21Hello There, Stranger
Free the Dancing Llamas
Chapter Four: It's too late to turn back or bury myself in the ground, Mumsy.
Hale's P.O.V
It was too late to turn back I realised, as my new husband, my family and friends and of course a copious amount of security guards escorted me out of the building. Protestors were screaming in outrage, a few even trying to drag Peter away from me to do god knows what. Peter and I managed to get into the limousine which would be headed to the reception where numerous business people and family 'friends' waited for us.
The car immediately took off and I could not help but sigh with relief, as I lay back into the seat, my hand still unconsciously clutching Peter's. I saw a few other cars follow behind us, presumably family and security and of course the press.
"Are you alright?" Peter asked softly, snapping me out of my reverie. I dragged my gaze from the window to his questioning eyes. They seemed so tired, and almost sad?
"I'm fine," I replied as stonily as I could, untangling me hand from his. Just because he was being nice now, didn't mean he was going to be nice later, for all I knew he could be a real nut job. He could be one of those rampaging psychos who sniffed glue and used double superlatives for all I knew.
"I realise that this is a little awkward," Peter began, placing his large warm hand over my own, "But I do hope that we will get to know each other and despite circumstances, perhaps even become friends." I turned slowly towards Peter, facing him and examining his features. Friends? He wanted to become friends? I wondered briefly if that was a euphemism for something else, but dared not ask. Instead I just nodded and tried thinking of ways to get him to let go of my hand.
I sighed in relief as we pulled up at the reception. A lovely little (Read: Massive, glamorous, larger than the Queen's palace) place by the name of Jardite Callis, which is a small section of Callis Enterprises, the multibillion dollar Corporation run by Maranta and Calbert Callis, the parents of my best friend Asha.
I sighed, looking at the mass amounts of paparazzi swarm to our car, only to be pulled back by the security. Various business partners of my father's and Peter's were still entering the building, and even a few celebrities. My father had really gathered all the elites of society. I waited nervously, watching the driver coming out to open the door of the car. I felt Peter squeeze my hand, and prepared myself to sparkle brighter than Edward Cullen. If we were going to sell this marriage to the public then we were going to do it well. I squeezed Peter's hand back, and as we stepped out of the car, preparing ourselves for the mass onslaught of media.
"Mr Scope, How do you feel about this marriage?" One reporter demanded shoving his microphone into our faces, just before he was tackled by security.
"De Lainy from Fox news, are you pregnant Mrs Scope?" Another reporter asked, trying to climb over the security guards, who just pushed him back down.
I tried not to glare at the reporter, subtly looking down at my stomach to see if I had gained twenty pounds within the last minutes.
"Mrs Scope! Mrs Scope! Have you been forced into this marriage?" Another reporter asked, trying to the climb over the security. We probably should have called SWAT, "My sources say, you have in fact been forced, is that true?" The reporter continued trying to shove her microphone towards us, while the one of the security guards tried pushing her back into the crowd.
I wasn't quite sure how he was doing it, but Peter just kept walking, gripping my hand tightly and pushing us through until we were finally safe in the foyer of the reception. It was times like these, that I was thankful that Peter had inherited some very broad, muscled, strong-looking shoulders, that must've looked better without any-
"Oh darling, thank goodness you got in safely," my mother sighed, rushing over to give me a big whacking kiss on my cheeks. She then proceeded to sexually assault my husband's cheeks as well, and said, "I'm so glad to have you in our family, Peter." My mother looked about ready to cry and I wondered if someone had snuck a bit of absinth in her orange juice, because she was acting beyond her usual tone of bizarre.
"I'm glad too, Mrs-"
"-Oh don't call me that, it's so formal," My mother shrieked, "Call me mumsy," she giggled, "I've always wanted to be called that." I stared at my mother in horror, 'mumsy'? Where on earth had that come from? I wondered if she had in fact transplanted one of her patient's brains into her head, instead of theirs.
I caught sight of my father, who was smiling rather hysterically at my mother. I frowned, realising that he was probably the one who had put something in her drink. He always did stuff like that, pulling pranks on my mother, to get her to 'loosen up'.
I truly felt sorry for Peter, he had no idea what family he had just got married into. I soon got over that, and replaced it with a strange sense of sadistic happiness and had to practically fight off laughing like a maniac. Yeah, I was normal.
"Um. Perhaps we should go into the dining hall, everyone's waiting for us." Peter managed to reply seriously, as my mother ran over to my father linking arms with him.
I heard her say, "You know I'm feeling quite horny, my pineapple", to my father, as we lined up at the double doors. I rolled my eyes, watching Peter cough in embarrassment, as he pretended not to hear her.
