The Royalty

Chapter 20

Song: How Long Will I Love You- Ellie Goulding

Chapter 20

The phrase "butterflies in your stomach", was a total under-exaggeration. Unless, of course, by butterflies it meant rabid demon-bats that haven't eaten in a week. Then, I guess, the saying was pretty accurate. It felt like all of my insides were twisting into some big, tangled ball of nerves. How did people get married all the time? I felt like my legs would turn into grape jelly and fall to the floor at any second. Was I supposed to feel like this?

Even though it felt like I was about to collapse, I couldn't stop myself from pacing. There was no doubt that I was in love with America, but I was afraid of looking stupid. Knowing me, I would say her name wrong, or trip over air or something and fall on my face. Oh, how smooth that would be, I thought sarcastically.

I walked over to the dresser in the room being used as my dressing room. Looking in the mirror, I checked to make sure my hair was neat and my tie straight. If I was going to act stupid, the least I could do was look good doing it. I frowned at the scars on my cheek, contemplating if I should attempt to conceal them under makeup, like what they sometimes put on Mom for the Report. They reminded me daily of what had happened during my last attempt at marriage. The scars were ugly and anything but invisible. They crisscrossed in jagged lines and took up most of the skin from my cheekbone down to my jaw. There was no way America saw them as anything less than disgusting.

"You shouldn't worry so much about those," said a voice from behind me. I turned from the mirror to find my mother in the doorway. She stepped into the room and shut the door softly behind her, approaching me. Mom put her hand on my cheek, a kind and maternal gesture. "She won't care."

I moved away from her to sit on the arm of a nearby couch. "You don't know that," I sighed. "I want to be perfect for her. And this," I motioned to the scars, "is not even close to perfect."

Mom shook her head at me. "That may or may not be true, but I still don't think she even notices them. I see the way she looks at you and I assure you it's not the scars America sees."

I knew she was probably right, but I still couldn't fight the urge to put a bag over my head and hide. This day was so special and I wanted it to be everything she'd ever dreamed of. Instead, it was filled with worries about rebels and a mildly deformed groom.

Mom walked over to my and pulled me to my feet. "You need to relax, Maxon. Especially since the ceremony starts in about seven minutes."

"What?" I exclaimed. I looked over to the clock on the wall. She was right. "No, I'm not ready! I lost track or time. I thought I'd have at least another half an hour!"

I started to hyperventilate, but Mom put her hands on my shoulders, steadying me. "Maxon, pull yourself together," she ordered. "You can't go out there looking like a wreck. She is more nervous than you, I'd bet. You need to be the picture of calm. America needs you to be there for her. Do you understand?"

I nodded and she let go of me. Mom was right. I had to be America's rock. I took a few deep breaths, calming myself the best that I could. My mother smiled at me and smoothed my suit.

"There. That's better. You're going to be fine. Just think about it, Maxon. Within the next hour, you're going to become a married man."

My eyes widened as I thought about that and all of the ways this could go horribly, horribly wrong.

"Oh sorry," she said sheepishly. "I'm not helping am I?"

"No. Not really," I scowled, though it was half-hearted.

She glanced at the clock and cast me an apologetic look. "It's five minutes until it starts. You should head out there."

I nodded and started towards the door, towards my future.