SINCERELY YOURS

It was my wedding day. I was sitting on a velvet upholstered stool after getting my makeup done by a celebrity makeup artist who flew in this morning specifically for me and my impending bliss. I was wearing a custom Vera Wang bridal gown with a gossimer veil draped around my shoulders. My veil had also been customized with inlaid Swarovski crystals that trailed around elven sentences from my favorite book, The Lord of The Rings.

From my window inside the Shangri-La Hotel, I could simply look out and see the lit-up Eiffel tower in the distance. It was a beautiful, cool evening in summer and nothing could possibly be more perfect.

Except, nothing was perfect. Everything was all very, very wrong.

My exquisite makeup was in black smears beneath my eyes and on the pristine white of my satin, elbow-length gloves. I was sobbing like a little bitch in front of the man of my dreams as he sat on the stool in front of mine with his hands in his lap, looking completely poised, calm...and perfect.

"I know. You have every right to be angry with me. It's just...I really don't think it's the right time to be getting married. I feel like there is so much left for me to discover and learn about the world and--"

"Wait, wait! Did this epiphany occur to you before, or after you cheated?" I interjected with a bitter scowl, making me appear even more...radiant.

"Come on, Angelina, don't be like that."

My fiance, Viru drew back with a sigh. Was he serious right now? Ten more minutes and we were supposed to be walking down an incredibly lavish wedding aisle covered on either sides with his family and friends, and my one relative; my mom.

How did I find myself here? I began to ask myself. I didn't consider myself to be the dimwit who couldn't tell if her boyfriend loved her or not, but I guess cheaters came in all shapes and sizes, wrapped in pretty bowties and spouting articulate promises of love.

Five years...I had been with this perfect, amazing man for five years. We had created an entire life itinerary around our goals, our future kids, our fucking dream chateau in France!

I had met Viru through a blind date set up by my friends. He was an investor, a talented one at that. He could talk circles around anyone on wall street about what was hot and what was a dead end. He could snap his fingers and have several start-up businesses flourishing. He was intelligent, cunning, incredibly handsome in that blue blood sort of way with the clean cut blonde hair and striking blue eyes.

I, on the other hand, was an author. Albeit a successful one, but also an incredibly outspoken, artsy-fartsy, nonfiltered one. Thinking about it now, it's hard to even guess why he would take one look at me. Just nearing height at five'three, I wasn't exactly a super model. More like a step up from one of the munchkins in that old Wizard of Oz movie complete with the never-ending mouth. My hair was dull brown, straight and mortal enemies with all curling irons. My eyes were probably my most attractive feature about me. They were violet. It was an unusual color, but it was my color and I loved it.

Except now, they were red, puffy and surrounded by big, grotesque black circles of mascara.

"You're serious...you're completely serious." I muttered, staring at him in dumbfounded shock.

He sighed again, making me want to reach out and slap his perfect, handsome face. He looked back at me in...pity?!

"I'm sorry, Angelina, I really am. It's just...your mother and I..."

Excuse me, what?

"What about my mom?" I whispered as I could feel the blood quickly draining from my face. He stood to his feet and walked to the window, gaining safe distance from me. Smart man.

"Angelina...I hate to tell you this way. I waited way too long. God, I'm so sorry." He said on another fucking sigh. I was beginning to lose my sanity at this point and I snapped at him while standing to my feet.

"Just say it! I've got nothing left to lose, right?!

He looked at me with big, blue sad eyes. When his mouth opened, my mind flew away like the birds skirting around the Eiffel Tower.

"I'm in love with your mother. We...we've been in love for a long time and I wasn't sure how to tell you. I realized I couldn't live a life with you while I wanted her the whole time. It just wouldn't be fair...to either of us. Hey, are you okay?"

I was out the door in seconds. My head was pounding with inner screams of rage and mortification as I marched down the lavish hallway of the Shangri-La in my wedding dress.

Nearing the double doors that led out to the courtyard where all our guests were waiting for the ceremony to begin, I raised both my hands and braced them against the doors before swinging them wide open and stomping down the aisle. The entire walkway was lit up with twinkling lights overhead, casting a romantic golden glow over the ceremony.

I could hear the murmurs and alarmed whispers from people all around me, yet my eyes were fixated on only one person. Sitting in the front row of white fold-out chairs, my lovely mother- the exact opposite of me in every way- perched prettily in her seat, flicking a silken lock of her white blonde hair over one slender bare shoulder. I was wondering why she had decided to wear white today as well...

