CHAPTER EIGHT – COLD FEET

She worried her lower lip with her teeth as she gazed unseeingly out at the impressive vista of Central Park's bucolic meadows and charming bridges below. A crisp, clear spring morning that should have filled her with ethereal bridal bliss. Instead, her thoughts turned morose. Was this really the rapturous, fairytale day she'd been dreaming of since first slipping on her mother's heirloom veil as a young girl? Was marrying into the exclusive ranks of Manhattan's elite and continuing both their families' legacies of power and influence what she truly wished for her future? A vague sense of unease continued to plague Charlotte throughout her morning beautification rituals. The professionals - hairstylists, makeup artists, and other wedding day facilitators clucked and fussed over her in a dizzying whirl. But she could barely force herself to pay attention as a complicated up-do was meticulously constructed atop her head and her complexion transformed into an ethereal, airbrushed dream. By the time she emerged from the cocoon of styling rooms, adorned in a plush ivory silk robe, Charlotte felt utterly disconnected from herself. As though her psyche was floating untethered from her corporeal form embarking on this momentous journey. "Oh. Em. Gee!" The familiar, high-pitched squeal jarred Charlotte from her morose reverie. She blinked owlishly, hardly registering as her maid of honor, Skylar, rushed forward and enveloped her in a fierce embrace. "You look like an actual goddess from the heavens!" Skylar gushed as she finally pulled back, bright eyes sparkling with what might have been unshed tears. "I mean damn, Charlie, save some beauty for the rest of us mere mortals!" Despite herself, Charlotte managed a wan smile at her oldest friend's signature overblown excitement. "You're too much, Sky," she murmured, though her attempt at a self-deprecating tone fell somewhat flat. Instantly seeming to sense the wrongness, Skylar's expression sobered as she gave Charlotte's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Hey now, none of that melancholy stuff today! This is the happiest day of your life, remember?" Heaving a deep sigh, Charlotte gently extricated herself and crossed over to the windows of her bridal suite once more. She worried her lower lip, wondering if giving voice to the shadowy unease taking root in her psyche would only cause it to flourish further into full-fledged panic. "It's just..." she hedged, twisting the plush silk knot of her robe anxiously. "I don't know Sky, I've got this sinking feeling in my gut that I can't seem to shake." She heard the telltale clink of Skylar's kitten heels against the herringbone parquet as she came to stand beside her at the window's edge. "Like you're having second thoughts about marrying Alexander? Because let me tell you, that Greek god hunk is quite literally the total dream boat for ninety percent of the female population." Charlotte's lips twitched upwards at her friend's bluntness. Leave it to Skylar to cut through any self-serious romantic anxiety with a bawdy, no-filter rejoinder. "It's not about him, not really. Alexander has been...well, you know how amazing he is." Pausing to collect her reeling thoughts, Charlotte drew in a steadying breath before continuing. "It's everything else. The family baggage and expectations, the societal roles that will be thrust upon me, this whole life I've been groomed for since birth without ever really questioning if it's what I want..." The words were like a dam bursting now, allowing the tidal wave of doubts and uncertainty she'd been keeping tamped down to surge forward. "Maybe this pit in my stomach is my subconscious screaming that I'm making a huge mistake by going through with this?" Silence stretched between them for long, agonizing moments. Then, Skylar spoke in a soft voice that was equal parts pragmatism and empathy, "Charli...do you love Alexander? Like truly, in the depths of your soul love him after everything you two have been through?" Despite her emotional turmoil, Charlotte's answer was immediate and unwavering, "With every fiber of my being." Skylar nodded sagely, seeming to accept the conviction behind those words. "Okay, cool. Then everything else whirling between those ears of yours? It's just pre-wedding jitters and doubts getting all amplified by your overachiever tendencies." Before Charlotte could protest, Skylar plowed on in that uniquely grounded, take-no-prisoners candor that had solidified their friendship since childhood. "You're a real one, Charlie. You've never been about just coasting along on your family status or buying into all the antiquated Upper East Side crap. Hell, you spent our entire teenage years taking the piss out of all that nonsense!" She shrugged, glossy curls bouncing as she shot Charlotte a wry look. "So if becoming a Montgomery wife and dealing with all their moldy baggage really wasn't your true path, you'd have bowed out on that long ago. And you're way too much of a badass to actually do something you didn't truly want." Charlotte couldn't help but chuckle at her friend's typically blunt pep talk - the harsh truth wrapped up in the type of effusive complimenting only your oldest confidante could get away with. The gentle swell of the orchestral quartet filled the grand cathedral, each soaring note seeming to reverberate through Charlotte's very bones as she clutched her father's arm with a startling intensity. This was it - the moment she had spent over a year's worth of painstaking planning and obsessing to reach. All around her, the immense vaulted space was utterly transformed into a fairytale confection straight from the pages of a Shakespearean play. Thousands of creamy pillar candles flickered in ornate ironwork sconces, bathing the intricate stained glass windows in a warm, ethereal glow. Lush garlands of snowy peonies, garden roses, and trailing greenery adorned the wooden pews in a heady, romantic profusion. And at the altar's front, a magnificent floral arch crafted of yet more blooms framed the picturesque scene where Charlotte would soon become Alexander's wife. Yet beneath the exquisite trappings, the young bride couldn't quell the rising tide of unease that had taken hold since rousing that morning. Ever perceptive, her father leaned in to murmur reassuringly, "Deep breaths, pumpkin. This is your moment - try not to let those fluttering nerves take the reins." Somehow, Richard Jones always retained the uncanny ability to see past Charlotte's polished veneer and cut straight to the quick of her roiling emotional state. She exhaled shakily, keenly aware of the hundreds of rapt gazes tracking her every measured step up the long aisle. Was she doing the right thing here? Not the wedding itself, because she knew without a shred of doubt that Alexander was her soulmate, the man who could simultaneously keep her grounded yet elevate her spirit to soaring new heights. No, the unshakable knot of disquiet centered on the life she would soon be pledging herself and her future family towards. A life of scrutiny, of policing every public move and utterance adhering to antiquated societal mores. Of perpetually terse smiles and saccharine tones as she glided through the same vapid social circuits her mother and grandmother had carved for decades. A life slowly drained of vibrancy and authenticity in deference to legacies and pedigrees and decorum. Is this truly what she wished for herself? For her hoped-for children? These doubts cycled on a punishing loop through Charlotte's psyche as the ceremonial march continued at an agonizing pace. By the time she reached the ornate altar, she felt her composure hanging by a mere gossamer thread, the weight of her family and Alexander's watching from the front pews like a physical force. She risked a sidelong glance at her soon-to-be husband. And there he stood, looking utterly resplendent and somehow bashful all at once in his impeccably-tailored tuxedo - the epitome of a society prince charming.