Slylock X Cassandra = OTP

Weddings aren’t my thing. Weddings are where everyone believes in a happily ever after ending. Weddings are where everyone assumes that everyone’s intentions are not just honorable, they’re clean enough to eat off. Weddings are when you ignore the fact that people are manipulative and petty and pretend that two random specimens were conceived without sin just because they happen to be wearing pricey clothes that’ll never see the light of day again.

Can’t Slylock lay off for like ONE day? Seriously.

The Groom is Rudolph “Buck” St. Huberts. Supposedly he makes his living as a Lawyer, but considering that he’s running for city council and living in a penthouse and building parks with his name on them, that’s no more than the proverbial drop in the bucket. His real money comes from a chain of loan businesses–not the kind where you walk into a big room with red carpets and lots of shiny wood, the kind where you get nasty letters in the middle of the night, and then one day the business has suddenly vanished completely.

The Bride is Bambina Cerbi, which ought to tell you everything you need to know about her family. At least she’s from the classy mafia–not the kind that breaks your kneecaps, the kind that has mysterious untraceable connections to things and so just sits brooding ominously in ill-lit rooms, and then hires somebody else to break your kneecaps.

But Tiffany was her best friend in college, so here we are. Dress uniform and everything. Maybe she thinks seeing this is gonna get me hot and bothered about proposing or something, but that just goes to show what a horrible idea that would be.

Even while they’re saying their vows, half my mind is rehearsing lists of charges, like obscene and vindictive wedding gifts. Compound Fraud, Embezzlement, and Tax Evasion for him, Conspiracy to Commit Murder, Extortion, and Blackmail for her, with a nice matched set of Obstructing Justice charges for the pair of them. Does Tiffany have any idea that’s what I’m thinking? Would she care if she did?

Just as an experiment, I try picturing myself up there. I can’t do it. It won’t come to me. It’s like trying to imagine something bigger than itself. It’s never gonna happen.

I can’t deny, though, that they’re the ones that look happy, and not me.

I’ll see if I can slip out before Tiff decides she wants to dance.

The Final Word.

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