Title: Shotgun Wedding
Summary: In a world of aristocracy and arranged marriages, Tim Scam decides that he refuses to marry his idiotic fiancee. He then finds Samantha, who could pass as his fiancee's identical twin, and blackmails her into wearing the veil on his wedding day instead.
Genres: Romance/Humor/Drama
Pairing: Scam/Sam
Dedicated to: Cresenta's Lark, because I felt like dedicating something to you lol. Yay! :P
With a hand hidden in his pocket, Tim sipped the wine from his glass and decided that it was nowhere near strong enough to get him drunk. Which was too bad, really, because his fiancee, bless her idiotic soul, would not shut up. Bitch.
Maybe if he was drunk, whatever she was saying would flow through one ear and out the other more easily than it was doing now. Or she'd finally get the chance to get him calm enough to actually sleep with her, (he snorted at this. Like he'd ever get drunk enough to make that kind of mistake). Still, getting drunk around her, as appealing as it was, was a bad idea. Maybe a better idea would be to get her drunk, and then stick her in a room with some other random idiot. If he was lucky, (which he usually wasn't come to think of it. He was getting married to... that.), she would sleep with the other idiot instead, get pregnant and be forced to have a wedding without himself.
He looked at her mouth moving and did not bother to pretend to listen. Actually, that previous plan was sounding like a better idea every second...
Looking away to gaze at the rest of the party, Tim sighed, not caring that his brat of a fiancee, (she acted more like she was five than in her early twenties), was appalled at his behavior. Right now he was too busy inwardly growling at his mother for predicting him too well and not having any strong alcohol at the party. Hm. Maybe he could sneak out and get some...
For a woman who prided herself on predicting her son's actions well, his mother didn't have a very good sense of what woman would be right for him. Just look at Annie. Or Anna. Or something. He didn't particularly care. When his loving fiancee finally gained some brain cells in that head of hers, he'll try (no promises) to learn her name.
He took another sip of his wine. It was going to be a long night.
Two hours later, he was ready to shoot himself in the foot if it would just give him the excuse to fucking leave. Or even better, shoot his future wife. Actually that sounded very appealing. Though shooting her was messy. Hmm. He'd figure it out.
She had followed him everywhere he went. To the bar. To his friends. She stood outside the fucking bathroom for Pete's sake. He should have slammed the door on her fingers and laughed when she screamed. How his mother managed to find the most psychotic bitch with the worst case of borderline personality disorder ever, he would never know. If he thought about it, he was sure his mother said something like, "Oh she's my good friend's daughter! You'll love her!" Well his mom apparently had stupid friends for them to have such idiotic daughters like this one. He should give her some advice later, something like, he was not into idiots.
Especially not clingy idiots. If she kept staring at him with those stupid big green eyes of hers, he would take the nearest knife and stab her eyeballs with it and not care who was watching.
Tim gripped the glass between his fingers tighter but willed himself to calm down before he broke it. If anyone's blood was going to be shed tonight, it would be hers.
Another hour passed at the party and he was ready to rip his ears out. He couldn't take much more of this. He wouldn't take much more of this.
He was getting out of this wedding. No matter what it took.
He just didn't know how to go about it.
Talking to his mother to cancel this ridiculous wedding was pointless. She assumed he was happy, (how she got to that conclusion, he would never know), or sprouted off some nonsense about how Anna-banana-whatever was good for him. Unless making his ears bleed was healthy, he highly doubted that this bitch was good for him.
Maybe he could pay someone to kidnap her. Heavens knew he had enough money to do so. Yes. That could work. Kidnap her conveniently on the day before his wedding, (or on his wedding; whatever upped the drama and the screaming), and then let her never be seen again.
Of course, even if Anne-whatever jumped off a cliff tonight, (he wished), his mother would still get him to marry some other dumb bitch; (the females born this generation seemed to share a lack of braincells. Perhaps thats why there weren't any smart ones around; the only brain they seemed to have was spread out thin amongst them. Well that didn't make much sense though. He was positive that they had no brain to speak of at all.)
So the main issue was his mother. His bachelor-status, (which he liked, thank you very much), was the main concern. Maybe if he got married...?
Yet that didn't get rid of Ann. Or whatever her name was.
