Avery heard the rich laughter before he made his way into the dining room. The Ford's weren't alone at the dining table; sitting with them was Isadora— Isabella's identical twin sister— and her husband— Julian, a treacherous snake and their children; Emilia, Charlotte and Roland.
"I can't believe you're holding a family gathering and no one invited me." The conversation paused at the sound of Avery's voice. "You wound me." He placed a hand on his chest.
"We didn't think you would be interested seeing as you have taken to staying at the Emerson's Mansion." Callan had not forgotten the embarrassment that Avery and Vicente had casued him.
"Still bitter I see." Callan's glare didn't deter Avery's smirk. With a marriage deal bagged, he didn't have to fear Callan anymore.
"Avery darling, it's good see you." Isabella smiled. "You look radiant."
"It's the kind of glow that comes from being around good people." The atmosphere tensed slightly as Avery made himself comfortable in a chair farther away from everyone.
"And what sort of double edged word is that supposed to be?" Emilia scoffed, as usual she was sitting bedside Ian.
"The kind of double edged word you think it is." Avery held her glare.
"So how's work at the company?" Like her twin sister Isadora was equally pretty; but while Isabella looked refined and elegant, Isadora looked vulgar and shwred — her hair was dyed a jet black that shone too much to be natural, her blue eyes had a cat like shine in them, lips painted a blazing shade of red and makeup thick enough to hide the imperfections years of struggle had etched into her skin. Her dress— a strapless black mesh— clinged to her so tightly, there was barely anything left to imagine.
"It's good." Isadora was looking at him under the weight of her fake lashes that had Avery wondering how anybody could see past something so long.
"It's more than good." Julian laughed. He was no handsome man, years of poverty and struggle had made him to develop wrinkles early, his hair had more grey hairs than a man his age should have; his looks were average at best— thinning black hair, calculating black eyes, and a face that had began to fill out with too much fat. He occupied the seat completely— growing fat from years of greed and embezzlement.
Julian was not a smart man, but he was shwred and calculating; the kind of person to do anything for money— that was why Callan kept him in the company; he helped Callan do his dirty work and in return Callan turned a blind eye to his atrocities— stealing company funds and sexually assaulting employees— which Avery would see an end to.
"He's managed to secure a marketing deal with a huge company." Isabella's face turned dark at Julian's words— but the man who couldn't take a hint kept talking.
"Is that so?" Isadora arched a brow. "It's good to see that some of your brother's personality is finally rubbing off on you, I was wondering how long you would go wasting your life— drinking, partying and stalking people." Avery was tempted to stab a fork in her eyes just to see her false smile of concern crumble. "Anytime you have trouble at the company, you can always go to Ian or your uncle." Fancy a woman who didn't know the meaning of E-Marketing giving him company advice.
"Aunt please, Avery doesn't need my help he's doing twice as better than me when I just started at the company." Something swirled in the depths of Ian's eyes as he locked gazes with Avery.
"But that—" a harsh glare from Isabella silenced Isadora.
"Let's eat." Isabella said. "In silence." She shot her sister a look.
Charlotte looked embarrassed on behalf of her parents who probably didn't know the meaning of shame. While Emilia and Roland proving to be Isadora and Julian's children had the nerve to look angry at Isabella shutting their mother up.
"I am getting married." For a minute the room was shrouded in silence.
"To who? Dylan?" Emilia quipped sarcastically.
No." Avery shot her a glare. "To Sloane Delaney."
"The cripple?" Isadora looked scandalized. "Avery you can do better than that."
"Oh my God! This is good." Emilia laughed. "It's karma, after all the trouble you have caused Ian and Dylan you ended up married to a cripple."
"Emilia." Ian shot her a glare, when Emilia just shrugged.
"Leave her, let her continue yapping, if her brain was half the size of her bust then her words would have hurt." Emilia's smile dwindled. "There's no point arguing with someone who's mentally retarded."
"You—" a glare from her mother shut Emilia up.
"Avery I heard his face is badly damaged, it's the reason his ex broke up with him, and beside can a cripple man even perform sexually." Roland looked disgusted.
"You don't have to look so offended Emilia, the mental retardation seems to run in the family genes." Avery smiled coldly. "I came here to inform you people, not seek your opinion on the matter."
"Avery your cousins are just looking out for you, you don't—"
"They are not my cousins, I don't share blood with them." Avery interrupted Isabella coldly.
"Of course, I forgot you never considered me as your mother." A cold look flashed in Ian's eyes at his mother's words.
"You never acted like my—"
"Enough." Callan's angry roar silenced everyone. "If Avery wants to marry Sloane then it's settled, let both families meet and settle on a date." Callan could care less if Avery married a deranged madman, in his head he was already calculating what he could gain from an alliance with the Delaney's.
"Good, I will take my leave." Avery stood up.
"You won't eat?" Ian asked.
