Chapter 22: 22

Chapter 22

Deatrice and Lucius’ wedding took place with a typical southern style concept consisting of many plants and flowers as decorations, extravagant full-course meals with refreshing wine, and many more.

It was also an event that completely overturned the speculations of those who thought Miss Louisen—now known as Mrs. Elliot—was such a devout believer. They initially thought they would partake in a religious marriage, but she had proved them wrong.

Deatrice wore a wedding dress embroidered with silver laurel leaves. Her sleeves were of white chiffon and did nothing to hide the pale, slender arm and delicate shoulders that lie underneath it.

It seemed to be a modest dress, but it was one that looked as if it was flawlessly coalescing in perfect harmony with the forest that surrounded them. It was exactly this that drew people’s attention to her person.

“Simply stunning.” Lucius expressed with blatant adoration. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, “Easily the most beautiful bride in the world.”

People admired the two lovebirds and how they had finally married despite all the difficulties.

And then, they would talk about how lovingly the husband would gaze at his newly wedded wife the whole time she was within his sight…

While these people were busy exchanging their opinions on the matter, Deatrice curved her lips into a dazzling smile, displaying the picture-perfect image of a bride blooming like the vibrant spring of June.

When the others saw it, they were momentarily at a loss for words from seeing such radiance.

It had looked so natural that even Lucius was caught unawares.

She had the countenance of a woman deeply entrenched in love—someone who had truly married their soulmate. It was vastly different from when Deatrice had looked like a weak and half-dead doll a few weeks prior.

Like this, no one in their right mind would ever think that she was acting.

It was only when Lucius noticed the slight trembling of her fingertips and the tired expression that crossed her face, even if it was just the tiniest fraction of a second, did he realize that everything was fake.

Her hand that was situated in his palm felt scalding to the touch that he had abruptly let go, clenching his fists right after.

Right…

What else should he have expected?

A miserable bride crying from tears of dejection wouldn’t have been able to avoid people’s suspicion no matter how hard she tried to hide it after. He should be grateful actually, that she was able to perform her role perfectly—to the point that even he was almost fooled by it.

But as time passed, rather than feeling relief, Lucius felt a twist in his stomach instead.

The things she did then did not escape his notice.

The way she talked with people so shyly and endearingly, just like a gushing June bride; the way the hem of her dress would flare into circles when she danced with her cousin; the way a few traitorous strands of hair escaped the confines of her hairstyle and matted against the slightly sweaty skin of her nape…

When other men glanced at her a little differently when she spoke to them, it was akin to thorns piercing his nerves and the feeling irritated him to no end.

Moving back and forth between people like a restless hummingbird, Deatrice eventually had a small injury. Which could probably be considered as her being a little lucky. After all, she might unknowingly do something else that may be offensive to his eyes.

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She sat down in a corner and took off her shoes.

A little later, Lucius put some ice cubes into a handkerchief. “Are you alright?”

He knelt down in front of her and rolled up his sleeves. A twisted ankle wasn’t that big of a problem, but she thought that he was doing this to add more flair to his own performance, so she let him do as he wished.

That was until, his big hands took off her shoes and grabbed her bare feet.

“Lucius!” she said in a flustered voice.

“Don’t move, I’m going to take a look.” He ignored her words and took a look at her ankle—it was swollen. “If you leave it like that, your injury might get worse.”

She protested. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Then who else should?”

It was a question that had a hidden implication.

I’m your husband now.

Deatrice sighed and Lucius laughed, realizing that her little action signified her giving in.

The cold of the ice touched her ankles and permeated into the muscles underneath. Having been dancing all this time, she was warmer than usual, so feeling the sudden dip in temperature was a little too sudden for her that it made her toes curl up.

“Is it cold?” Lucius spoke, wrapping his large hands around her foot. When she didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed. “Why force yourself to suffer?”

“The bride isn’t supposed to stay still and should mingle with everyone else.” she calmly delivered.

“Even so, there’s no need to overexert yourself.”

Deatrice briefly stared at the loving expression on his face, then she questioned. “Do I look like I’m forcing myself?”

He raised the corners of his mouth and rubbed her ankles with his hands.

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“Yes.”

“You’re wrong, then. I had a lot of fun today.”

Says the woman who kept pushing herself even though she’s already hurting.

As the smile remained on his face, her eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why. Deatrice stared intently at him until his smile slowly disappeared. She was familiar with all those gazes, but she was keen on ignoring them.

He suddenly raised his head and said, “Now how about calling me Lucy again?”

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