The alarm clock blinks 5AM at me, flashing the time over my sleep deprived eyes. Mocking me. I didn’t get a wink of sleep and I am the one to blame. I shouldn’t have let Morgan talk me into those shots. I always have a hard time sleeping when I drink anything other than wine. And the only thing Morgan drinks is liquor, like father like daughter.

It’s not even close to my alarm sounding, and I wasn’t going to lay around and pretend like I was going to get any amount of sleep in the next few hours. I am getting married today, and the only thing that is on my mind is – well, you know. All of my thoughts have been centered on Adrian. What is he doing? Did he have a good time last night, or did he spend it in dread like I did? Did he hop in the car in drive off to Mexico, like he’d teased? I can’t be thinking like this – it will just sour my mood and today was a day to be happy. Or so they say. Every other bride I’ve spoken to has told me they spent their wedding days in total survival mode. I don’t want it to be like that – I don’t want it to be hung on petty expectations like the decorations. All I want, and expect, is my fiance to be waiting at the altar for me. He doesn’t have to cry – but I know he would, Adrian is not afraid to share his softer side with me.

“You bring it out in me,” he tells me when wiping away tears on movie nights. We’d just finished The Notebook and I knew I had found Mr. Right. And in a few hours, I am going to be married to Mr. Right. I am going to be Mrs. Right. Or Mrs. Hawthorne.

It wouldn’t be long until Morgan would be breaking down the door to wake me up – just like she did when she was 16. It’s obnoxious. She’s obnoxious, especially when drinking. But I wouldn’t trade her for any other sister in the world. Pulling the blankets away and getting to my feet felt effortless. I felt like I was floating almost. Today feels almost unreal. But that might be the sleep deprivation talking. I should probably get some coffee in my system.

I take a peak in the wall-mirror hanging above the dresser and poke at the swollen bags that have been packed under my tired eyes. Oh dear, we will have to do a face mask about that. I can’t let Adrian think I am going to want to nap rather than consummate our love later tonight, but then again, who’s to say we can’t nap first then ravage each other senseless later. That’s just balance to a healthy marriage, in my opinion. Besides, Adrian could be just as tired, if not more. Although I don’t know if that is humanly possible.

It isn’t Morgan that barges in this morning, but her Australian Shepherd Astrid who is uncontrollably excited about my being conscious. I can still hear Morgan snoring from her bedroom. Astrid looks like she’s given up on waking her. Putting together table-piece decorations ten shots deep of tequila can take a lot out of a person. I enjoyed watching her do so – she wouldn’t let me help. It was my job to relax and love on Astrid. So I might’ve over done it a bit myself. The headache will come later.

Astrid nudges at my side, indicating to follow her. I oblige and follow her to the hall, past my sleeping sisters bedroom, which I could see from a crack in the door that she had starfished the bed, facedown. Her snores muffled by the pillow case. Sometimes I worried that she would one day smother herself sleeping like that. But whatever is comfortable I guess. I am a side sleeper, when I do sleep. Does that make me ‘normal’?

“We’re in the same family, and we are twins. Nothing about you is normal,” I head Morgan’s voice in my head remind me of the chances of that, as she did so often when we were younger and let our differences come between us.

Astrid leads me into the kitchen, and with the sassiest of gestures, nods her head towards her barren food dish. She sits, and waits patiently for me to appease her demands. I stand there, realizing that I cannot ignore her.

“Alright, Astrid. You asked for it,” I say as I search the kitchen cabinets for her food. I hear a sigh from this dog, and she paws at the pantry door behind me. Of course it’s in there, and she knows it. I swear this dog is too much sometimes.

I open the door and Astrid pushes her way in before I could pull the string light.