"Bold of you to assume I can work an appetite around these people." Avery scoffed.
******
"Wait what? Am I hearing you right?" Sloane sighed.
"Grandma, you are hearing me right." He groaned with exasperation.
"So you want to marry Avery?" Amara's voice rang from the other end of the phone.
"Hmm." Sloane sighed. "Isn't that what you wanted, for me to get married; isn't that why you have been pushing me to go on those blind dates." Sloane said.
"I want you to get married, but isn't deciding after the first date too soon?" Amara asked.
"He's the only person who has looked at me like I am normal in months— no pity, no disgust, no shame— just normal." Sloane sighed.
"Wow! Your bars are set so low, I am shocked you aren't tripping over them." Amara laughed.
"Well, when you're disabled I guess there's not much of a bar to set." Sloane's laughed couldn't mask the sadness in it.
"Is that the only reason though?" Amara asked.
"What other reason could they possibly be." Sloane asked even though he knew. Part of the reason he had agreed to the wedding so soon was to spite Emilia; it still felt like a dream that they were no longer together— seven years of love thrown away in the twinkle of an eye— and to add salt to the wound, Emilia had announced her engagement a week ago; Sloane wondered how, barely a month and she was already with another man. How did she just casually move on when the wound still throbbed freshly in his heart— had she ever loved him?— or had she been seeing the man behind his back while they were together— no Emilia wouldn't— that part of his heart that still loved her would rush to defend.
Sloane didn't want to live like this, dying inside and dreaming of a woman who was no longer his, he wanted to hate Emilia for the pain she caused; he wished he had her strength to just move on, forget everything— he wanted to show Emilia that if she could move on so could he.
"Well I guess, I and Vicente would need to start choosing colour schemes, flower decorations and all, let's see if we can get a wedding in three months." Amara said.
"Three months?" Sloane sounded shocked. "I was thinking a week's time."
"Are you crazy?" Now it was Amara's turn to sound shocked. "You think a wedding can be planned in a week? My only grandson's wedding isn't going be some rushed affair, it's going to be grand, it's going to be the talk of the town for months and it's going to be one of Calonia's most luxurious weddings." Sloane rolled his eyes.
"Three month is too long." Sloane argued.
"Fine, how about we hold the engagement party in a week and the wedding in a month." Amara said.
"Alright." It was better than three months.
"I am busy so we will talk later, bye, love you, kisses."
"Bye, love you too." The screen turned blank.
As Sloane laid on the bed gazing at the ceiling, he felt the urge to pee. He looked at the wheelchair barely an arms reach from the bed and told himself he could make it.
"You can do this." It was easier to psyche himself, than to actually move. It was funny that Sloane realized just how much of a person's daily life depended on the legs after losing one.
The wheelchair was there, just there, but Sloane couldn't reach it. He grunted, sweated, pain shot through his injured leg to his brain as he struggled to just move— but his body wouldn't cooperate, it seemed to remind him of the fact that he was no longer complete, no longer normal.
"Call the nurse." A voice in his head echoed, but Sloane refused— he was fine, he was normal, he was complete— he didn't need anybody's bloody help just to get on a wheelchair and take a damn piss.
Sloane turned— with rage, with anger— the turn was uncalculated, he ended up on the floor, falling on his injured leg, he gritted his teeth— the pain causing his eyes to water— the wheelchair— just standing in front of him seemed to taunt him, to remind him just how useless he had become.
"Mr Delaney." A knock rasped on his door, the nurse had heard the noise and was worried.
"Mr Delaney I am coming in." After waiting for a few seconds she entered.
One look at the scene and she knew what happened— it wasn't the first time nd it wouldn't be the last— she pinched her nose, and Sloane could see the pity in her eyes.
"You could have called me, I am here to help." Sloane didn't need anybody's bloody help, yet you're lying on the floor helplessly, that voice in his head taunted.
With the nurse assistance Sloane was lifted from the floor and placed on the wheelchair.
"Do you want me to call Doctor Wilson or Therapist Clara?" The nurse asked.
"Don't call anybody, I am fine." Sloane's voice sounded cold to his ears.
The nurse didn't flich at the coldness in his voice— nor the scars on his face— which even Sloane was disgusted by— they weren't pretty— she was the only one who had seen him without the mask; she bathed him and had seen the worst ones on his chest and leg.
"Do you want to go to the bathroom?" It pained Sloane to nod— to admit that he had become this person who couldn't go to the bathroom himself.
She followed him in; helped him do his business and wash his hands. The she brought him to the room and helped him lie on the bed.
"I will go and get your pills." Sloane wanted to argue— tell her he didn't need those pills; he wasn't depressed or suffering from anxiety or whatever it was that the doctor had diagnosed him with— but he could feel the familiar pressure on his chest, the flashes of memories he didn't want to see— so maybe the doctor was right, maybe Emilia was right— Sloane was broken.