Author's Note: OK. Let me just remind y'all how awesome y'all are... Y'ALL ARE AMAZING! AH! Thanks so much for all the feedback and support. Please keep it coming! Oh, and because I'm in a write-y mood tonight and because y'all have been so supportive, it has sparked a lot of inspiration and I will post one more chapter for the night after this one so stay tuned! (;


Chapter Seven

I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror.

I'm wearing my wedding dress. It's perfectly white, of course, and silk crepe with a Kimono cape style top and a quilted waist band. A full bias cut skirt drapes across the floor behind me and hugs my curves subtly. The neckline forms a V that does not dip very low at all, and the short sleeves are loose and lacy, brushing my arms like soft whispers.

"You look beautiful," Mother says.

"I think she looks too sweet—not at all sexy." Isabelle's contribution comes from her spot on the couch in my living room. She's got her legs kicked up on the armrest like a boy.

"You are not supposed to look sexy in your wedding gown, Isabelle," Mother says, an amused tilt to her lips.

"Well, at least but her in something that's more form-fitting. That just makes her look like a little girl in a nightgown."

I stare blankly at the mirror, but I do believe Isabelle might be right. Not that I care, though. I just want to get this off of me as soon as possible. I want this wedding to be over with.

"Hello?"

We all turn to see a beautiful, frail woman peep into the living area from the foyer. She has hair of pure gold, which tumbles around her shoulders in perfect, unpinned curls, and her face is pale, open and young despite the old knowledge of her eyes.

Mother instantly busies herself with cleaning up her hemming things.

"May I help you?" I inquire of the gorgeous, small woman.

"I'm Celine," she says, drifting into the room carefully. She only wears a white nightdress that seems to swallow her whole. "Jace's mother. I would like to introduce myself to you formally," she murmurs, and her voice is indeed, very formal. Cold and whisper-soft. "I apologize for not seeing you sooner. I have been…under the weather."

"There's no need for apologies, Mrs. Wayland," I say, offering a polite smile. "I do hope you feel better now."

"I feel a little better, thank you." Her smile is brittle, her eyes watery. "And please, I insist you call me Celine."

I nod at her.

"Aunt Celine, tell Jocelyn that the dress is too childish," Isabelle cries.

Celine's eyes flicker over to my mother, who is still focusing on putting her hemming tools away. Celine's already pale face drains even further, making her look corpse-like. "I believe the dress is very lovely," she says, her voice like a hollow rasp.

"You're just saying that," Isabelle grumps, crossing her arms angrily.

"I must get going. Clary, let me help you out of the dress in the bathroom so that you don't jar any pins loose. Come on," Mother rushes, helping me off the stool and into the en suite bathroom.

I look at my mother in the reflection of the mirror that runs the wall as she lifts the dress over my head. I know my mother's haste to leave has everything to do with Celine's appearance. I know that my mother has been with Valentine since his marriage. The pieces fall together in sickening perfection.

"Thank you," I tell my mother once she's helped me into my day dress.

She finds my eyes in the mirror, and a watery smile briefly crosses her face. "Of course, honey."

Then she leaves. Isabelle walks her out, because I have a suspicion that Guardians don't trust any humans to walk the upper floors of the Wonderer alone.

It leaves Celine and I alone.

I smile at her coolly. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I say, hoping she will decide to leave now.

But she doesn't. She just hugs her arms close to her chest and looks out at the window. She appears so lonely and small that I pity her. And I wonder if this is what I will look like after a few years of marriage to Jace. "Clarissa—that's your full name, is it not?"

"Yes," I say.

"It's a very lovely name. Very lovely." She almost speaks to herself, a low murmur. I catch her rubbing her knuckles lightly across her bottom lip—a trait I've seen Jace do, as well. "I hope you won't mind if I call you Clarissa? I just think it's so lovely that it needs to be spoken often."

"You may call me whatever you wish," I reply softly.

She looks over at me, her gray eyes catching mine. Her eyes are big and beautiful, but in an entirely different way than Jace's. I wonder where his eyes come from, seeing as his father's are as black as night. "You're a beautiful girl, Clarissa. You seem kind, too. There's something…something in your eyes." She motions vaguely, drifting towards me like a ghost. She reaches out, almost as if she'll touch me, but she pulls her hand back rather suddenly, almost shyly. "I apologize. When I don't feel well, I tend to act a bit strangely."

"You're not acting strangely," I lie, trying not to take a step back from her.

Celine simply gives a tiny smile that shows me she sees through my fib. "Clarissa, I am a Guardian—full blooded. I was not raised in your situation, but I do know what it is like to be given away, betrothed to someone you do not know." She walks back towards the window, looking out of it. The cool winter light seems to dull her even more. She is like shades of silver moonlight, despite her golden strands of hair. "It's such a horrible feeling, as though you're trapped—unable to get free. When I was told I'd marry Valentine, grief consumed me. But with time, it lessens." She turns faces me again and offers a weak smile. "Especially when you have a child."

My stomach revolts at having Jace's child, of carrying it and birthing the thing. I will not allow this to happen.