When she heard me approach, she looked back at me with a smile plastered across her cherry red lips. Although, the smile quickly fell from her face when she noticed the look of rage on mine.

"HOW COULD YOU?!" I screamed in her face as I shoved my bouquet into her chest, scattering orchid petals everywhere. She raised her hands in defense with a wild look of terror. The other guests began talking loudly then, one of the older gentleman sitting across from my mother stood to his feet to intervene. I didn't give a shit.

"Sweety, hold on, just listen." She started to say in that annoying high-pitched voice of hers. I had no mind to listen to anything that came out of her mouth. She was my only living relative. I had trusted her, been close to her as much as a black sheep, ugly author of a daughter could be to a glowingly beautiful mother who was the height of society.

She was a clothing designer. She even helped me design my own wedding gown for crying out-loud! This was betrayal to the highest standard and I was ill-equipped to handle it.

"Shut it, you slut-faced old bat! Don't ever speak to me again, do you understand?! God!!!! Oh my god!!!" I was reeling, flailing my hands and sobbing right in front of hundreds of our wedding guests.

The one man who had stood to intervene seemed to have taken a few steps backwards, probably realizing it wasn't the brightest idea to approach a crazed, golemn-faced bride.

I couldn't stop screaming, until I did. Then I punched her.

The guests erupted into shouts of alarm, Viru was running down the aisle with a look of panic and my mother was currently toppling over backwards into the throng of fold-out chairs.

"Angelina!" Viru called out. I roared in anger and immediately felt like a wild woman in her element. Fuck society! Fuck these mother fuckers!

I picked up one of the fold-out chairs and threw it at him with all my strength. To my happy surprise, it rammed into his nose, sending a spurt of blood down his perfectly trimmed tuxedo. The men in the crowd started to run towards me then. I flipped them all a middle finger while tearing across the manicured lawn towards the half stone wall. Picking up my heavy skirts and kicking up dirt in the grass with my white heels, I leapt over the wall and went crashing onto the sidewalk on the other side. I nearly fell into a jogger as they were going past, causing them to shout and stumble out of my way.

"Move it, asshole!" I screamed in crazed anger as he tried to help me to my feet.

"Geez okay, wow." He said, stepping away with both hands raised. I gathered up my dress again and began to run down the sidewalk of Paris. I had no idea where I was going, no clue what I was even doing. All I knew was that I had to get out of there, away from everyone and everything.

The lights of the city were glaringly bright in the night and cars were rushing past me, honking and weaving through heavy traffic. I could barely see any of it thanks to all the tears blocking my vision. I turned a corner and ran down another sidewalk away from the bustling traffic. I ran until my lungs felt as if they would burst. I ran into my legs were heavy and shaking. I ran until I couldn't run anymore, being blessedly stopped by a large gaping river.

I slumped to the ground in my wedding dress right there next to the stone edge that separated me from the murkey depths. The only light visable now was from the dim glow being cast down by the street lamps.

I couldn't believe my life had turned out this way. What horrific deeds must I have done in a past life to deserve this monstrosity I now found myself in. I was even more enraged about my own mixed feelings. A part of me was enraged at Viru and my mother, yet another part of me was absolutely terrified to be without him. I wanted to run back and beg him to stay with me, to love me and continue living a happy, fake life full of insane, fake, bullshit. That wasn't an option though. I was just scared to be alone. In Paris, France. With no one to turn to.

Michael Lambart stumbled along the path by the Seine River, inebriated and lost in his thoughts. With a lowered head, he struggled to push aside his black tawny curls that obstructed his view. Frustrated, he fumbled with his shirt, searching for a cigarette, only to realize he had already smoked his last one a few minutes ago.

The night had been an absolute disaster for him. Exiting the cathedral after his grandfather's funeral, he found the entire affair tedious, excessively long, and overwhelmingly melancholic. Although he hadn't been particularly close to his grandfather, who had raised him, the significance of their relationship meant very little to him. What vexed him most was the unexpected turn of events during the post-funeral meeting with his lawyer to discuss the will.

"Tristan," he muttered quietly, unable to shake off their conversation from his mind.

"All financial assets will be withheld until the legal requirement of marriage has been fulfilled."

"Sorry, what did you say? He interrupted me?"

"Yes, until you 'settle down and marry'-those were his exact words. I suppose he thought it would be a maturing experience for you to bid farewell to bachelorhood. Clearly, you don't share the same sentiment."

"He's haunting me...even in death."

"Ah, haha. It's quite unfortunate."

"I'm glad you agree. Well then, I suppose I must find a wife, eh?"

