Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists.
34. Lisbon: The Wedding
It was another sacrifice. If this didn't concern his own flesh and blood, he wouldn't go through it. An entire day of acting happy and blissful. He didn't know how the woman managed to do it!
Creed finished shaving and went to the bedroom where his three-piece suit awaited.
"Maybe I should'ave gone fer a cerimony at the Office Registry," he grumbled. "Would'ave made the whole thing much more simple."
He said it in English. He was going to have to spend the entire day speaking nothing but Spanish and mangled Portuguese, so he might as well have a break while he could.
"Hu-huh," Isabel responded from the bed.
The woman was still lazying about since she wouldn't be getting dressed till he was out of the house. Dona Lúcia had insisted. Since Isabel did not have any family or proper matron and maids of honor, she'd taken upon her shoulders to fill in as many roles as she could. That meant Creed would get ready and go to Mariana's, where the traditional buffet breakfast would already be served, while Dona Lúcia and her sister-in-law got Isabel dressed, including make-up and hair-do. There would also be a photographer taking typically clichéd bride and groom photos and only then would they venture to church.
"Have ya eaten yet?"
Isabel nodded. She would be going straight to church, so she wouldn't have a chance to stop by the breakfast buffet. The only good thing about this traditional wedding was that rehearsals did not exist. In fact, when Dona Lúcia had tried to get in charge of the organisation, the first thing he'd said was 'no rehearsal'. The woman had had no idea what he was talking about, nor had Isabel for that matter, and once he'd explained it she'd been scandalised with the whole concept.
"Are ya gonna stay in bed till the women show up?"
Isabel sighed, a tinge of exasperation.
"Yes."
"Shouldn't ya be havin' a shower?"
"I have time."
Creed growled as he put on the vest.
"Ya better not be thinkin' 'bout keepin' me waitin' fer half an hour in the damned church."
"It's out of my hands," she dropped the documents and looked up at him. "But I promise I'll leave the house as soon as the matron allows me."
"What the hell are ya starin' at in those documents? Don't ya know all that shit by heart yet?"
"I'm comparing our dates of birth," she said softly. "According to this I'm 26, so I'm five years older than in reality, and you're 34, so you're… How many years younger than reality? I'm afraid I don't know how old you are."
"Join the club."
"Hun? You don't know your age?"
"Over one hundred, give or take a decade," he grumbled as he started on the tie. "Got my memories scrambled badly by the military so I don't recall many details 'bout my childhood, which is fine by me. Anyway, my original name is probably not Victor Creed 'cause the government could never find any birth certificate under that name, no matter how much they looked. If they looked. 'Course most people didn't go to hospital to have kids a hundred years ago, nor did they always register kids born at home, so I may have been named Victor Creed by my parents, just not registered. But, like I said, it don't mean nuthin'."
He put on the tail-coat.
"There, I'm ready."
"You look magnificent," she smiled. A bit forcefully. Guess he wasn't the only one who was going to have a hard time putting up with the day. He smirked at the thought.
"Ya're lookin' a bit down fer someone who's dreamed 'bout her wedding fer years. Don't tell me ya don't feel like partyin' today of all days!"
She glared lightly.
"For your information, I hate weddings."
Huh?
"That's a big change o' heart. Didn't ya tell me once ya loved 'em?"
Isabel sunk into the pillows sulkingly.
"A wedding is only worth it when it's big and it's crowded with family and friends and everyone is really, honestly happy for you. I can't have that, can I? So there. I now hate weddings."
Creed hesitated.
"Ya're gonna have ta look happy anyway."
She shrugged, frowning and not glancing at him.
"No really. I can just look emotional and nostalgic. Because my family isn't here to see me and… and I can always say I feel so happy I feel like I'm in a dream so… for as long as I smile to the people and the camera, nobody will give a shit."
Her bad mood aggravated him.
"Well, ya could at least feel a bit happy."
She scoffed and looked at him with an annoyed expression. It really pissed him off.
"Why the hell not! Ain't ya madly in love with me? Ya should be fuckin' happy ya're marryin' me!"
Her pout and frown gave way to a glummy sigh.
"Is not about you," she said softly in English. "Is about de party. I dreamed wid a fantastic, perfect party and…"
A knock on the door had them both alert. It was the women, surely.
"Try t'be fast gettin' ready," he grumbled.
Isabel, however, lept out of the bed and grabbed him by the arm.
"Kiss me," she said. "When you open de door and dey come in, kiss me like is de end of de world."
She must mean it as a passionate 'see you soon' kind of kiss to give the impression of a rosy heaven. It sure was easier to look passionate rather than happy. It's not like these people were going to distinguish between lust and love, anyway.
Isabel was putting on a robe as Creed opened the door and Dona Lúcia walked in, all dressed up, with her equally dressed up sister-in-law and… uh… a brunette in jeans and T-shirt.
"Who is she?"
"This is Martinha. She'll be doing Isabel's hair and make-up."
"Congratulations," the woman smiled, not convincingly.
"Well, we need to start working on the bride so off you go! Oh, by the way, Jójó, the photographer, is already at the tabern. When Martinha's done, she'll stop by to tell him he can come in and start taking photos."
Creed nodded. That better be fast. He felt a tug on his coat sleeve and looked back at an anxious looking Isabel. He'd almost forgotten! He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a bruising kiss.
"Don't take long," he said. "I'm impatient."
The woman smiled and he left, which is to say he closed the door and growled. He was so not in the mood for this. Isabel had better get over her bad mood and hurry up.
Isabel had allowed Dona Lúcia to run the show. Hair, make-up, veil… everything. She didn't care. She didn't even think about what time it was and whether Victor would be getting impatient.
It hit her harder as she approached the church.
They were in the middle of a city, when there should have been greenery all around, the sight of the river behind her. The yard outside the building was empty, when it should have had plenty of people, either because they couldn't squeeze into her small hometown church or because they were just curious to watch the bride and the guests go by, to gossip and criticise everyone's clothing, especially the bride's. Her dress, white and flowy, with a very full skirt sweeping the floor, would have been the topic of much talking because of the dark red sash hugging her waist and matching the dark red hem of both dress and veil, instead of the cheap pearly empire waisted dress she was wearing, which made her look shorter than she already was.
The church itself was pretty, but it was not the one she'd grown in. And then she was walking down the aisle alone, when she should have been flanked by her godfather and maternal grandfather. The amateur band played the nuptial march, when there should have been the local choir singing it as her old music teacher played the piano. The pews were nearly empty, when they should have been filled to the brim. The priest looked welcoming, but did not have the smile one reserves for a woman he saw grow up, coming into mass every Sunday and getting into trouble at least once a month.
And then, there was Victor.
Where he stood, had once stood Miguel, in old plans and dreams. Isabel could look about her and say exactly what her wedding should look like, but she looked at Victor and she couldn't even begin to conjure Miguel's figure. It occurred to her he had never been an important detail in any of her plans. She must have worried more about flowers than about him. How could she have thought she liked him enough to marry?
Victor, however, was… perhaps a bigger mistake than Miguel, in a sense. Isabel would have been able to call him her husband, her man, hers. He would have belonged to her, as they spent life side by side. Victor would never be hers. Even if he wanted to belong to her, heart and soul, even then she could never claim him for her own. To have and to hold all days of our lives till death do us part. All days of our lives meant such a radically different thing for Victor!
Isabel went through the cerimony the way she'd gone through the preparation. She said the right words, did the right gestures, sang Ave Maria faultlessly, slid the ring and had it slid, kissed, walked out at the sound of a cheesy pop song rather than a choir rendition of Beethoven's Ode to Joy, and got sprinkled with rice. They walked from the church to a nearby overview, rather than be driven in a horse-drawn carriage. At the overview, she stood in the required poses and smiled for the camera for half an hour, instead of spending two or three hours posing with every guest at a lush wedding venue, with sprawling gardens, horses and even a young bull to run after the most adventurous. Of course the animal's horns would have been covered, to prevent any bloodshed or serious injury during the party, but it would not prevent bruises and laughter. Isabel did not need to see any photos to know her smile was soft and gentle, rather than bright and joyful.
At lunch, there was music and she led Victor around the tables to thank the few guests for their presence. There was kissing, eating, more kissing, more eating and plenty of joking. There was fado, and she sang some too, there was dancing, there was more kissing, more eating, more dancing.
It was dark when they left Mariana's.
The house seemed untouched when it should have been turned upside down by a troupe of maid of honors led by the matron. Kitchenware should have swapped places with clothing, lewd pictures and less than helpful sex instructions should have been written on mirrors with lipstick, the bed should have been remade in such a way as to prevent the married couple to get in, and a myriad of sex related objects should have been so carefully placed, they'd be coming across hidden condoms and lube for weeks.
The bedroom mirror held a single word in bright red: "happiness". The bed had been remade, too.
"I'll fix that," Victor grumbled. "As fer you, get rid o' that make-up an' take a shower. What the hell did those women do? Poured a perfume bottle all over ya? I swear I can barely recognise ya by scent!"
Isabel sighed and complied.
Looking at herself on the bathroom mirror, she felt like crying.
Over one hundred years and he looked like he was in his thirties. If one hundred years amounted to thirthy years in his book, then, fifty years from now, Isabel would be in her seventies and Victor would look like he was… what? In his late forties? It was insane! To marry means to grow old side by side and she had just married a man who...
"Hey, hurry up wi'that!"
"Going."
She opened the water.
How was that going to work out, their aging difference? Well, obviously, it wouldn't. Which meant that this marriage and this being Victor's woman would only last until she was… for as long as she looked young enough to please him. One day, he'd realise she was piling up wrinkles and he'd go looking for a younger woman. So much for belonging to him forever, huh?
She knew the man lived mostly in the present, but hadn't he thought about this at all?
Or maybe she should simply follow his example. Live in the present, enjoy the man while she had him around and… and not think about the future. At least for the time being.
She switched off the water and got startled when she noticed Victor leaning on the door, frowning thoughtfully.
"Why so moody?"
Isabel snorted. Like hell she was going to tell him what she had on her mind. If he hadn't thought about the problem, he'd end up pissed; if he had thought about it and had chosen to ignore it for whatever reason, he'd end up pissed too. Either way, she didn't picture him giving it much importance and she had had a bad enough day that she could live without more drama.
"I'm tired," she shrugged, wrapping herself in a towel.
He didn't say anything and Isabel made up her mind to get over the day's moodiness. Victor had needs that needed attending, and he was often very good at repaying her attentions.
"More specifically, tired of kisses dat don't go nowhere," she said in English, since that was his preferred language.
She smirked playfully at him and was glad to see him grinning wolvishly.
"Come on," she dropped the towel and closed her eyes as he embraced her. She felt him breathe in deeply, enjoying her perfume-free scent, she supposed. "Do your magic and make the world go away, my love."
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