Chapter 95 - 97
Kelsey POV
I have seen the pictures of Avara during her overseas outreach programs. Digital photographs of her sunken in cheeks from not eating enough, arm-in-arm with other volunteers. Some even with the foreigners they were helping, along with their children. Despite the arid or wind-beaten conditions that would wear down most. Avara’s smile alone would illuminate the picture, brightening the dull frame of the captured moment.
And now, there she stands, wrapped in artistry, her custom-designed florid dress. Her hair, polished to a hyper-gloss perfection, is swept into a pristine chignon, each strand seemingly placed with purpose. Her features, delicately enhanced by masterful strokes of makeup that radiate sophistication. Yet, beneath the surface, her glow is muted, her inner light dimmed to a faint flicker, struggling against the opulence encasing her. Her smile, though perfectly poised, carries a quiet hollowness, a silent plea cloaked in grandeur.
The first photo shoot begins—a romantic tableau featuring her and Landen. No matter how closely they pose or how the photographer commands chemistry, Avara’s demeanor betrays her. She looks less like a bride in bliss and more like a hostage present against her will. The entire crew transitions to the lush gardens outside, where the grounds form an intricate backdrop that can rival any renaissance masterpiece.
A family shoot follows, a staged vision of nobility brought to life, with the Du Ponts and Vacherons elegantly arranged. From my angle near the lavish buffet table, snacking as I watch the performance unfold, the pretense heavy in the air. Soon, the director calls for a Du Pont-only shot. Luciano and Silas flank their sister, their camaraderie breaking the carefully curated formality. They kneel, gripping one leg each, and hoist her skyward, perching her atop like a queen on a throne of their shoulders.
For the first time, Avara’s smile transforms. It is no longer a practiced expression but something raw and unguarded, her laughter spilling into the air like the sunlight that gives a sheen upon every surface. I smile at the sight of her joy and that is punctuated at the weight of a stare my periphery cannot bear. I sneak a glance to see that it’s Colton’s father, staring at me with meaningful intention, and I offer a silent prayer that he won’t approach, but of course that’s exactly what he does.
He shuffles over, and I brace myself, tinkering with a smile as I channel my inner Avara.
"Beautiful day for a beautiful shoot," I comment, gesturing to the professional setup.
"Will your hair be like that on the day of the wedding?"
My smile vanishes as a dark churn begins in my gut. "Like what?" I ask slowly, my voice perilously too low.
"I simply do not want to give my guests the wrong idea."
A sharp pulse of rage propels me forward, but a steady hand anchors me, firm and grounding, a silent plea to stay my course.