"Seems so. Good luck."

"Ha...good luck."

Afterward, Michael found himself wandering off to get another drink. No amount of threats or restrictions on his trust funds could have led him to this moment. He hadn't expected his grandfather to sever all his financial freedoms. Yes, he indulged in street racing, vacations, women, and alcohol excessively, but that was his way of living life to the fullest. There was only one life, and he had no intention of squandering it. Regardless, he had worked diligently to reach this point, only to watch his hard-earned achievements slip away.

His grandfather had always lectured him about the importance of "pride and dignity" through hard work and knowledge, which he found ridiculous. He was French, after all, brimming with pride. And knowledge? He held a PhD in Philosophy with a minor in chemical engineering!

Yet the old man, that wretched bastard, had never been pleased or proud of him. Never! So, what was the point? There was none! Even after his death, his grandfather found a way to control his life. Find a wife, settle down, have children-always the same unappealing nonsense! He had no desire for a wife, and he doubted he ever would. He preferred lovers, various enchanting partners whose mysteries he would unravel until the magic faded away. He wasn't the type to "settle down."

Unlike most men, he never committed to relationships or bestowed titles upon his lovers. He never gave them false hope for a future together. He was a straightforward man with simple tastes. If he found a woman appealing, he would seduce her, bluntly asking if she desired to make passionate love with him. If the answer was yes, she would be captivated, and inhibitions would be shed in no time.

Marriage was out of the question. It would drain all the excitement out of life. Love, he doubted he would ever experience it. Passion, yes-endless, intoxicating passion-but not love. Perhaps his grandfather had even stripped him of that wondrous, illuminating feeling.

In his intoxicated state, Michael was thoroughly drunk, his senses dulled and his movements unsteady. As he stumbled along the walkway beside the Seine River, he found himself singing a lively French song, his slurred words melding with the night air. The melody escaped his lips, carried by the alcohol-laden breath that filled the space around him.

The quality of what he consumed was questionable at best, a cheap and potent concoction that burned its way down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. It was a far cry from the refined spirits he had once indulged in. But in his current state of despair, he cared little for the subtleties of taste and sophistication. Any liquid that could temporarily drown his sorrows sufficed, regardless of its origins or composition.

As he swayed and stumbled, his voice wavered in pitch, a mixture of incoherent babbling and occasional bursts of laughter. His once-clear enunciation was now distorted by the alcohol, turning the French lyrics into a garbled mess. Yet, he continued to sing, his voice carrying the weight of his disillusionment and heartache, blending with the sounds of the city's nightlife.

With each passing verse, his song grew louder, a desperate attempt to drown out the thoughts that haunted his mind. The rhythm of the song matched the rhythm of his unsteady steps, a discordant symphony of drunkenness. And as he sang, his voice echoed through the empty streets, a poignant testament to his state of intoxication and the emotional turmoil that consumed him., his hands nestled in his dress pants pockets, he suddenly heard a disconcerting mix of sniffles and sobs up ahead. Suppressing a scowl at the disturbing noise, he lifted his gaze to investigate the source.

He froze.

His heart raced in his chest while his knees buckled, causing him to stumble clumsily forward.

"Mon Dieu..." he whispered, his eyes widening as an overwhelming love consumed him, striking his heart with unparalleled intensity. In that moment, he couldn't recall anything about his own life prior to that encounter.

What had just occurred?

Who was she? He felt a sense of familiarity, but from where? Why was she sobbing uncontrollably, clad in a wedding dress? And most importantly, why was she standing precariously on the edge of the stone railing overlooking the Seine below?

Michael's intoxicated mind raced through these bewildering questions as he stood transfixed, gazing at her as if she were the very gateway to Heaven. Her beautiful brown upturned hair resembled rich mahogany, her petite and shapely body promised exquisite pleasure, and her soul-crushing eyes captivated him even in the dim night illuminated by streetlights. Everything about her sent bolts of lightning through his heart and lower regions.

Suddenly, he found himself questioning everything he thought he knew about himself and what he desired in life.

He had never believed in love at first sight, but there he was, smitten and awestruck by a mysterious woman perched on the ledge above the Seine. No other woman mattered in that moment. Forget the others! He wanted her. He loved her. He would willingly sacrifice his life for hers... hold on..

"Mademoiselle, qu'est-ce que tu fais ?" he exclaimed, the words escaping his lips in a mix of concern and astonishment. As he briskly approached her, his mind raced with disbelief. Could it be possible? Was she contemplating taking a leap into the unknown? Was this captivating woman, the embodiment of his deepest desires, truly seeking to end her own life?

