Runaway Groom

Under the light that paints the bride's skin so warmly, the trees are dancing ladies, each in dresses more fabulous than any couture designer can craft. They move, choreographed by the wind, in perfect sync with one another. It's like they're celebrating along with the woman waiting outside the church. They are the life and soul of this early summer morning, and one can only wonder how many hues of green their eyes are witnessing.

As they stretch upwards and outwards toward the light, drinking in rays as pure as the rain, Marzia's lips stretched upwards too, fingers crossed for this day to be perfectly curated.

Moments passed, and as the bells tolled, the door opens and she takes slow strides forward. She's looking up ahead, although she can't really see what's beyond the altar. Everyone on the sides watches her move forward in her expensive bridal gown. It's designed by one of the most coveted artisans in Milan. Her perfect makeup that accentuates her soft lips, button nose, and charming almond eyes pop off, making her glow even more.

As the piano rendition of Perfect by Ed Sheeran plays, her slow steps get accompanied by her crystal tears. She knows that she can't risk ruining her makeup, but she can't help it. She has wished for this day to come for years. She has longed for this, and although most of the people seated in this ceremony, particularly the groom's mother, despised her for marrying someone out of her reach, she has zero fucks to give.

Another second last, and Marzia looks to her left at the sight of the tear-stricken Deniece, her best friend. She smiled back, and the latter nodded. As Marzia neared the altar, her blurry vision finally dissipated, and she saw the face of the man she'd wake up next to for the rest of her life, Scott Dickins.

She flashed her biggest smile, showing both her dimple and her fleshy pink gums, but nothing can prepare her for the man's next move. Scott's shoulders jolt, and before Marzia knows what's happening, the man has bolted past her.

The audience, which mostly consists of Scott's elitist acquaintances, gasps in unison. It took Marzia a full second before she looked back, but the man has already turned left upon exiting the wooden silo.

"S-Scott?" she mutters in disbelief, her tears of joy getting swept by wails of grief.

...

The clock strikes south. At Naples International Airport, a plane coming from the US arrived. Since it's late, the passengers step out when everyone moves as chaotic rainbows with brilliant passing colors. They flowed from the check-in desks to the cafes and through the gates, each one of them heading for a destination of their own making. Some, are more heated than others, and most, are just excited tourists. Among them are two fine men, and one of them is one of the most powerful men to ever graze the face of the earth. He just got back here in Italy, his home country. He hasn't been home in five years, except for some occasional visits for his six-year-old nephew. Now, he's back here for good, and a burst of memories floods his mind, though he didn't make it obvious.

"Sir Ian, should we stop by the company first? Or maybe we can go to your house so you can visit Liam? I'm sure he misses you!" enthusiastically said Romeo, his trusted secretary slash driver. He had a goofy smile that made Ian Harrison frown.

"No. That dipshit misses no one. Contact the investors. I want to meet them immediately and discuss our proposal." Ian's cold voice echoes as he walks forward, leaving a trail of bodyguards behind.

"Noted, Sir! Since we'll be meeting Mr. Chire and his minions, shall I book a..." Romeo winks and adds, "...place?"

Ian immediately understood Romeo's hints, and even though he's not a man who often indulges in sexual exploitation, in the name of business, booking a VIP room in a red light district seems mild enough.

"Fine..." he says.

"Yes!" Romeo cheekily whispers, but he stops his celebration when Ian glared at him.

Sneering of disgust, Ian announced, "You stay in the car."

Then, he walked ahead, even faster than the latter.

"W-Wait! Boss, no! I'm a big help! I swear."

...

As the clock strikes seven, the church was emptied. Even the priest has a life, so no one except Deniece stayed with the crying Marzia. She looked completely drained as she sat on the stairs leading up to the wooden door of the church.

"Marzia, we need to go home. It's already late. Scott won't come back," Deniece said, tugging on Marzia's shoulder, but she wouldn't budge. It's as if she's in a deeply painful trance. The four years she spent with the man flashed before her eyes.

All those years he spent with her in a seemingly loving way claimed her mind, and now, some of it finally made sense.

Those times when Marzia would find Scott flashing a displeased expression towards her whenever she talks...

That day when Scott left her during their anniversary date for an unimportant friend gathering...

Every single instance of Scott keeping himself silent whenever his mother berated Marzia in front of his family...

All of those finally made sense. Maybe, he never really loved her and just tolerated her because he needed her to win his father's approval.

