Chapter 20: Beauty Reborn
1348words
"May I come in?" Isolde's voice called from the doorway.
"Of course."
She entered, resplendent in the pale blue bridesmaid's dress I'd designed specifically for her. The past year had transformed our relationship from bitter rivalry to tentative friendship, then to something approaching true sisterhood.
"You're not dressed yet," she observed, glancing at my silk robe. "Nervous?"
"Not about marrying Cassian." I smiled, opening the jewelry box. The familiar melody of "Clair de Lune" filled the room. "Just taking a moment to remember."
Isolde moved to stand behind me, our reflections side by side in the mirror—no longer a study in contrasts, but two women who had survived the same storm from different shores.
"She would be proud of you," Isolde said softly. "Your mother."
"I think she would." I removed the locket Isolde had returned to me, the one Victoria had kept as a twisted trophy. "Will you help me with this?"
As she fastened the clasp around my neck, I studied my reflection. The scars that had once defined me had faded to faint silver lines, barely visible unless you knew where to look. My platinum hair, now grown to my shoulders, framed a face that had found peace with itself.
But the true transformation wasn't physical. It was in my eyes—the confidence, the purpose, the joy that no cosmetic treatment could create.
"It's time for the dress," Isolde announced, moving to where it hung by the window.
I stood, letting my robe fall away. The wedding gown was my own design, of course—a creation that had taken months to perfect. Not the princess fantasy I'd once dreamed of, but something more authentic: clean lines in ivory silk, architectural shoulders balancing a deep V-neckline, and hand-embroidered details incorporating patterns from my mother's original sketches.
As Isolde helped me into it, I thought of the journey that had led to this day. Laurent Designs had become the fashion world's most exciting new label, with boutiques in Milan, Paris, and London. Cassian and I had built it together—my creative vision paired with his business acumen, a partnership in every sense.
Victoria was serving a fifteen-year sentence for conspiracy in my mother's death, her carefully constructed façade finally shattered by truth. My father, from his prison cell, had signed over his remaining assets as restitution—a gesture that came too late for forgiveness, but which I had accepted as the closest thing to an apology he could offer.
"There," Isolde said, securing the last button. "Perfect."
I turned to the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman who looked back at me. Not because of beauty—though I had finally made peace with my appearance—but because of the strength I saw there. The resilience. The hard-won joy.
"Cassian won't know what hit him," Isolde smiled, adjusting my train.
"Is he nervous?" I couldn't help asking.
"Terrified," she laughed. "In the best possible way. Orion is with him now, probably offering terrible advice."
The mention of Orion no longer brought pain. His public apology had been followed by genuine efforts to make amends, including a substantial donation to a foundation I'd established for young designers from disadvantaged backgrounds.
A knock at the door announced Professor Bianchi, dapper in his formal suit. After my father's imprisonment, I had asked my mentor to walk me down the aisle—a role he had accepted with tears in his eyes.
"Cara mia," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You are a vision."
"Don't make me cry," I warned, blinking rapidly. "Marco spent an hour on my makeup."
"The guests are seated," he continued, offering his arm. "Your groom is waiting. And pacing. Quite dramatically."
I took a deep breath, gathering my bouquet—white roses interspersed with sprigs of wisteria, a nod to those early conversations with Cassian in the Whitestone garden.
"I'm ready."
The villa's gardens had been transformed for the occasion. White chairs lined a path toward the lake, where an arch of flowers marked the spot where Cassian and I would exchange our vows. As I appeared at the top of the stone steps, a string quartet began playing—not the traditional wedding march, but "Clair de Lune," my mother's favorite.
Every face turned toward me, but I saw only one. Cassian stood beneath the floral arch, tall and distinguished in his tailored suit, his eyes finding mine across the distance. The look on his face—wonder, love, pride—made my heart swell until I thought it might burst from my chest.
With each step down the aisle, memories washed over me: the humiliation at Orion's engagement party; Cassian finding me in the library; our first meeting in Milan; the night at Lake Como when he'd bandaged my cut finger; our first kiss; the fashion show that had announced me to the world; the courtroom where we'd fought for justice; the rainy night when he'd proposed again, both of us soaked to the skin and laughing.
A journey that had begun with shame and hiding had led to this moment of complete visibility, of being truly seen and loved.
When I reached him, Cassian took my hands in his, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles in that familiar, steadying way.
"You are breathtaking," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
"So are you," I replied, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
The ceremony itself was simple and deeply personal. We had written our own vows—promises not of blind devotion, but of partnership, respect, and unwavering support. When Cassian slipped the wedding band onto my finger, joining it with my mother's garnet engagement ring, I felt the circle of my life completing.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared. "You may kiss your bride."
Cassian's kiss was gentle yet possessive, a perfect balance of tenderness and passion that reflected our relationship. The guests erupted in applause, but for a moment, it was just the two of us—the man who had seen beyond my scars and the woman who had found the courage to be seen.
As twilight descended over Lake Como, turning the water to liquid gold, the celebration moved to the villa's terrace. Champagne flowed, music played, and laughter filled the air. I moved through the crowd in Cassian's arms, greeting friends who had supported us through the darkest times—Professor Bianchi, Marco, even Orion, who watched us with genuine goodwill in his eyes.
During a quiet moment, I slipped away to the lake's edge, drawn by the perfect stillness of the water. My reflection looked back at me—the wedding gown glowing in the fading light, my mother's locket catching the last rays of sun.
"There you are," Cassian's voice came from behind me. "Escaping your own wedding?"
"Just catching my breath." I smiled as his arms encircled my waist. "And thinking about how far we've come."
"From that library to this lake." His chin rested on my shoulder as we both gazed at our reflection. "Though I must say, I fell in love with you in both places."
"Even when I was the 'ugly duckling'?"
"You were never that to me." His arms tightened around me. "You were always the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen—because I saw you, Seraphina. The real you."
I turned in his embrace, framing his beloved face with my hands. "And now everyone else sees what you always did."
"Not everything." His smile held a hint of mischief. "Some things are just for me."
As he kissed me again, more deeply this time, I knew he was right. The world might see the successful designer, the fashion icon who had risen from scandal to triumph. But only Cassian knew the woman beneath—with all her fears and dreams, scars and strength.
And in being truly known, truly loved, I had found the most authentic beauty of all.