Astrid chomps down on an early and well won breakfast while I wait for the Keurig to sort out my caffeine situation. Morgan still snores from her bedroom. I am surprised the smell of roasting coffee hasn’t beckoned her from her dead-like sleep. When we were younger, sometimes I would have to check on her because she would be so still and and silent that I thought she’d been stolen from me. The bond from the womb is real – and to this day I still feel it. I know Morgan likes to pretend it’s not there – despite the medical evidence I have shoved down her throat and pelted her through text message. Sometimes I think she just denies it to mess with me.

I sip my coffee stiffly at the kitchen table as I hear Morgan stir and shuffle to the kitchen. Her hair is piled into a lopsided bun that hangs goofily on her head, her eyes are barely open and she finds her way to the cabinet with the KCups and the mugs. It’s impressive, really.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” I tease.

“Fuck off,” she groans. She’s never been a morning person. I have. And it pisses her off even more.

“I hope your husband appreciates this cheery attitude in the morning,”she adds as a delayed comeback.

I stay silent and let her process her own existence before pushing her buttons. I don’t want to walk down the isle later with a black eye. I focus on trying to relax. Morgan won’t always be there as a buffer. I need to remain calm and have faith that everything will fall into place later.

The hairdresser and make-up artist arrived just as Morgan and I finished a joint on the back patio. She was annoyed with my pacing and antsiness that she had to do something to chill me the fuck out. Which worked out well for the hairstylist and makeup artist. I didn’t move an inch, I was too baked out of my mind. Normally I wouldn’t condone it, but considering it’s also helping the hangover, I will excuse it this time.

“What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t stir the pot a bit?” she joked. She thinks she’s punny. She is, but I won’t admit it. Even as I am stifling my giggles as she continues to make jokes.

I fucking love my sister – and it’s moments like this that I wonder if we will ever have again. I am entering a new life, who knows what my marriage will bring out in me. I am trying to ignore how much is going to change in the next few hours to enjoy these moments. I always hear brides say ‘Enjoy your wedding day’. I never wanted to be that bride that stressed out about every little detail of the wedding. I just would feel lucky if everyone behaved and attended and we are able to at least eat at our reception. I hear that is a thing a lot of married couples have told me.

“Holy shit,” Morgan says, her jaw dropping as soon as the two artists finish their work of art.

“What?” I say, nervous that I’ve already fucked something up by unknowingly rubbing my eye or face.

“Nothing, it’s just you looking fucking good. ,” Morgan says, still in genuine shock and awe.

Even the hair and make up artists looked pleased with themselves and held up a hand mirror for me to.

Damn, I do look fucking good. I’ve always pictured how I would look but never did I imagine it would be this good. My long dark tousled hair is perfectly curled and pinned with diamond studded bobby pins, with mermaid style braid cascading down the middle of my back. My makeup matched our color themes, warm smokey eye shadow and my skin glows like porcelain, with crimson matte lips. This was the dream look and Ashley and Margot had outdone themselves. I am going to recommend them to everyone.

Morgan helps me into my dress, we bicker at each other as we struggle with fitting my arm in the delicate lace sleeves. Me yelling that she was going to tear the dress or that a seam was caught in my hair, her screaming that she will fix it. We hardly noticed our mother in the back corner giggling to the site she had happened upon.

“You girls, will you ever learn to get along?” She teases.

“Hey, she’s lucky she gets to live to see this day,” Morgan bolsters.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I could still take you, dress or not.”

“I’m sure you guys will settle this once you’re dead. Now let me help,” Mom pushes her way in, Morgan was glad to sit back and sneak a few sips of mimosa that she had made for us when the hair and make up artists arrived. I was surprised she had wanted any at all considering it the damage we did last night. I have barely touched mine. It sat idly behind the vanity mirror, forgotten.

“You look absolutely stunning, my sweet girl” my mom says, squeezing my shoulders gently as we both get the full glimpse of ‘the look’ in the mirror.

“Thank you, Mama.” I couldn’t believe this was happening.

