Author: Sorraya T PM
When she was eight, she was orphaned. The CIA covered up her existence, and ruined her life. She escaped quickly, and became a completely different person. But her new life is not what it seems. ON HIATUSRated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Chapters: 2 - Words: 4,354 - Reviews: 6 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 5 - Updated: 08-27-10 - Published: 07-08-10 - id: 2826068
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I stared at my reflection with a frown on my face. I wasn't one to frown often, but this was a special occasion it appeared. My fucking wedding day, and my hair suddenly decides to act up for the first time since I was six?
I was now wishing I'd accepted my fiancés offer of a stylist. But no, stupid Casey Grace had to go ahead and be her stubborn self, insisting that she could do it herself. God, do I ever use my brain?
I knew that my bad mood was most likely the result of nerves, but I didn't care. I took some deep breaths and opened my eyes to the flushed, scared looking girl staring back at me. I combed my fingers through my long, blonde, misbehaving hair. I wanted to be able to control something. I quickly did some small braids trailing down either side of my head, pinning them into place and letting the ends flow naturally into my unruly hair.
I was breathing carefully, keeping my heart rate down. I didn't want to sweat in my wedding dress. I was only half-concentrating as I placed the foundation and powder on my face, followed by a pale gold eye shadow and the palest pink lipstick. I wanted to look angelic today. Not my usual rough, carefree self. However much I wished for my jeans and converse, I knew that for the moment, the makeup and hairstyle were necessary evils.
I pondered how I must have been the weirdest bride ever to grace the world. I didn't want to wear a dress, I hated that I had to put on makeup, and I was annoyed at my hairstyle. If it wasn't for the knowledge that waiting for me at the end of the aisle would be my Eran, my fiancé, I think that I would probably have kicked and punched my way out of here the second I lay my eyes on the dress.
But it was Eran. So I knew I would do this. I would get married today. And I would be terrified as hell.
You can't have everything, it seems.
I finally pulled on my form-fitting wedding dress. The soft, thin material fell around my body quite nicely, I had to admit. There was a kind of silky netting starting at the left thigh, falling down my front and circling my legs to form a kind of slit. The bodice and rest of the dress was white silk, with skinny spaghetti straps and intricate beading, it looked like tree branches reaching across my torso.
It was a gorgeous dress. If it was midnight blue and I was heading to a club, I would probably be absolutely thrilled. And most likely a little bit smug.
But as it was a wedding dress... my wedding dress, I was anxious and shy.
I again thought of my soon-to-be-husband. I first met Eran Nadir outside of my high school. I, being the impatient, stubborn teenager I am, was leaving school early. I had only lasted halfway through the day. And then I just stood and left. I strolled outside, noticing a man leaning patiently against a beautiful motorcycle. I noticed him glance my way, and do a double-take. A typical reaction, one I had long grown used to.
But this time, it felt different. I didn't know whether it was the bike or the general bad boy feel of him, but I felt flattered rather than irritated this time. I subtly observed him further. I took in the cropped, satin black hair, the stubble that looked too perfect, almost pencilled in, the aviators, leather jacket and lean muscled physique to match the incredibly sexy, middle eastern face. I was a goner.
He asked me to ride his bike with him, offered to take me to lunch. And instead of my standard response, my two favourites being 'In your dreams dickwad' and 'I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than have to contemplate you for a second longer', I found myself shyly accepting his offer.
Two weeks later, we were official. Eran was Israeli, a motorcycle dealer. And I loved him more than I could say.
It was two years later. I was sixteen. To the government, I was legally emancipated. But then again, what the hell did the government know?
I'd already faced a lot of controversy over my marriage. Prying locals who heard about it told me I was too young, and that Eran was too old. He was eight years older than me, a lot less difference than a lot of couples. In East Ridge, it was legal. And that was good enough for me.
I surveyed myself one last time in the mirror, deciding that I would have to do. I cleared my throat nervously, My throat bone dry, and I found myself wringing my hands nervously. I was to call to the people outside the room. My bridesmaids. I'd only wanted one, but Eran had insisted.
"I'm ready." I called.
At least I hoped I was.
"I do." Eran said, the conviction and joy in his voice bringing tears to my eyes. I loved him so much it hurt. His black eyes were warm, and his smile may have seemed formal and appropriate to the audience, but I could see the happiness about to burst from him. He held my hands tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.
And finally, the priest spoke the words I'd been yearning for, pronouncing us husband and wife, and telling us to kiss. Eran leaned down, he was a good six inches taller than me, and we kissed in front of the small gathering of friends and family here to witness our uniting...
Precisely as thirty FBI agents burst through the door. We gasped simultaneously as they ran towards us. I buried into my husband at the precise moment he pulled me to him.
"They found me." I whispered hollowly, hearing a strange echo of my words. After a second, I realised the echo was Eran, speaking the same words I had.
I pulled away from the man, startled, and stared at him, confused and scared. He looked at me with apology, and a dangerous edge I had never seen before.
The FBI surrounded us, and an agent came forward to pull me out of the firing range, as they all aimed sigs at Eran Nadir, my husband.
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