Chapter 3 THIRD CHAPTER

Camille's POV I have never been so anxious in my entire life as this before. My nerves were all over the place, a cold sweat pricking at the back of my neck, and I couldn't seem to stop my hands from shaking as I fumbled with the clasp of my pearl necklace. I am not the one getting married, dammit. I stared at my reflection in the mirror situated at the right end of my room; ivory coloured tweed skirt and blouse, pearl earrings and a simple pearl necklace with low heeled pumps. Heck, I even packed my hair in a bun and pasted on a neutral-coloured lipstick, no gloss. I looked like a younger version of my mother, and I hated it. Well, I had no choice; this is my parent's approved standard clothing, and if I wanted to be on my best behaviour tonight, I might as well start from my appearance. My phone screen came on with a notification that said I had unread messages. It should definitely be the group chat. I had updated my friends, Hannah and Zaya, about the marriage thing earlier, but my explanation was cut short by my mother announcing that I should start getting ready. They must be dying from unfinished 'gist', especially Zaya, she thrives in gossip a lot. I picked up my phone about to respond when my mom walked into my room without knocking, not even bothering to pause at the threshold, her heavy, suffocating floral perfume preceding her. Hello, is privacy now extinct? "Your makeup looks a little bit dull." She examined me with a critical eye, her fingers reaching out to tilt my chin upward roughly, her nails digging in a little too hard. "I have told you to get a new set of makeup kits. How will you attract suitable suitors if you can't even do your makeup right? Which makeup product do you use?" "Kylie Jenner's Mother." My cheeks ached from me trying to hold a polite smile, the muscles trembling beneath the skin. "Your sister uses that product too, and it looks impeccable on her. Why is it different with you?" She said, still examining me, her lips curling in a disappointed sneer. "And why are you wearing ivory-coloured tweed? Brown will look good on you." My mother had the power to destroy anything I try to do right in my life. Most times, I feel like she's trying to shape me into another Sarah Alonso. It is always another 'you don't look good in this' or 'no, this is wrong' or 'take a look at your sister'. She's always criticising everything I do, and then comparing me with my sister. It has gotten so much worse lately, by the way. "Mother, I look good. You are just too stressed not to notice that. Don't worry, everything will go well tonight." I smoothed my blouse, the rough tweed scratching against my palms, trying not to look her in the eyes. "Yes, I might be stressed, but I didn't complain when I went to check on your sister," my mother countered. "You are not getting younger anymore, Camille. Look at your sister; she has singlehandedly raised this family's honour by bagging the Montgomerys." "I'm only twenty-seven, Mother; there are a lot of good men out there that I will still meet," I answered patiently. "Well, time waits for no one, especially not a woman." My mother snapped, walking out the door and leaving it wide open behind her. "Be out in five; the Montgomerys have arrived." The Montgomerys' arrival was even more intimidating than I had imagined. Everything about them screamed superior, the heavy weight of their presence pressing down on the foyer, and I have never felt so small. My father rushed to welcome them in and by them, I mean the eldest in the family; Elder Montgomery, a man in his 80's with sharp, assessing eyes, Peter Montgomery and his wife whom seemed to love the way my mother was fawning over her, christ, and wait a minute, where was their son? The one who supposedly wants to get married to my sister. "My grandson will be a little late," Elder Montgomery said, answering my thoughts on cue, his voice dry like old paper. "I hope you don't mind; he has a meeting he could not put off, unfortunately." "Oh no, Elder Montgomery doesn't have to explain." My father smiled, his posture instantly folding into subservience. "We under-" "Please call me Patrick, Elder sounds too old and standoffish." Elder Montgomery interjected. "By the way, we would be family soon too, your children can refer to me as grandfather." "Oh my, thank you for this honour. You are too generous." My mother smiled brightly, tucking her freshly manicured hands together as a triumphant glow took over her features. "Let's talk in the living room, it will be rude to start dinner if our grandson is not here yet," Elder Montgomery said. "Ah, yes of course." My father led them towards our living room area. It was sickening to see my family lower themselves like this. A man who wants to propose a marriage is late, even if it's an arranged one, and they are all smiles and bows. Well, that's not my problem anyways. "So it might come as a shock or surprise to you when I called you last week," Elder Montgomery began after taking his seat at the head couch, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a slow, deliberate movement. "Your father and I have been friends for a very long time before our relationship became estranged due to some misconceptions. But before the estrangement, we made a promise to each other that we would keep our bond closer by making sure at least one of our children tied the knot. That couldn't be possible for our first generation, because, well, they are both men, and we had our issues. But ever since, I heard my friend, your father, is no more. I have been thinking..." He paused and looked at the faces of each and everyone in the living room, the absolute silence in the room stretching painfully thin. "How much more could we have resolved our issues before he died? Or even at least sit down to have a proper conversation about it." He continued, his expression turning solemn as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Anthony Alonso was always very stubborn and so hot-tempered, but