowed to wear before since my father who dictated every little intricately patterned details of my life but somehow wasn't present to see me live it was a great emphasizer on decency. But it was beginning to seem like for, tonight, Mr Romania was allowed to bend his own little rule when he deems fits. So here I was also wearing a silly tiara that comfortably sat on my styled French braided plaits, made of pure stones that put an icing to the title, make believe Rapunzel. So yes this was a dream because I was living out the biggest fear and nightmare of my life; Being married to a man that I had absolutely no ounce of feelings for.

"Can I wake up?" I sarcastically mumbled as I glared at my make-up maid who rushed towards me dabbing my face one more time with her foundation brush

I felt sick, nauseous, and honestly can't wait for this night to be done with.

Madam Judy's warm brown eyes were immediately filled with worries and I regretted my snarky retort since the last thing I needed at the moment was having one more person sulking because they couldn't help but be worried. Ron was already doing enough and for a small guy he throws quite an impressive tantrum but not huge enough to stop Romania's big-picture plans and that was something he needed to accept just like I have because for me? I'm as good as married to a man that has made me fake a migraine twice just to escape a conversation with him about him. I won't call it a conversation now I think of it since it was pretty much one-sided but you get the idea right? I'm expected to spend forever with a man I couldn't endure for mere hours. Problem? Forever was a long time hence I was being dolled up and led to make the most memorable mistake of my life.

"You know how much your Dad adores you and won't make this alliance if not that he thought hard about it and is sure you would be happy with his match for you?"

I plastered a smile on my face not ready to go into explaining what I was sure she knew too well although she was right about one thing he did have enough time in his hands to think. 18 years of watching his nuisance of a female child while thinking of the perfect match for her that would cement the future of his outfit forever and he had quickly made up his mind hence he had barely waited till she was legal to do away with her. For love, sometimes I do believe that perhaps Romania in his fucked up mind do believe he loves us, obviously not enough to compete with his empire but just the right amount to make sure we are almost perfect and nothing less.

Love to him was a concept now registered in the walls of this ancient multibillion historical building with endless rooms that requires a map guide so you don't get lost that have never felt like a home to me because even as a young child I could tell that something was off. Love as a Slovakia was conditional, with sets of rules that are supposed to make you earn crumbs of it hence something was always expected of us while I was the means to an end, the perfect commodity to be sold to the highest bidder with a set of principles ingrained in me that should make me the perfect trophy wife, Nicholas made Romania look good, human even with the fake pretence of fatherly concern he showered on him for the benefit of the public and he is forever faced with the challenge of being perfect and nothing less every day.

And the list goes on but though I might be a little biased I believe being a woman handed me the short side of the stick.

I'll always have to answer to somebody all my life now it is my father, soon it'll be my husband and in old age, my children would be allowed a free pass of their input.

Speak of the devil and he arrives in all his glory, his aftershave and cologne wafted into my nose even before my doorknob turned and the 6ft hunk of a man with a youthful gait and an aura that assures you of your stupidity the minute thoughts of crossing him comes to your mind, entered inside my room which he had insisted decorating like a glitter princess and Barbie had a sleepover in, stating that I needed to be as girly as possible.

There was only so much pink and glitter a girl could see for a lifetime that could make her obsessed with black, and with how devastatingly nauseous my room made me it is safe to say if I had my way I'll never pronounce the word pink in my lifetime.

"My princess," he gruffly muttered and I tried as much as possible not to cringe at the nickname as always but with my track record of failing at doing just that I wasn't surprised by a repetition but Daddy dearest was too busy offering me his hand to notice, which I took and with my free hand I collected my Acekar Venetian Masquerade mask from my personal maid and for full disclosure everything I had on even the heavy stone on my neck that was making me question the sanity of all women obsessed with pieces of jewellery wasn't of my choosing.

"You look beautiful." He complimented at the hall and from the corner of my eyes, I could see a journalist photographer who should be among the group of paparazzi Dad had granted access to the house and party to achieve media presence dangling his camera.

I smiled, my gaze lingering a little while on his face in what was supposed to be of tender father and daughter affectionate moment, which was enough time for the journalist to notice, aim and take a perfect picture.

You are welcome.

"Remember what I told you." Dad warningly reminded with a smile meant for the blinding cameras now flashing at us and different questions being thrown in the air and directed at my father on why he was suddenly allowing me to make a social media presence after eighteen good years.

Good luck! I sarcastically thought to myself hoping they get an answer to their questions soonest because even I who was the subject matter and whose life was majorly influenced by these decisions didn't know the reason why he was now throwing a helluva party to commemorate an engagement finalization as opposed to the small cottage feel gathering I always thought goes hand in hand with low key mafia gang alliances but Romania was pulling all the stops and I didn't have a right to ask why.

Still want to be me and have my SUV latest edition cars, inherit an aloof brother and, a detached father.... Oh get married to the sauntering blondie heading towards me with a wineglass in his hand that explains his wide grin.

Great! I'll trade places with you in split seconds.

Dad smiled widely at Jackson when he took my hand and kissed the back of it tenderly and I smiled a little pleased that he wasn't that wasted to forget the picture-perfect make-believe lie we have been made to live even as mere children.

"I won't Dad," I promised for the umpteenth time. "Terrace, midnight. A kiss."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his satisfied smile as Jackson led me to the dance floor.

If you haven't noticed, my family is particularly intent on not revolving so here I was following some ancient Russian custom that existed in the times of my father's ancestors which included something as cliché as the 12 traditions to follow that guaranteed a happy married life for newlywed couples.

One of which would be happening tonight, at the terrace at the stroke of midnight. Yes, you guess right, like my life couldn't be more cliché and dramatic, my father has gone out of his way to interweave theatrics that were just sickening.

So tonight, as an official declaration of our engagement, I'll be giving my first kiss to a man that I knew no tradition in the world could stop him from being a terrible husband.

I frowned even as I stared at his emerald eyes underneath his silver Venetian mask desperately hoping to feel something, anything that proved my notions wrong but there it was the same damn indifference. I couldn't even hate him because in a way I knew how hard it is to be a child of a man who regarded his children as chess pieces so if anything I pitied him.

JASON'S POV

I scowled at the silver Venetian mask, Tristan handed to me.

"Couldn't you have found something more black, grey perhaps?"

Tristan my best friend who had connected me to a hacker that had somehow gotten my name in Romania's VIP guest list, also known as the guy I knew who had long-chain access to any type of guy you wanted for even the completely illegal stuff which sometimes his job as the CEO of one of the rapidly growing security company in the country, needed.

"Would you rather take mine?" he mumbled under his breath even as he wore a brazen red mask that made me grin. "I took the first thing I saw that screamed masquerade mask besides I want to believe we didn't go through all that trouble of gaining access to an airtight security guarded party just to browse masks."

I rolled my eyes as I strode inside the big glamorous hall where the designer took his or her job of transporting us into the 80s very seriously.