Her exquisite face turned towards him, radiating a beauty that seemed to illuminate the very heavens above. It was as if a divine light was shining down upon them, enveloping their encounter in an ethereal aura.

Oh, mon amour...

How had this enigmatic woman managed to seize his heart and sanity in a mere instant? Doubt began to seep into his thoughts, questioning his own sanity. There could be no other explanation for his current state of bewilderment. Why else would he find himself standing here, unable to form a coherent thought, completely captivated by the vision of loveliness before him?

She's mine. My love. My heart. Ma trésor.

She suddenly frowned at him. She snapped out quite rudely then in a spread-out, open voweled accent of no exact origin except for American.

"What?! Sorry fucktwat, I have no idea what you just said."

Oh no. No, no, no, no....fucktwat?

His eyes widened in shock. Biting back the expression of confusion that threatened to loom across his face, he gazed at her quietly. How could his angel speak to him so? Yes, he did not know her, yes he was a complete stranger approaching her alone at night, but she was the one on the precipice of jumping off a ledge into the river...why was she calling him the fucktwat?

Speaking plainly in English, he chose his words carefully.

"You're American. I see. Are you perhaps wanting to take a swim in zee Seine? I wouldn't recommend it. Zee water is too dirty, and too cold. Not a pleasant experience, I assure you."

"What? I'm sorry, I can't understand what you're saying to me right now."

He frowned. Was his accent that heavy? He didn't think it was...maybe she was just ignorantly deaf to anything other than american accents. He tried again, summing up all the patience he possessed, which in that moment was very little...but for her? He would do or say anything to get her to climb down from that wretched edge.

"What are you doing up there, Madamoiselle...or Madam?" He corrected himself, once again taking note of the wedding dress adorning her exquisite body. Was it terribly awful that he hoped she was in fact not married? Was that why she was up there? Realization dawned on him then.

Why else would she be up there?

"None of your damn business, French Fry. Just keep walking!" She snapped.

So racist...mon Dieu!

"Ha..haha. Zat is very funny. But no. I am not walking away. You are about to kill yourself, yes? I think I will stay here and try to convince you not to do so, because zat is a very terrible idea."

She shot her gaze to his and he nearly smiled at the unusual violet coloring of her eyes. She was so strikingly beautiful in a classical sort of way, especially when she wasn't speaking.

"You don't even know me, dude."

With a disdainful flick of her veil, she made a comment about his alcohol-infused breath. Observing her reaction, he couldn't help but chuckle, finding her unawareness quite amusing. In his mind, she had unknowingly given him a perfect opportunity to prove her wrong in a satisfying manner.

"Dood..." he repeated playfully, his amusement evident as he narrowed his eyes and gazed at her. He found the word she used to describe his condition rather unattractive.

"I may not be acquainted with you personally, but I can draw conclusions based on what I perceive," he replied, accompanied by a mischievous smile. "The dress you're wearing is incredibly beautiful-a dress intended for love, promising eternal affection and companionship. Yet, here you stand, all alone. Desperately yearning for connection, devoid of love."

"Pardon me?" she interjected, taken aback.

"I haven't finished," he retorted, continuing with his statement. You are considering your final chances. He does not love me, you sink...think. Zis dress is a nightmare now. I want to end my life and drown in the depths of despair. My love has been turned over, tainted like a dark shadow over my heart. There iz nothing left to live for."

"Are you done now?!"

"No. You sink, what is waiting for me beyond zis horrible night? What calls beyond the blessed temptation of death? Mon amour, the sweet beginnings of life are waiting for you. There iz so much more beyond zis black, dirty river waiting for you to discover. If you do not come down from that ledge, then I will hop onto it beside you and kiss you senseless until you remember that there is so much more to life waiting for you to discover."Concluding his statement, he locked eyes with her in a stoic gaze, silently challenging her to put his resolve to the test. In response, she merely glared back, her defiance evident.

"Who on earth are you?" she demanded sharply, not offering the response he had anticipated. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast, unwilling to yield.

Undeterred, he swiftly leaped onto the ledge beside her, deftly catching her waist and the fabric of her dress in his arms, causing her to stumble in surprise. Seizing her hand, he pressed a gentle kiss on its surface before grinning down at her, his eyes filled with anticipation.

"Ton destin," he murmured, leaving her no room to utter further words. And before she could react, he lowered his face and firmly sealed his lips onto hers, a kiss brimming with promises of profound love that she was about to embark upon, an adventure yet to unfold.