“You look great, sis. Adrian is going to lose his fucking mind,” Morgan says forgetting that our mother is present, who gives Morgan a disapproving scowl. Morgan pays no mind, she is used to it at this point. The trouble maker. I don’t know if Morgan will ever find herself standing in front of the mirror in a dress. So maybe this moment is for both of us. Morgan stands on the side, where she’s been for so many years, letting Mom do all the mom-daughter stuff with me. I don’t know if it was so much that she didn’t want to, but just Mom decided she wasn’t interested. I don’t know what I did differently from my sister other than applied a tiny bit more mascara. To be fair though, I was always the romantic, reading the next Jodi Picoult or Danielle Steele at a young age. I liked to believe in fairytales, and that the perfect prince charming existed for me, all the while maintaining an independent lifestyle. Life with Adrian was more than that.

My hands sweat as I await the start of the procession in the bridal suite of the venue, listening to the arrival of the numerous guests outside the door, people peeking in the doorway to catch a glimpse of me. To see if the dress or if I was a panicking, emotional wreck. If there were any issues, I wouldn’t know. Morgan ensured that if there was a problem, she would resolve it. Whatever we may be. Could she fix the problem of an absent groom? That was the only issue I could see she couldn’t fix, no matter how much she assured me she would hunt his ass down in Mexico. She has connections, she told me after Mom interrupted this chaotic line of thought.

“Don’t even think that way. Adrian is here. I just spoke to his mother,” Mom said, glaring at Morgan as if she was the source of the thought. I couldn’t credit her with that kind of cruelty. Only my overthinking personality could come up with that. I took a joke seriously. And I am happy Mom relieved me of having to wait till I was walking down the aisle to know my husband was waiting there for me.

Now I am able to breathe and enjoy my moment as I walk down the aisle and see my happy-ever-after. Morgan gets the signal that all of the guests are seated and to get into our places. The wedding party, although small, filled the processional start and I watched as each of them gracefully walk down the aisle, peak and give my entrance away. My moment.

The symphony signalled the congregation to stand,and with the sound of a hundred souls rising to their feet, they turn, jaws drop as I step into the frosted winter light, a gentle snowfall casting down the aisle in perfect cascades of reflected light that dazzles like diamonds around me. But I could only see my sweet, handsome teary-eyed and red-faced Adrian waiting me at the altar. His eyes twinkling and his stunning smile gleaming at me, knowing I was about to be his, forever and always. His best friends patting him on the back. With each step I took, my heart beat faster. I held my breath, but remind myself not to rush. Adrian takes me by the hand as I approach the altar, kissing my fingers softly and leading me to our destiny. He stops before the altar, and lifts my veil, and lays eyes on the face he vows to love and cherish forever and always. Tears well up as he struggles to find words.

“You are absolutely stunning,” he whispers to me, and sneaks a kiss on the cheek.

“Shall we begin?” the wedding officiator announces. For a moment I’d forgotten we were in a room full of people waiting for us to do a thing. I blush in embarrassment.

Adrian takes my hand and we stand before our loved ones and profess our deep and everlasting love to each other. I couldn’t take his eyes off of him as the wedding officiant spoke about our love and how we met unexpectedly, it was love at first sight. Listening to him I couldn’t help but to feel like a romance novel cliche, but I didn’t care. With Adrian, everything felt right. It doesn’t feel cliche with the right person. Being his wife felt right. Mrs. Adrian Hawthorne. I couldn’t think of a reason for which I should doubt my standing here before everyone we loved and marrying a man I didn’t think I existed. The man of my dreams. But he was more than that. He saved me from myself. From making a terrible choice of destroying myself for the love of someone who did not love me back. He has only encouraged my growth and values my independence. I have nothing to fear with him. I was silly to let what should have stayed a joke ruin what we have. In the shortest amount of time, I found my true love. Where I never thought I would find him – right in front of me. It couldn’t have been that easy. Only moments after I had struck a deal with the Prince of Darkness himself, I had met Adrian. It was like lightning struck when we first cast eyes upon each other. I sat there, wondering if I had just had a stress hallucination about meeting the devil in the back alley after I had just been dumped. But I forgot all reason or rationality when Adrian walked in.

