“You can try,” she whispered against his lips as she tightened her hold around his neck. “But I will also do my best to make our marriage a match made in heaven. Because I love you, Staffan, and I’m going to make you believe me. I’m going to do everything I can, seduce you, adore you, love you---everything.” Tears started to fall, but she spoke in spite of them, whispering, “I’m a fangirl, Staffan, and we fangirls don’t give up that easily.”
She let go before he could push her away, stepping back before he could do something - say something to force her to take her words back.
In front her, Staffan’s face had whitened, his lips tight with rage, his eyes dark with emotions too intense and chaotic for her to comprehend.
“Then try, Saffi. Go f**king try – but don’t you forget that even the most devoted fangirls are still replaceable.” He smiled without mirth. “And I’m not the f**king type to run out of them, don’t you think?”
Chapter Five
Can a Kanye West song be classified as a love song? I’m serious. Can it?
Twitter: starry_eyed4SA
Staffan’s jaw was aching at the effort it took to smile as he listened to Saffi announce that she was about to read her 100% personalized vows. His original plan for the wedding was to act like a first-class prick, but in the face of Pearl Beaufort-March’s gentle countenance, he was f**king unmanned.
She looked frail and beautiful in her white suit, seated in her wheel chair with the senator standing behind her. When Pearl beckoned him to lower himself, Staffan had found himself doing so. “Thank you for loving my daughter, Staffan Aehrenthal.” The sweetly whispered words had him swallowing back his bitterness, the irony not lost on him. Because he did still love Sapphire March, whether he wanted to or not.
Constantijin let out a loud cough. Staffan’s head turned sharply to him and saw both of his friends looking stoic as they stared with clenched jaws at his soon-to-be bride, as if they were doing their best to hold their emotions back.
He hadn’t really looked at Saffi the moment she entered her mother’s hospital suite, but now it appeared as if he had no choice. His friends were acting damn strange, and Staffan didn’t want to be caught off guard about anything. He forced himself to turn to Saffi.
The sight of her nearly knocked Staffan off his feet.
She made a breathtakingly beautiful bride, her dark hair curled and pinned up, her face framed by a band of tiny pink roses. She wore no veil, and somehow it just made the fact she was a bride – his bride – all the more tangible, with her face bare of makeup except for a dab of pink gloss on her rosebud lips.
She wore a white velvet dress, a hint of cle**age revealed by its sweetheart neckline. It tapered to a tight waist and a semi full skirt, one that swirled just a few inches over her knees. Saffi had matched her dress with white pumps, with the thinnest heels he had ever seen her wear, making her long legs appear even longer.
Her voice faltered, causing Staffan’s gaze to return to her face.
Saffi did her very best not to sigh, cry, and scream at the same time. Surely, this was the result of pregnancy hormones. Never ever had Staffan looked this gorgeous in her eyes, even though he was also as dressed down as she was, with a black suit jacket and pants. Of course, Staffan being Staffan, the pearl-white silk shirt he wore under the jacket was impossibly stylish, something she knew conservative men like her brother Steel or even Jeremy would never even consider wearing.
Clearing her throat, she lifted her copy of her vows and began to read.
Staffan’s eyes widened at what Saffi held in her hands. Those personalized vows of hers were more than a couple pages long. His eyes narrowed. WHAT IN GOD’S NAME --- If his eyes weren’t fooling him, those were typewritten pages, and it wasn’t even double-fucking-spaced.
Constantijin coughed again, and Staffan turned to his friend, distracted. Both Rathe and Constantijin had their jaws clenched hard. He looked back at Saffi.
And then he listened, really f**king listened, to what Saffi had to say.
“The sun goes down, the stars come out, and all that counts is here and now. My universe will never be the same. I’m glad you came. You cast a spell on me, you hit me like the sky fell on me – I’m glad you came...”
She took a deep breath and flipped to the next page. “You make it easy as 1-2, 1,2,3,4. There’s only one thing to do, three words for you – I love you…”
Slowly, Staffan’s jaw clenched hard, too, staying that way as Saffi so beautifully vowed her unwavering love through the words of Mariah Carey, Kanye West, Ne-Yo, and even Nicki Minaj. The entranced expression on Pearl’s face as she listened to her daughter speak her vows was the only thing that kept his iron control intact.
The seventy-year-old judge appeared moved to tears as well, and he turned to Staffan expectantly. “Your vows, son, you may speak them.”
Staffan stilled, completely unsure if he heard the priest correctly.
Saffi turned to him with a similarly expectant expression, and there was nothing more he wanted to do than strangle her at that moment.
Constantijin and Rathe were coughing again.
Ah, f**k. The only things that came to mind were lyrics from rock and roll songs, and that was all Saffi’s f**king fault. Ah, f**k. Think, think. He said in Swedish, “If only you saw what I can see, you’ll understand why I want you so desperately. Right now I’m looking at you and I can’t believe you don’t know you’re beautiful.”
Pearl nodded encouragingly, her eyes shining with tears.
The f**k – One Direction wasn’t enough?
Staffan continued, “Step to the beat of my heart, I don’t need a whole lot, but for you I admit I’d rather give the world or we can share mine. I know I won’t be the first one, giving you all this attention, baby, listen I just need somebody to love.”
By this time, Constantijin and Rathe were coughing so hard that the priest was giving them strange looks.
“That sounded so beautiful,” Pearl breathed.
Yeah, well, that was Justin Bieber for her, Staffan thought.
“Say one last thing for Saffi, please,” Pearl begged prettily just as the priest started to speak.
Staffan wanted to kill himself.
“Please, son?”
Ah, f**k. Mothers were always his f**king weakness. He turned to Saffi. In gruff Swedish, he said the first thing that came to his mind once more. “It’s a beautiful night. We’re looking for something dumb to do. Hey baby – I think…” Staffan broke off.