As it was, it was difficult not to draw comparison. To grasp at something to make the situation feel less foreign. To recall her other wedding day in an attempt to make this one feel less significant. It was a cheap trick that even she saw through, and yet, that wouldn’t stop her from trying it.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and her heart sank down low. This was so different in every way. There was no way she could use the fact that this was her second wedding to calm her nerves. If anything, highlighting the differences between the two only made this feel more terrifying.
She recalled the bespoke gown she’d worn the first time. It had made headlines around the world. Had set a trend for weddings for the next year.
This gown was weighted down with the tradition of the nation. Long sleeves, intricate embroidery, a thick belt just beneath her breasts, also gold. In so many ways the difference in gown symbolized the difference between the two union s. The other, light, showy, focused on the couple. This one heavy. Focused squarely on the need of Tahar.
And of yourself. Let’s not start pretending you’re too altruistic.
All right, she wouldn’t pretend she was being completely selfless. She quite wanted a place in life. A little bit of security. A purpose.
And then there was...him.
She was so attracted to him. But now that sleeping with him wasn’t a spontaneous thing, she found she was quite nervous about it. Now it was the finish line to a marathon of the day, and that put it in a slightly different light than the natural progression of a kiss, or a touch.
Also in keeping with the theme. Everything concerning Tarek was weighty.
“Sheikha?”
Olivia turned, surprised that Melia was already addressing her as such. The servant inclined her head, betraying no nerves in spite of the import of the event.
“They are ready for you.”
Olivia nodded, wishing she had opted to carry a bouquet. Something, anything to do with her hands.
Alas, she had nothing. So she gripped the front of her skirt, lifting it slightly as she walked through the halls toward the small sanctuary that was in a different wing of the palace.
Her throat suddenly grew tight, a pulse beating in her head. She had to close her eyes against it.
She had no connections in there. Her parents...well, they weren’t coming. Not a huge surprise, but the phone call last night had still left her nearly hollow with pain.
Emily wasn’t well. Emily couldn’t stand the heat and the dust. It was hardly fair to leave her...
And Olivia had said she understood, of course, because it was all she had said for years.
Only once had she fought back.
Her fifteenth birthday. She’d told them she would make the cake; she would make dinner. They just had to be there.
But they hadn’t been. Because Emily had been hospitalized and they’d visited her instead. And she’d been so angry. They’d stayed with Emily all evening. She’d been broken over it. Something in her shattering that had never quite been repaired after.
When she breathed in too deeply, she swore she could still feel it. Lodged like a barb deep in her chest.
How dare you miss this? I asked for this. Just this!
It isn’t as though we want your sister bedridden in a hospital, Olivia. Have some sensitivity. You will have all of your birthdays. You’ll grow up. You’ll marry. What will Emily have? How long does she have?
They’d been right. And whatever she’d been feeling... She hadn’t had any right. And as isolated as she’d felt before she’d poured her emotions out in front of her mother and father, she’d felt even more so after.
Because when they looked at her after that, all they saw was her selfishness. They had an ill daughter. They’d needed her to carry the weight. To be as happy and self-contained as she could be, and she’d failed.
She’d stepped outside her position, and after that had found no place at all.
Olivia swallowed hard.
She faced a room empty of her own connections. The only person there she knew would be the man she was pledging her life to, and as she had only just been thinking, she barely knew him.
The ornate doors to the sanctuary were closed, and Olivia paused in front of them, waiting for them to swing open, as she knew they would. She had discussed this briefly with the wedding coordinator. She knew already there would be very few people in attendance. Nobility, members of the Bedouin tribes, a few approved members of the press and palace staff. It would be nothing like that first wedding with thousands of attendees, where the world had been watching.