I could still hear the shouts and protests outside, and just as we were about to enter to dining room, I realised that Peter and I were still holding hands, and had been since we had gotten out of the car. I frowned, wanting to remedy the situation. But before I could do anything two things happened simultaneously. The doors opened and my mother ('Call me mumsy') said to me and Peter before we entered, "You should be gentle with her when you two have sex. She's a virgin." My face went on fire instantly, and horror seeped into my skin. I resisted the urge to end my life then and there and instead stepped into the room, hand in Peter's who looked like he was about ready to piss himself laughing.
He quipped over his shoulder, "Of course, mumsy," as we entered the room.
I didn't care how hot our children would be (if we had any) or if he had trillions of dollars (Which he did), by the end of the night, I was going to kill him.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the master of ceremonies said, as we had all taken our seats, "I'd like to welcome the bride and groom to the dance floor to have their first dance as man and wife." People began applauding, and I had no choice but to take the hand Peter offered and take a spot on the dance floor. The lights dimmed and a spotlight flashed on. I was almost blinded by the light, and I hated the feeling of everyone's eyes upon us. Watching, as if it were a TV show. Peter's height was almost too much, I had to crane my neck to look up at him, as moved us around the dancefloor.
"Hi," I said, watching him study my face, as we danced to the gentle music.
"Hi." Peter smiled, showing a nice set of teeth. He had a nice smile, I realised. I very nice smile. Why, I realised, by combining our smiles together our children would have super smiles. And they would be formidable.
"I'm a blender," I stated, wondering if he could keep up with the game.
"I'm a fax machine," Peter chuckled.
"Be careful, we don't want them to see you actually smile." I whispered conspiringly to him, "They might think we're getting along."
"Aren't we?"
"I'm not quite sure," I frowned to myself, "I don't even know you name."
"Yes you do."
"Ok," I sighed, annoyed, "Fine, I know your name, happy?"
"Immeasurably."
"But, I don't know anything else about you." I sighed, ignoring his sarcasm and the way it made my crazy teenage hormones feel, "I don't know your favourite colour or number, I don't know how you like your coffee, I don't even know your favourite Disney character." I sulked, and then added, "And it better not be prince charming."
"I wouldn't even dare suggest such a thing." Peter chuckled. I stopped staring at him, my neck getting sore and instead opted to lean my head against his chest. Might as well give everyone the full show, I decided. It was what they were all there for anyway, "Green, six, I don't like coffee and Beast from beauty and the beast."
"I love that movie," I grinned, "Whenever I'm sad, I make Asha and Carmen do the karaoke sing along version with me." I couldn't help smile as the memories came back to me.
"Oh. I'm guessing you've probably watched in recently, then."
"You have no idea."
"So, what about you?" Peter asked
"Are you actually interested, or is this a method of making our wedding night less awkward. And by the way, I don't think I can have sex with you without being physically sick. How old are you again?"
"I'll ignore that and pretend I'm not offended. Answer the questions."
"Oh fine. Black, six hundred and sixty-six, I, too don't drink coffee and those little devil characters in Hercules." I tried to contain my laughter, wondering if he realised.
"Ha. Ha," Peter replied dryly, "Will you give me a straight answer, or shall I call over Mumsy and ask her instead?"
"Fine, fine. Shame on you for taking advantage of an old drunk lady. Purple, negative two, I prefer hot chocolates to coffee and Bartok from Anastasia."
"I see." Peter replied smiling at me. His smile did the strangest thing to my stomach. I wondered how I could be feeling such a thing when I hardly knew the guy.
"So how old are you?" I asked, although I knew the answer I just wanted to hear him say it. And perhaps make him feel a little uncomfortable, "What are you, fifty? I need to know, just in case we have sex and you have a heart attack."
"Close. I'm forty-nine." He said it with such sincerity I almost chocked. If it hadn't been for the twinkle in his eyes, I would have killed my father, "I'm twenty-eight you mango."
"Did you just call me a mango?" I huffed, as the music changed and other people began to join us on the dance floor.
"Yes. And by the way, we won't be having sex until you're emotionally mature enough to realise that Anastasia is not Disney."
"I can't believe you just called me a mango, you mushroom, and F.Y.I. Anastasia became a Disney movie when they bought the rights to it."
"Whatever, mango." Peter smirked, as I attempted to step on his foot.
"You are unbelievable. Un-be-lie-va-ble. And by the way, we will only ever have sex when you're not a douche." I glared at Peter, watching his black eyes glinting at me.
"Are you propositioning me? Because we should probably wait until we actually know each other, mango."
"I hate you."
"Of course, dah-ling."
I glared at the insufferable man whom I was doomed to spend the rest of my life with. For better or for worse.
A/N: Whew it's been a while. This isn't too great, but it was sitting on my computer, and I was procrastinating, so I thought, why not? Sorry for not updating my other stories. I'm dying, and my exams are killing me. Anyway, seems like Hale has met her match. Anyone who can even keep up in a conversation with her must be either crazy or talented...
Also, I'm going to go back and edit the other chapters, as well as this one, when I get the time. Just to make it flow more, etc.
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING YOU RECOGNISE.
xoxo
FTDL