Cullen - Getting Married
I grit my teeth as I look at my father. There’s no point arguing. No way out. I’ve known this day was coming, it just feels different now that it’s actually here.
“So… is that like a done deal?” I ask, voice flat. “Written down in ink?”
“Yes,” my father says, smug and godly like he’s just sealed a peace treaty with his own hands. “We met with the Irish yesterday. Went through the details, and settled on the date. Everything’s finalized. The wedding is happening, whether you like it or not. All you have to do is be ready for it.”
I let out a long breath and mutter, “Alright then… I guess.”
Before I can process anything else, my mother cuts in with her usual cheerful voice. “Don’t worry about planning the wedding. We’ve got it all under control.”
She places her hand over mine, her eyes lighting up like she’s already in planning mode. “I’m going to plan your wedding just like I planned your brother’s with Bella. And I promise—it’s going to be a big affair.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, nodding just to get her off my back.
I don’t give a damn if it’s a big affair. Honestly, I wouldn’t care if we just went to the courthouse, signed some damn papers, and got it over with. It’s not like I’m marrying for love.
My mother keeps going, oblivious. “All you have to do is show up on your wedding day, be on time, pick a tux, and look good. That’s it.” She presses on. “Okay?”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, jaw tight.
Then my father clears his throat and takes back the conversation from her.
“Of course, since you’re getting married… it’s time you started stepping up,” he says, voice firm, eyes locked on mine. “The Irish didn’t agree to this alliance just to marry their daughter off to a second son with no power. No influence.”
And there it is.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Here it comes.
“What is it?” I snap, barely able to hold back. “I’m not doing enough being your errand boy? Getting sent around like a goddamn soldier? I’m not proving myself enough? What more do you want from me?”
My father doesn’t even flinch. Pretends like I didn’t just raise my voice at him. Instead, he speaks calmly—too calmly. I hate that calm.
“As you know,” he begins, “Cyrus works very closely with me. He’s learning the ropes. Learning his position. Building influence among the men. Getting to know how I operate. That’s why he’s with me every day. In every meeting.”
“Just like you brought him into the meeting to arrange my marriage?” I cut in sharply.
“Yes,” he says simply.
“But he wasn’t the one getting married.... maybe I should’ve been there too, considering I’m the one getting married,” I shoot back. “Maybe I should’ve had a say in when and how.”
He raises his hand dismissively, like I’m being childish. I clench my fists under the table.
“Be that as it may,” he continues, “it’s time you also started learning your position.”
“And what is that, exactly?” I ask, though I already know I won’t like the answer.
“When your brother,” he says, with too much pride in his voice, “when Cyrus takes the throne—becomes the Don—you’re expected to be his right-hand man.”
I stare at him, jaw tightening. I don’t want to be under Cyrus. I don’t want to be his sidekick, his backup. And my father knows this. He just chooses to ignore it, like always.
“Besides,” he adds, “as we both know, my consigliere doesn’t have a son.”
Bella's father.
“It seems like you’re going to have to fill that position,” my father says. “Which means you’ll be working closely with him, starting now. He’ll start showing you the ropes, our family secrets, and how to strategize. Everything you need to learn to be a proper consigliere.”
So that’s what this is.
"This whole meeting—it wasn’t just about your wedding.,” he says, voice final, “It was about two things: one, you’re getting married. And two, you just got a promotion.”
He looks me dead in the eye. “Basically, Cullen—you just became a man. And now, you have responsibilities. The Irish want their daughter married to someone with substance. So I hope you’re ready.”
I’m about to snap.
Why does my father always talk to me like I’m a goddamn idiot? Like I’m not worth the air in the room unless I’m doing exactly what he says, exactly how he says it. Just because Cyrus got sworn in at fourteen and I was two years late at sixteen, it’s like that marked me as lesser in his eyes.
People respect Cyrus more. They always have. Because they know he’s going to take over. Because he acts like the heir. And me? I’m just the spare.
It’s like everything I do, my father has a problem with it. It’s never enough. I’m never enough.
And just when I feel my mouth open, the words rising like fire in my throat, I catch my mother’s eyes. She’s giving me that look. The one that says, 'Don’t do it. Calm the fuck down. Not now.'
So I grit my teeth. Swallow it all down like poison.
“Fine,” I say, voice tight. “Fine. Do whatever you want. You want me to get married? I’ll do it. Do you want me to be the consigliere next? I’ll do that too. What next? You want me to—”
“I think that’s enough,” my mother cuts in gently.
She stands, smoothing her dress like nothing explosive just happened. “Since everything’s out of the way,” she says, smiling, “I think I’ll go start planning your wedding. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “At least someone’s going to enjoy it.”
She crosses the room, kisses my father lightly, and then turns to me. Her voice softens.
“I know you can do it, baby. Stop fighting it.”
She presses a kiss on my forehead, and I close my eyes for just a second.
Then she turns to Cyrus, and says, “I’m going to call Bella. She said she wants to help plan her best friend’s wedding.”
Cyrus snaps. “They’re not best friends anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.”
And that one stings. Because he’s right.
Bella and I… we’re not who we were. Not the same kids who grew up chasing each other around the estate. Even though I’ve been trying... God, I’ve been trying to rebuild what we had.
My mother just shrugs, unfazed. “Still, it’s her brother-in-law’s wedding. And she wants to help. She said she wants it to be even bigger than yours was.”
She leans down, kisses Cyrus’s forehead too, and then walks out of the room. And all I can do is sit there, that same bitter taste in my mouth, wondering if this is what it feels like to grow up in a family like mine—where you don’t get to choose anything, not even who you are.
But deep down I also know what I want, I can't have.
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