Escort For The Witch: The Mystery of Psyche's Ruby - стр. 14

She spun sharply on her heels and headed for the front door. Derek and I exchanged understanding glances.

“Tell dad that mom’s now smoking,” I instructed the now-quiet bloodsucker.

Pulling on my hoodie and swaying slightly, I shuffled after Sabrina.

Two days later, our small family safely landed in Paris. It was here, in the province of Île-de-France, at the ancestral home of the de Manshands, that our grand wedding ceremony was to take place. Mom kept trying to lift my spirits, and every now and then, she would tug me at my sleeve and dreamily go over the details of her own wedding decades ago. She chattered nonstop about how, not so long ago, Sabrina and I hated each other so much that we were ready to tear each other’s throats out. So considerate of her!

I endured her babbling stoically, all while stealing glances at my beloved out of the corner of my eye. In fact, I have been trying to keep my distance for now – to avoid idle arguments about the wedding’s insignificant, minute details, thus souring everyone’s festive mood. My nervousness didn’t escape dad, when, just before boarding, I had politely asked mom to swap seats with me so she could sit next to Sabrina. Mr. Cornell Sr. tried hard to keep his composure and not give me a lecture, but in the end, he couldn’t hold back.

“Don’t stress so much, son. It’s just a wedding,” was his idea of cheering me up. “It’s natural to be nervous in the run-up to it. But there’s no need to torture yourself like that.”

I didn’t argue but just smiled back and turned on my MP3 player, signalling the end of the conversation.

“It’s just a wedding…” The words weighed heavy on my heart, and I turned even gloomier. I had naively hoped that our wedding would be a modest affair: a small chapel in my hometown, only close friends and family. Not some grandiose ball type gathering with a bunch of strangers, “thanks to whom you haven’t been kicked out of the Order yet,” – quoting dad. With my reputation in the Order being, putting it mildly, not-so-great, I was genuinely worried that I may not be able to keep my cool on my own wedding day. And Sabrina… Oddly enough, although it was entirely expected, all Sabrina was fretting over was her wedding gown. After all, the long-awaited masterpiece was being created by none other than the greatest fashion designer of all time, Derek. But Derek, as I had thought he might, had disappeared from our radar more than 24 hours prior, after first switching off his mobile.

We stood in silence at the baggage carousel at Charles de Gaulle Airport. My parents were discussing something in hushed voices; Sabrina was glancing around nervously, searching for her self-confessed couturier. Whereas I was biting my tongue not to deliver another round of “Didn’t I tell you so?”

“Jack! I don’t know what I’ll do to myself if Derek doesn’t show up!” whispered my wife-to-be, gripping my hand tightly. “Promise me that if he disappears on us, you’ll find him for me, so I can kill him!”

Well, I tell her he would?! Why does this girl never listen to me?

“You know, darling, even if he doesn’t show up—which, by the way, I’ve warned you about more than once—there’s nothing to worry about! What do you even need Derek for? We’re in the fashion capital of the world, for heaven’s sake! Don’t you think there are enough dresses to choose from here? I’m certain we can find one so stunning that Derek himself would drop dead – pun intended – at the sight of it. And