For the nth time, despite her nearly dried-out eyes, Marzia audibly cried before Deniece. "He... never... really-loved... me!" she hiccups, snot and crusty liquid coating her face.

"Honey... I'm so sorry, but we can't do anything about it for now. Let's just get away from here first, okay? Come on, let's go. Don't worry, we'll confront that motherfucker tomorrow! I'll come with you. I'll make sure of that!"

Marzia looked at her best friend with gleaming eyes. "I want to drink at a bar," she says instead with a pout.

Shaking her head, Deniece replies, "No, Marzia... That's not smart to do. It'll be better if you rest at home. Let's go to my place. We can drink our way to sleep there."

Marzia stubbornly looked down, but she just gave her friend a shallow nod. "Okay..." Deniece smiled and helped Marzia stand. Then, they walk to the parking lot towards the only car remaining there.

In a minute, Deniece started to drive, spouting harsh words towards Marzia's supposed-to-be groom. "You know what? I've always felt like that Scott is the biggest dick ever. Granted, I've never really talked to him because I reckon he doesn't speak to peasants like me, but I feel it!" She kept talking that Marzia decided to blur her following words out. She looks outside the window as they're stuck in traffic, thinking deeply, upon noticing the inviting gleam of the redlight district.

Marzia has always been a sheltered kid. She never experienced partying hard, drinking until midnight, or hooking up. She's too busy fending for herself and being the perfect fiancee to a perfect man. She looks at Deniece, and the latter is still talking. So, Marzia used this opportunity to pick the child's lock and storm out of the car in the middle of the traffic.

With a gawking expression, Deniece looked to the right. "Marzia! What the heck are you doing?!"

"Marzia closed the door, saying, "I'm sorry!" Then, she ran across the avenue, her bridal gown flying through the wind, looking like a cloud of ivory wings lifting her as she bolt.

"Damn! Look at that woman, Sir Ian! Is she a runaway bride or what?" Romeo pointed out.

Ian squinted his eyes and also looked ahead. "No. She's crying, so maybe her groom-got cold feet." Ian's expression shifted to that of a somber one.

"Woah, boss. Did that hit right home-" Romeo's insensitive comment halted the moment Ian looked at him with dagger-like stares.

"Tch! You'll miss the u-turn if you keep talking. Just shut up and drive."

"Yes, boss."

As the two made their way inside the streets of Italy's red-light district, so did Marzia in her fluffy wedding dress. She looked around and chose to come inside a more crowded bar.

'This one seems more popular. Maybe I can find a guy to fuck in here.'

She directly walked inside the sophisticated place, not minding the civilians looming in her way. Perhaps, they're just letting the distraught woman off easy. "Give me one bottle of whiskey. With the stones," she confidently said as she sat on the stool upfront with the bartender. The confused suited man tilted his head. "One bottle of whiskey? Do you mean one shot?"

"No! I want one bottle! So give me it!" she screamed like a pissed-off Karen. The bartender scrambled behind to pick up a bottle, but before he took the tall glass, he asked, "By with the stones, you meant on the rocks, right?"

Marzia looked at him with dissent, so he shrugged his question off and just gave her what she wanted. One bottle of whiskey with a side of tall glass filled with ice. Truthfully, Marzia has never drunk whiskey before. She has only drank wine and champagne with an occasional can of beer when pressured by her friends. So, upon pouring the whiskey straight to her throat, she felt like choking because of the burning sensation. Still, she prevailed and chucked her reaction off to a fuzzy groan and kept going.

One by one, she chugged the glasses of intoxicating alcohol.

With that, minutes passed. And now, Marzia was out of her whims.

She has been wailing so much that the bartender tried to refrain her from imbibing again. "M-Miss? Uhm, I don't think I should give you any more drinks. You might pass out. It's dangerous around this area..."

However, Marzia only shot back with a grimace and a deafening shout. "Shut the hell up and just give me what I want!" She snatched the man's collar and looked him in the eye with her crazy, reddish orbs. "You fucking men always think that you know what we want, what we need, and what we do! Well, let me tell you the truth, fatso. You don't know what's good for me! It's not your business if I pass out on the side of the road because my groom left me on the altar!"

Silence ensued after her scream, and even the music stopped as eyes from left and right watches her bullying the bartender. Still, she didn't give a single fuck and raised her brow. "You understand?" she added feistily.

The bartender pursed his lips, looked at the exit, and yelled, "Guard! Please get this woman out of here!"