Before long, Jordan slides the ring on my finger. It feels cold. On the bright side, it's simple in design—a band in black titanium without any symbols engraved, precious stones embedded, or any other type of decorations. The smooth surface reflects the warm light of the church, catching my eye.
It's inconspicuous. Perfect, I like it.
For once, I'm thankful for my stepmother's stinginess. She's too much of a cheapskate to buy something gaudier for my wedding. I'm pretty sure she has poured all the money into the dress I've decided not to wear, too.
Great use of the budget, indeed.
There's nothing surprising there, though. Her priorities have always been, let's say, unorthodox.
Still, can someone tell me what's the point of trying to have a semblance of a traditional wedding by making me wear a dress? If that's what she wanted, maybe she should have brought a bride, not a groom. But that's probably asking for too much. She's the queen of double standards, after all.
"—With this ring, I wed you, and pledge you my love, now and forever."
Jordan's calm voice puts a stop to my train of thought. I guess I've got more important things to do than diss Miria in my head right now. I can always do that later.
Quite unceremoniously, I stuff the bouquet under my armpit to free both of my hands. The thing's already crushed, anyway.
Then, I take the offered ring and shove it on Jordan's finger. And voila.
"With this ring, I wed you, and pledge you my love, now and forever."
Funny how I'm professing words of love to a man I've met not even an hour ago. It's hard not to laugh at the absurdity. Well, it's not like either of us is bothering to put on an act; we're not putting any emotions into those vows whatsoever. Our flat tone is pretty telling about our thoughts on the matter.
"Now you can kiss the bri—"
The priest pauses mid-sentence to clear his throat. Bride. The dunce was about to say bride.
"You can kiss the groom."
Yes, that's better.
I resist snorting at the priest and shift my gaze onto the demon's lips. The shadow of his true form has receded, becoming something akin to an afterimage.
Good, it makes it less distracting.
And less frightening.
His eyes, which now appear hazel, seem apologetic. Darn, just from that, I can already tell the demon's more human than my stepmother. Not like that's a particularly difficult thing to achieve, but still…
In the end, though, I don't need his pity. It's just a kiss. It's not even my first kiss, and I doubt it's his first, either.
Thanks to the high heels, I don't need to grab his collar to bring him down to my height. I can reach his lips just fine by craning my neck, so I slam mine against his. Our front teeth knock against each other; it hurts.
Regardless, Jordan responds in kind. His lips are gentler, however.
I don't linger longer than necessary and retreat fairly quickly, standing upright. There's now a taste of mint hanging on my lips, and a fleeting sensation of warmth.
I pretend not to have noticed.
Jordan glances at me before turning around and facing the crowd. Reluctantly, I do the same.
He speaks up; I listen.
"For those interested, there's a reception hall in the annex next door. Drinks and appetizers have been prepared for you to enjoy at your leisure."
…There's an afterparty? Just how much longer must I put up with this goddamn farce?! My feet hurt! And I'm starting to get cold, too!
"As for us," the demon smiles, drawing my attention back to him. "We have a marriage to consummate. So, if you'll excuse us."
I almost choke on my spit at those words. What the fuck—
But when our gazes meet, I realize Jordan is taunting the audience on purpose. An amused glint is dancing in his hazel eyes, quite different from the icy gaze he has just thrown at the crowd.
Wait. Is he being playful right now?
Or is this payback for walking down the aisle in my underwear?! Whatever the case, the joke's bad for my heart! If you must really know, I don't want to consummate this marriage, thank you very much.
While my mind's churning with a thousand questions, Jordan bends over to whisper in my ear, only loud enough for me to hear, "Do you want to leave in a bridal carry?"
His voice carries something akin to childish conspiracy. It leaves me at a loss for words. I know demons tend to love causing chaos in their wake, but I'd have never expected a patriarch to partake in this tradition.
It's unexpected.
Unsure, I glance at my stepmother, who's literally boiling in her seat. Now that the ceremony is over, people have started chattering with their neighbors, and the silent church is gradually filled with noise, but Miria keeps quiet. She can't help but glare at me, throwing daggers my way. Oh my, looks like I've screwed up her carefully planned shitshow.
My bad, my bad.
But you know what, dear stepmother? I think I'm gonna rub some more salt into the wound now.
So, I smile at Jordan, leaning closer to him to answer in the same childish tone, "Heck, yeah."
My feet hurt, anyway.
A second later, I'm swept off the floor in a swift, smooth motion. I instantly grab his neck, crushing the bouquet a bit more in passing.
Oops.
Oh well, at this stage, most of the flowers have already been smashed beyond salvation. A bit more or a bit less won't make much of a difference.
Jordan doesn't seem to care, either, and effortlessly walks down the platform.
I guess, to a demon, I'm feather-light.
While we pass through the aisle, the crowd quiets down again. In all honesty, I've got to admit that I'm relishing in the shocked faces of my people. It makes it all the clearer that they've been expecting my husband to be an asshole and live up to the prejudice against demons—hunters are hunters for a reason.
As for Miria… Knowing her, she must have been secretly rejoicing about the fate awaiting me up to now. It's easy to guess why: she's always been a vile wench who loves to prey on the weak, and I'm sure she's been fantasizing about the idea of my husband treating me like some sort of cattle. Or a lesser being.
Or then again, a slave.
The funniest thing is that, on the demon side, no one seems the least bit surprised or even furious about the whole debacle. Some are even smiling knowingly. It's something I've been expecting. An anarchic wedding is much more interesting to them than your traditional run-of-the-mill type.
As long as they're not the ones getting married, that's it. It's funny when you're the spectator, not so much when you're directly involved.
In any case, it won't be my problem for long. We reach the doors quickly enough. For good measure, I throw the bouquet over to the human side of the aisle before we leave.
I don't know who's caught the bouquet, but I hope their wedding is going to be as crappy as mine.
Might you also be sold off as a peace offering, amen.