But Celine doesn't know this and she moves closer to me, her face becoming just slightly more animated as her sing-song, poetic voice lilts. "To hold that little creature in your arms for the first time—to know that it is yours. That you carried it and gave birth to it, to know that you held that tiny soul inside you. It's the most beautiful thing in the world, Clarissa. So, so beautiful. My Jace was the most perfect baby I've ever seen—and I know I am a little biased—but he was just gorgeous. A few wisps of golden hair. And when he opened those bright, beautiful gold eyes—I just melted. And I knew." Celine nods slowly, her eyes finding mine and holding them tightly. As if she is trying to say something very important. "I just knew. He was special."

I smile, but the motion is jerky and weak. I barely hold on to it, nonetheless make it convincing.

But Celine doesn't notice. She just drifts away in her own world and nods again. "Yes, Jace is special. You know that, too, don't you?" And before I can answer, she gives a cryptic smile and leaves me.


There's a knock on my door just as I've emerged from my bath and put on my slip. I grab a housecoat and drift over, ready to glance out the peephole and most likely see Isabelle.

But before I can, the door swings open.

I gasp and pull my housecoat tight when I see Jace. "What is the point of knocking if you don't wait until I open it?" I demand sharply.

Jace smirks. "To warn you of my impending presence."

I glower. "What are you doing here?"

"Walking you to dinner."

"That's not necessary."

"But it is."

I sigh at his stubborn, unmoving tone, and I motion at myself. "I'm not ready."

He shrugs, unfazed. "I'll wait."

I refuse to show any more emotion, so I just turn on my heel and walk back towards my bathroom. I feel Jace follow me, but I ignore him.

Once I'm in front of the mirror, I start the task of putting on my face. I do everything extra slowly, just to bother Jace, but he simply stands beside me, leaning his hip on the counter, watching me work.

My plan ultimately backfires because he watches me so intently that it makes me nervous, and finally, I glare over at him. "Why don't you go sit in the living room while I finish up?"

"I'm fine here. Thank you," he says, polite but with a smirk that the devil himself could not outdo.

I want to slap him. Maybe punch him. Perhaps I would like to find a baseball bat and do him in like I did that old man that called my mother a whore. I had quite the temper as a child, and I feel it returning, bubbling up inside me.

But I know Jace is hoping, praying, for a reaction. So I turn back to the mirror and begin swiping deep red lipstick on my lips, making them even fuller than usual.

Jace watches me do this step especially close. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" I inquire without looking at him. I lean closer into the mirror and wipe delicately at the small spot I've gotten out of line with.

"Paint your face up like that."

"It makes me look older."

"Most women would kill to look younger."

"I have a very young face without makeup," I explain, putting the lipstick away. I fluff up my hair and pin the right side back with a pearl hair comb. "I don't like looking younger than I already am."

"So it gives you a feeling of strength," he assumes.

I pause and turn my neck so my face is close to his. I level my gaze with those pretty gold eyes and say, "I need no help feeling strong. Despite what you may believe, Mr. Wayland, I'm plenty strong."

A slow half smile spreads across his mouth. He's turned now so that his back is towards the mirror, but our faces are still close together. "And despite what you believe, I've yet to doubt that, Miss Fray." He reaches up, touches my jaw with the very tips of his fingers, and he draws a line down to my chin, where he grips me gently.

Our eyes meet, and his are so hot and bright—almost too bright to look at, as if they glow. I'm trapped by them, fascinated on some strange level, wondering if it is his angelic blood that gives his eyes such a spark of fire.

And then, before I realize it, he's kissing me.

His lips are just as hot as they were last night, but there is no gentle, quick pressing of mouths this time. This time, he truly kisses me. Demanding yet slow, igniting a flame that grows steadily as our lips meld.

I have no idea what comes over me, how my lips seem to know how to move against his. It is primal, I suppose. Instinctual.

But it doesn't make it any less wrong and horrible.

I break the contact of our mouths quickly, looking back towards the mirror, and saying, with a little note of breathlessness in my voice that I detest, "You're smearing my lipstick, Mr. Wayland."

His lips are at my ear, and I shiver when I feel his exhale of laughter. "I apologize, Miss Fray." Then he moves behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his chin resting on my shoulder. His hands move and brace himself against the counter, holding him up as his eyes find mine in the mirror. The glow from his eyes seems to have spread, and it hurts to look at him. "You pretend to be so cool and frigid." He turns his face into my neck, his lips brushing my pounding artery, but his eyes never leave mine. "But I know you're not. I see it in your eyes."

He nips gently at my pulse, and I jump despite myself, my heart lurching. And he just exhales another soft laugh against my goose-bump skin. He kisses my temple and then removes himself. "I'll wait outside for you." He lets his hand fall on my hip and trail across my lower back as he walks away.

And then I'm left alone, and I stare at myself in the mirror, at my wide, dilated eyes and my smeared lipstick.

And I think this cannot happen.

But it must.


Ok, so I just copy and pasted the description of the dress down from the website. I did that for any fashionistas that may be reading, but if you're like me and you have no clue what any of that means, this is the website I saw the dress on: . . Check it out if you're interested, or if you're not, just know that Clary's dress is really, really pretty! (: