Happy

I've decided to finally begin this story that I've been thinking about for months. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. :)

To those of you who read Bitter Destruction, my Charmed story, DO NOT BE ALARMED. I have NOT given up on it and I am still working on it as well. (PS - sorry for its delay!)

I'm going to try to work on this story as much as I can, along with the Charmed ones, but, bear with me people, please! I won't be able to update as frequently as you may want. I'll do my best, I promise. :)

Also, all of these characters are mine! No stealing, okay? Thank you.

That should be all for this section. ;) Please enjoy!

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Every girl dreams of the day she gets married, right?

She dreams of the petals of various flowers - roses, lilies, and carnations among others - scattered along the aisles of the church; of her family and friends cluttered in the front room exchanging hellos and nice-to-meet-yous with the groom's share of the guest list; of her mother weeping with all sorts of emotions, and her father realizing that she was no longer his little girl.

She dreams of the groom, the love of the her life that is willing to give up the bachelor life, let someone else share his wealth, and start a family. A whole new life begins between the two lovers, soul mates.

I barely knew mine.

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Sitting alone on the chair in the small room of the biggest church somewhere in Connecticut, I no longer fought to hold back tears. I was newly 18 and barely ready to even take care of myself. I was waiting for my father to come in and take my hand to walk me down that stretch between the entrance and the other side of the chapel where hundreds of people sat waiting for the song to play.

That thought alone made thicker tears fall down my cheeks.

I shouldn't have been crying. I should have been happy. Everyone else was going to be happy. Father would be happy because he wouldn't have to worry about me any longer now that I was becoming a wife. Gregory Harrison would be happy because he's getting his second wife. I would be happy, too, wouldn't I? Because I would be taken care of.

Gregory Harrison was one of the smartest, biggest, and wealthiest businessmen that you'd ever meet. He owned a house in the suburbs of New Haven; it was big enough for a family of 20. His company, something to with investments, was doing great and, at the rate it was at, looked as though it'd be around forever. Gregory's personality wasn't too bad either, but I'd only known the man for a few hours one night and then dinner another and then we became engaged. I knew that he was tall (a foot taller than me), polite (he opened the doors and pulled out chairs for me), and old (he's 40).

Gregory had been in a previous marriage for about two years. His ex-wife, who I hadn't met but knew was named Elise, divorced him due to the fact that Gregory had been in an affair. Was this worrying for me? I wasn't sure. I certainly didn't love the man, for I didn't know him. But I didn't enjoy the idea of sleeping in the same bed as a man who'd just been sleeping with someone else. However, during the dinner we'd spent together, he promised that his "cheating days" were over, and he vowed to be a one-woman man.

So, I should've been happy, right? Then why wasn't I?

There was a knock at the door that broke me out of my wet trance. Clearing my throat, I wiped my index fingers along my bottom eyelids and smoothed out the ends of my dark hair. "Who is it?" I asked, my voice off-pitch and shaky.

"Papa, Mia," the familiar voice said, as scratchy and husky as it should've sounded.

My eyes rolled upward and closed, forcing the moisture back. I sighed quietly before inviting him in.

He looked better than he'd looked in a long time, dressed in a grey suit with a white tie. His bald head shined from the light's reflection as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Once the door clicked shut, he stood still in front of it, watching me closely with an emotionless face. Feeling almost uncomfortable, I shifted in my seat and fiddled with the lacing of my dress. "Well," Father whispered, nearly faltering with the word. "Stand up and let me look at you."

Swallowing, I obliged and stood from my seat. In my white high heels, I was inches taller than the man, but, when without, we were the same height. As he stepped closer, I realized how strange it felt to have to peer down at him.

Father gazed at me for a long time, more tears littering every time his eyeballs moved in a different direction. "You're so beautiful, Mia," he finally stated, raw with emotion.

Rolling my eyes again to stop the rush of regret and tears, I pled, "Please, Papa... Don't."

"But you are, Mia!" he exclaimed softly, taking my small hand into his chubby one. "You look just like your mother..." he mused, memorizing my body once more.

My father and mother married almost 25 years ago. My father was a photographer, trying to make a living as a bartender at a local pub in Wales, England. My mother had just finished high school in Italy and was relocating somewhere to focus on writing poetry.

Mother was absolutely stunning. She was born with naturally curled black hair, piercing green eyes, and the fairest skin that anyone had ever seen. The moment she entered that local pub, my father knew that she was the most beautiful creature that he'd ever laid eyes on. Without even thinking it over or creating some sort of plan, Father immediately asked if he could take her picture. And, while flashing a glorious glimmer of a smile, she said yes.

They eventually married and created handsome images that sold rather well. Mother wrote poetry books that did sell, though not as much as she wished. But Father's photographs of Mother were helping pay the bills and grant them a life of wealth.

A couple years into their marriage, Mother wanted to leave Europe to go to the United States to visit family that lived in New York. There they met Percy, my mother's aunt, and her family and stayed with them. Mother thought that she had gotten the flu because she'd been so sick and was continuously nauseous, but realized that she was carrying a child. Hell bent against leaving the States to return to Wales, my father declared that they would live in New York at least until the baby was born.

Eventually she gave birth to a girl. Me. My mother, who'd actually sold more poetry during her pregnancy than ever before, had decided to name me Mia Poeta, meaning "my poetry" in Italian, and gave me my father's last name Baynton.

We continued to live in New York after my birth. My parents were happy; they truly were.

Then my mother died.

I was two years old.

She died in an automobile collision. My father fell into a horrible state of depression. He'd lost not only the love of his life, but the only subject that made his images as excellent as they were as well. Aunt Percy had to care for us after the death, and I think we turned out a lot better than we would've been if she'd not been there.

I'd gone to private school my entire life, and I was always one of the top students. I didn't have many friends and never had a boyfriend. My social life was non-existent, but I was fine with that. I didn't need friends or dates; I needed the education to find a well-paying job to help my father. That's all I wanted to do; I wanted to make my father happy again.

When I graduated, my father surprised me. He threw me a graduation party filled with kids from my school and adults that I'd never met. And there I met Gregory Harrison.

I could tell that he was immediately drawn to me because he couldn't tear himself away from me. Don't think of me as one of those girls that says she's ugly but whole-heartedly knows that she's gorgeous. I knew that I was pretty. I had the same jet-black hair as my mother, only lacking the curls and was perfectly straight instead, brown eyes from my father, and Mother' skin, just as fine. I'd been asked out before from boys at school but always declined, no matter how good-looking they were. Boys stared at me in the hallways or the dining hall or in classrooms. I'd gotten used to it and barely paid attention anymore.

But at my graduation party... Gregory's look was much different than the usual gawk from adolescent boys. He expressed interest with his blue eyes and something of a smile as he examined me from afar. A glass of red wine was still in his large, tanned hand, and I admired his choice of beverage compared to the cans and bottles of alcohol that my other guests had chugged in the background. There was nothing wrong with admiration, for I couldn't help staring at him as well. Sophisticated, wise, legendary were words that sprang to mind when I checked him over. Older words.

I doubted he was conjuring up courage to talk to me because he certainly didn't appear to be shy by the way he kind-of-smiled and cocked his head at me. I think he was waiting for me to come to him. But I turned away, not purposely acting like a tease as he soon accused me of. "Turning away from me already?" he had asked, that somewhat-smile curving further.

Heat rose in my cheeks. "Sorry, sir," I murmured, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter, concentrating on the label and not the way his body grew closer to my backside.

Gregory Harrison chuckled. "You make me sound old," he replied, taking a sip of his drink.

'You are, though,' I thought to myself. I averted myself so that we were facing one another. "And how old are you Mister...?" Because I hadn't known his name at the time, I left the question open.

"Oh," he said, switching the glass from hand to hand, then offered me his now-free right one. "Gregory Harrison. I know your father through business. And I'm 40." My eyebrows arched in surprise. He laughed again. "Don't look so surprised."

We spent some of the time that night talking. We talked about him mostly - his business, his hobbies, his trips, his ex-wife. I couldn't deny that he was quite the smooth-talker and was, miraculously, making minutes pass by quickly. Gregory told me that night that he hoped we'd see each other again, and Father was very gracious this. "He's a good man!" he exclaimed at dinner the next night. "Harrison has a great job and will be an excellent provider for you, Mia Poeta. You must go out with him again. Must."

And I did. We went out for dinner a few nights after we'd first met. He complimented me quite a lot that night - on my hair, my dress, my make-up - and made sure that I did a lot of talking that night. I hated it. Not the compliments, that was fine, but revealing my past was humiliating. A normal person with a normal self-esteem would think that every time he nodded or contorted his face in a different way, that would mean that he was only taking in the information and understanding. The way I viewed it was he was tallying the reasons on how horrible and dysfunctional I was as a person. My childhood was depressing, and my adolescence was depressing and boring. Each word I said felt like a plunge of a dagger into my gut. And then I stabbed myself at the end.

Gregory Harrison had drove me home in his black Convertible and walked me up the steps to the house that belonged to my father and me. "Now, before you go inside," he started, watching me intently, "I have something to ask you."

My feet ached from the high heels that I wished I hadn't worn. "Yes?" I slightly groaned.

Smirking as though I'd missed a joke, he continued, "I've been alone for a while now, since my divorce, and I've been very lonely." I tried to look sympathetic. "Mia," he breathed my name. "I think you're stunning and smart and have a wonderful personality."

'Oh no,' my mind screamed and my heart tightened.

"I understand that there's a range between our ages, but I'm hoping that you'll look past that. I already have your father's blessing..."

That's really all he had to say. Father wanted this to happen; he was happy about this. If this could make Father better again, then maybe...

A blue box was suddenly in my field of vision. Gregory's long, light brown fingers were sitting on the sides, ready to open the item. "Mia Baynton," he said in the lightest voice, grinning. "Will you marry me?"

The lid popped open and revealed the most beautiful ring I'd ever seen. The diamond radiated as though the set sun were blazing above. Despite my hand covering my mouth, the shocked sound escaped. 'Father's blessing... Father's blessing...'

Closing my eyes, I whispered, "Yes."

"Pardon?"

I peered up at him. "Yes."

Now here I was, standing before my father, about to be Mrs. Harrison. "Papa," I sighed, "I don't think I can do this."

His eyebrows grew together. "Why, sweetheart?"

"I... I'm not ready."

"Of course you are!" he cried, squeezing my hand. "Greg will take care of you, Mia, I know he will. He's a good, earnest man, and he'll be the luckiest man in the world when he has you for his bride." Everything Father said sounded like a lie, a big, fat lie, but I couldn't hurt him.

I nodded in reluctance and embraced my father. "I love you, Papa," I whispered, my voice cracking.

"I love you, too, Mia Poeta," he replied softly, kissing the top of my bare shoulder genuinely. He pulled himself away, his face impossibly bright. "Come on, Mia. It's time."

The walk down the aisle didn't last as long as I hoped. I couldn't help glancing at the various people standing near the wooden benches. A majority I had no idea who they were, but some faces were familiar. There were so many different expressions: jealousy, contentedness, anger, concern, tears of whatever-it-was. The maid of honor was Aunt Percy, and my bridesmaids were distant cousins that I barely knew. Every man on the opposite side of the bride's girls I had not the slightest idea of who they were. I didn't know anyone on the groom's side except sort of the groom!

Father took his place and let go of my hand. I was now side by side with my future-husband. Through my peripheral vision, I saw the wrinkles in Gregory's cheeks and forehead, and the grey haired roots in his dyed dirty blonde hair. Was I really going to marry this man? This man that was 22 years older with his own home and business, with experience in sex and, I imagined, lots of it. Was I really going to tell him that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him? Was I going to say it so every single person in the building would hear the words that I would soon regret?

It seemed as though I was.

"And you, Mia?" The man holding a book before us all acknowledged me, forcing me to keep alert to my surroundings. "Will you take this man to be your lawful, wedded husband? Will you love, honour, and keep him with you as long as you both shall live?"

'Did I? Did I? Did I?'

My eyes darted to my father for a small matter of seconds. His cheeks bounced as he beamed at Gregory and me.

'I don't,' I thought, wishing I had the guts to say it aloud, 'but I will.'

"Yes," I said instead without any emotion.

I felt Gregory's hand clasp my clammy one, heating it gradually.

I rolled my eyes around again, hiding the tears, and cast a glance backward to see a beautiful blonde woman dressed in a short, black dress. She smirked at me, and the feeling that I received was a mixture of doubt and insecurity, like I shouldn't have been up at the alter claiming that I wanted to be with this man. And, of course, I didn't, but this attractive woman's smug look made me feel that I didn't deserve him.

Just in time, I turned back to the man with the book to hear him say, "You may kiss the bride."

During our first kiss, my first kiss, a swarm of regret and anxiety built inside my torso, lodging my heart into my throat. I had done it. I said yes.

I was Mrs. Gregory Harrison.

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I believe the honeymoon is next chapter. Yay? :)

Let me know what you think. Rate and review, please!