All senses were cast out of my mind as the officiator announced “I now pronounce you, Man and Wife. You may kiss your bride.” Adrian had beaten him to the punch, I was in his strong arms, dipped, and his lips taking mine for his own, the sound of applause disappearing in the background like white noise. My mind, body and soul were his.

He presented me to our friends and family as if I were a queen that had been coronated – his queen.

The reception was a blur of well-wishes and wedding cake. My mother made an emotional toast about how she had wished for someone like Adrian to take care of me, she said I had a soft soul. I didn’t know if that was a good thing but I tried to take it as a compliment. Adrian held my hand gracefully and suffered through the embarrassing slideshow that was put together by Morgan, followed by the sarcastic speech she had prepared about being my twin. As she spoke, I realized how much I am just going to miss out on building an adult relationship with her. I’ve been too focused on my own love life and wedding planning that I haven’t really been paying attention to her. She had so many meaningful things to say about me – but what did I have to say about her? It wasn’t until I asked her to be my maid of honor that I felt she cared about me or even wanted to be involved with my life. But I couldn’t really tell you what she’s been up to, or if she is even seeing anyone. Morgan isn’t exactly an open book. Getting her to answer her phone or respond to a text is a miracle. After the honeymoon, I promise myself, I am going to be more present in her life. She made my special day such a priority. She even made table decorations for the reception. Which I know my mom will be stealing later. She needs to be a priority in mine regardless of my marriage.

By the time the cake was cut and the first dance was called, I was ready to collapse into Adrian’s arms on the dance floor. I was ready to succumb to the temptation of sleep.

“I feel like I’ve not seen you all day,” he says to me as we take the dance floor.

“I know, and yet I cannot promise you I won’t pass out once we reach our room.”

“I am right behind you on that. Just let me ask you one thing before you’re too tired to say anything. Was today what you expected?”

“Better,” I say with a sleepy smile. He kisses me and we are serenaded with a chorus of awes from the onlooking crowd. I keep forgetting they’re here sometimes. I was almost worried I was going to feel like a zoo animal, knowing today that all eyes were going to be on me and Adrian. But I was too distracted by the fact that this man holding me on the dance floor wants to do this for the rest of our lives.

Picking the last bit of rice from my hair, I lay my head on Adrian’s chest in the back of the limo. Our driver was graciously quiet as he did not bother us with more well wishes. Seeing the bags under my eyes was enough for him to know he didn’t have to worry about the honeymoon starting in his backseat. Adrian caressed my cheek and stroked my hair as he closed his eyes and dozed with me. The lull of each turn rocked us and before we were lost in a deep slumber, the limo had arrived at the valet for our hotel. The valet and hotel concierge took care of our bags so that we only had to worry about getting ourselves to the honeymoon suite. Adrian took me by the hand and led me to the elevator where we stepped onto go to the tenth floor of the highrise building. I lean against him, he kisses my forehead and we watch as we climb higher and higher like angels with wings through the glass wall that overlooked the riverbank. The elevator pings and we shuffle off.

Adrian leads me to the suite to the left of the elevators, I was almost too tired to notice the room number: 666. Adrian fumbles with the key card, the card reader blinking red each time he waves the card over the keypad. He was about to lose his patience when the keypad glows and beeps green and the door clicked open. Before I could take one step, Adrian scoops me up into his arms and carries me across the threshold, his mouth devouring mine. His tongue commanding wicked things from me.

The door clicks shut behind us, and he relinquishes the kiss and sets me down. He doubles back to the door and turns the lock, the sound of the bolt locking echoes.

“My part in the deal has been satisfied, now it is your turn, Queen of Darkness.”