Three

[You can decide how to read this story: Read the paragraphs up--> down, or scroll down and read your way up. Enjoy]

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Three o'clock. The bells chimed with uncontained joy, the frogs in the garden's pond croaked, and the priest said out loud, "You can kiss the bride." The guests clapped and cheered for them. The noise was unbearable, and the echoes in the building sounded like the roar of a hundred lions. Elias cupped his spouse's face with his hands and approached his lips to hers, but when they touched, she did not move. She stayed like that, as a beautiful ice sculpture for everyone to see. The shiny white gown, covered in tear-shaped pearls, was so perfect and beautiful that it almost seemed unreal-- as the amount she had paid for it. The bride's face was smooth as marble; the hair was neatly pulled behind in a sculptured knot, worth admiration. Her eyes, though, seemed sad, lost, dead.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, but she did not reply. 

He looked around them. The priest was still smiling, proud of his job and the great audience he had held captive for more than an hour in that freezing building. Family and friends kept on cheering. The church kept echoing all the clamors, but Valentina, the bride, did not move, speak, or even look at him. After that kiss, the only thing she gave him that day was a tear.

Three seconds before the priest said his line, she remembered how she had arrived there, held her father's arm, straightened the skirt of her magnificent (and expensive) dress, and walked the aisle. She had chosen the music, the flowers, the clothes. She had set the day, the guest list, and the venue, but as she waited for the words, the kiss, and the rose petals to rain over them, the air ran away from the building, and she thought she was about to die. She looked around and looked at all those faces. Families, friends, men, women... One of the girls in the third row was crying, inconsolable. She had seen her before. His phone, his photos, holding hands with him. HIM. Elias was not the one. That was not the happiest day of her life. 

Three days before, Valentina had everything under control. She had become a Bridezilla who deserved the title and the fame she had created among the several wedding planners who dared to accept working for her. She had never cared much about what Elias wanted because Elias wanted her to be happy. "Grooms don't care about these things," she used to say whenever anyone asked about his opinion, and she said it so many times that no one ever asked again. Not even him. Still, on that day, while she checked the folders and the lists, when she confirmed the bookings and appointments, she looked around for him and sensed something wrong. The groom was not there. She had not seen him much for several days, weeks even...

The bachelor and bachelorette parties were three weeks before the wedding. Valentina called for all her girlfriends. Elias called for family and friends. They left town the same day and spent a long weekend separated from each other and surrounded by many others. She had a lovely time with massages and mimosas, surrounded by her squad, telling her how a beautiful bride she'd be. Elias did not speak much about his days; after all, boys are boys, and there was nothing he could tell she could find interesting or comparable to what she had done. She was the bride. That's what mattered. They would have a whole life together to discuss their days; they would have children, cook together, travel the world, and love each other unconditionally... those three days she did not want to ask about would not change her future. 

Elias asked her to marry him three months after the first time they saw each other, in a little restaurant in the old part of town. He had reserved a private room with a fireplace, which was too warm for her taste but excellent for her Instagram photos. The menu, tailored for the occasion, had the things they liked, what they had shared since they started dating, and looked good on the screen. Beauty was essential in every aspect of their relationship. He had learned. She had taught him well.

Everything was carefully documented and saved for their future children to see and for her followers to envy. Valentina always wanted boys. Girls were too complicated and fought too much for the spotlight. She loved the idea of being the only woman in the house, to have her men taking care of her. 

Three years before, one of her girlfriends said, "he's cute," and Valentina turned to look at the man on the other side of the bar. He had brown hair and brown eyes, athletic complexion and a great smile. He was her type, the one she could see herself walking the aisle. "It's mine," she said, tapping her girlfriend's shoulder and walking confidently towards him. She did not care about leaving her girlfriend behind, or what she meant when she said those words. Valentina had a plan she'd been forging for years, and that was the man she needed. Sitting by his side, flipping her hair, and giggling like a doll, it did not take her much to know she was right. She introduced herself. He bought her a drink. She said he was cute. He said she was beautiful. He was a keeper.

When Valentina was three, the thing she wanted the most was to be a bride. She wanted to look like a princess, like her mother did in her wedding photos. She wanted the big gown, the sparkle, and the flowers. She was determined and dedicated: she learned to write very early to make her first wedding list (a pony and a tiara); she asked her father to dance with her to train for their first dance; she loved cakes but kept looking for the tastiest, prettiest and tallest. She had a plan, and no one would ruin it. She would never kiss a frog, only princes.