he will forever remain my true friend. Which is why I have decided to take it upon myself to fulfil our promise because I owe it to him. We owe it to each other, and I'd be damned if I died without seeing it come through." He finished. Okay, that's quite touching. But is this the part where we clapped? My mother sniffed, making light dabs at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. My father; well, his face looked grim, tight around the jaw. I don't remember my grandfather that much, but I know he was a man of honour and character, much more than my father. He had loved taking me to the sea when I was younger, letting the salt spray hit our faces, but I don't ever remember him or anyone in the family talking about the Montgomerys. Maybe there was a grudge buried too deep. "Thank you so much, sir, err, I mean Patrick," my father stammered when Elder Montgomery's eyebrow shot up at the "sir" word, a bead of sweat catching the light on his temple. "Thank you for deciding to honour my father. I'm more than delighted, and thank you for sharing your history with my father, because he has never mentioned you before." "One of Anthony's toxic traits is that he knows how to hold a grudge so well. And we had our issues just right after you were born," Elder Montgomery said casually, dropping a casual bomb of family lore into the room. "Why is Malakai not here yet?" Elder Montgomery asked his son, Peter, his tone hardening instantly. "Umm, well, I'm sure he should be on his way, Father," Mr Peter stuttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, tell him to hurry up!" Elder Montgomery snapped. "That won't be necessary, grandfather." We all turned in the direction of that voice, the hairs on my arms lifting instantly. Low, smooth rumble with a faint London accent that made my toes curl instantly straight into the soles of my shoes. It is Him. The man from the tennis court two days ago. Dark hair, intimidatingly tall, broad-shouldered with striking ocean-blue pale eyes that roamed around the people in the living room with absolute, predatory confidence as he stepped out of the hallway that opened to the living room. How did he get in? Did he just arrive? "Mr Malakai Montgomery, so glad for you to finally join us." My father stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the marble floor, walking towards him with an eager hand outstretched. "You are just in time for dinner." "Well, that's good to hear. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Alonso." He answered, his voice completely neutral, taking my father's hand with a firm, unyielding grip. "I presume my grandfather has mentioned the reason as to why we are here?" His stare broke away from my father, moving directly to me. God. Why was he staring at me like that? Does he perhaps remember our tense encounter at the tennis court? "Ah, yes, of course..." My father said excitedly, completely missing the heavy current now growing in the air. "Let's talk more over it during dinner." "During dinner?" His left eye twitched, a tiny crack in his cool exterior. "You would like to discuss an arranged marriage during dinner? When are we even yet to be acquainted with each other?" "I, umm, it's-" my father stammered for the second time today, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "My last question was directed to my future bride, not you, Mr Alonso." Malakai didn't blink. He stared directly at me again, sliding his left hand casually into his trouser pocket. Okay, what the fuck? Has he perhaps mistaken me for Caitlyn? "Well, yes, you are right, of course." My sister stood up quickly, a motion rehearsed and fluid, tucking her golden hair behind her right ear in a move I recognised as calculated shyness. A dazzling, practised smile broke across her face. "If you would like us to be excused to get acquainted-" "I. Am. Talking. To. My. Future. Bride." He cut Caitlyn off cold, not even sparing her a single glance, his tone dropping the room temperature by ten degrees. "I'm Caitlyn, and I'm your future wife...I mean, bride, or both." My sister's brows became slightly furrowed, her confidence flickering as she tilted her head to look at him, completely unaccustomed to being dismissed. "Nice to meet you, Caitlyn, but no, you are not my future bride. I'm getting married to your sister, not you." His voice was completely devoid of emotion. As if he has not just doused my sister's dream of hitching the Montgomerys or my dream of, well... I'm getting married to your sister, not you. Your sister, not you. Your sister. "What?" My sister, my mother, and I screeched at the exact same time, the sound bouncing harshly off the high ceilings. The air completely vanished from my lungs. "Is that going to be a problem?" Elder Montgomery looked smoothly between my father and me, as if discussing the weather. "No." My father said, a tight warning vibrating in his voice that instantly choked off whatever frantic protests both Caitlyn and I had rising in our throats. His face was pale with contained fury. "Let's eat now. The food is getting cold." "Ah yes, the food. And we can also discuss the marriage plans between Camille and Malakai." Elder Montgomery stood up, my father leading the way to the dining area with stiff steps, while the rest of us followed. Malakai Montgomery kept studying me with those freezing, bottomless eyes of his the entire walk over. The skin of my back burnt under his gaze. I don't know why he wants to get married to me instead of Caitlyn; there has to be a catastrophic mix-up somewhere, a cruel joke I haven't figured out yet. I am the damaged goods, the family disgrace. I do not want to get married. With my "problem", I'll probably embarrass him, snap under the pressure, or ruin everything sooner rather than later. Malakai Montgomery has no idea of who he actually wants to get married to. And as I sat down at that suffocating table, watching the way he watched me like a hawk, I sure as hell knew one thing: he is going to get burnt right along with me.