So okay. Get rid of Annabelle and get his mother to stop pestering him about marriage. All with one big swoop.
He was embarassed to say that he wasn't actually sure how to go about that.
Another week passed. Another week closer to his God-forsaken wedding. He didn't have much time. He had to do something. He had to come up with something yet all he was getting were murder plots and elopement. Which was... not enough. Sadly. (Though the murder sounded very appealing. But he wasn't really into elopement. He wasn't into marriage at all, actually.)
He didn't know what to do. A few more weeks and he would be stuck with that bitch and have to live a life of listening to her whine and blab about nothing. Then he would peel her lips off with his razor and smile. But that could get him into trouble. Which he wouldn't mind, if it wasn't for the fact that his mother's reputation would be ruined. And she was oh so proud of her good reputation. Tsk. Women.
He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way through a local bazaar surrounded by the smell of cooked food and trinkets on display. Whatever luck he had (if any) just ran out.
But then he got it. More specifically, he got her.
Maybe it was the sweltering heat and the mirage playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn he saw her. His dreaded fiancee. Shopping. In a bazaar? Which made no sense. But she didn't walk with that stupid sway of hips that his fiancee seemed to prefer. No, she walked like a normal human being, not some Barbie clone manufactured in a factory designed to torment men like him.
He hesitated to go up to her but when he saw her haggling, (haggling? That bitch knew what it meant to not needlessly throw her money everywhere?), and decided that she couldn't possibly be his future wife. Unless she was a bi-polar psycho who had a severe case of borderline personality disorder and liked to mess around with him. If she wasn't such an idiot, he would have thought it to actually be the case.
When he walked up to her, he used his hand to flick something out of her hands and onto the street. Of course, he, being the manipulative gentleman that he was, picked it up and waved it in front of her face to tell her she had lost something.
He wasn't expecting her to look... exactly the same. The same red hair (though it reached her hips and wasn't in that short cut his fiancee prefered) and those eyes; those stupid green eyes that always looked at him with stupid hope and shit, but this girl, whoever she was, looked... smarter. As if her head wasn't a useless pile of weight with no brain in it (like most, if not all, girls he knew). Of course the fact that she didn't act or feel or look like some braindead idiot made him certain that this wasn't his wife at all.
The fact that she didn't recognize him, or at least pretended not to, (though his fiancee wasn't capable of pulling off such a great scheme), when he held up the fallen apple and smiled at her, was what sealed the deal.
"Oh thank you!" she said in a voice that was somewhat deeper than the airy light voice that the bimbo he was attached to had.
He would look into it, to be sure, but he knew that this girl wasn't the horrible bane of his existance. He had spent too much time around her (unfortunately) and knew her mannerisms. This girl wasn't the same.
"It's no problem at all", he said, his happiness shining through his voice. There was another woman out there who looked just like his wife. And if this was true (and how he hoped it was) then well... a plan starting forming in his mind. "I'm Tim", he said, extending a hand to shake hers.
She smiled back at him and he found it wasn't nearly as annoying as his future wife's smile. He didn't know how, but it just wasn't. She reached for his hand and shook it. "Samantha."
He knew how to get out of this wedding. Without getting out of this wedding.
He smirked at his stroke of luck. Perhaps he wasn't as unlucky as he once thought.
So yea guys. I got this idea randomly while trying to sleep and HAD to write it down even though now I have less hours to sleep because I have to wake up at ... 7 tomorrow. -.- It's 1:30. Sigh. Not cool. BUT STILL. TELL ME SOMEONE LIKES THIS IDEA SO I DIDN'T LOSE SLEEP IN VAIN!
Love you guys. Sorry for the short chapter, but if you hadn't noticed, I'm sleepy. Spellcheck still doesn't work so if you see glaring spelling errors, just do me a favor and ignore it. I'm sure I'll see it on my own eventually anyway. If this gets a good response I'll probably continue it very very soon (provided that college doesn't try to kill me this week). And if you guys don't care about me losing sleep to write this, well then I'll just take the other route and tell Scam to peel YOUR lips off with a razor if you don't review! (Okay. Sorry. I guess that's too mean. Just kidding. Heh. Kind of.) In all seriousness, please tell me what you guys think and if I should continue this or not.
Love,
Ivy
