Cassandra lay on her bed wide awake and thoughtful. She tried to think about everything that happened that day and she already felt tired. Everything took place so fast. Except the usual gloomy morning and the occasional drinking, everything else was crazy: the sudden appearance of Philip Strindberg, the shock of her unknown marriage, the talk with her father and the secret he was hiding, the dinner, Angelica's unbelievable behavior, the ring, and that phone call from Harrison.

Thinking about her friend brought back so many memories. Most of them were happy ones, but thinking of those happy moments spent with Harrison also meant remembering Dennis. And remembering Dennis was just like opening Pandora's Box—everything bad rushed out and swirled around her and all that was left was that little tinge of hope that barely kept her in place.

She played with the ring around her finger and thought of Philip Strindberg. In her twenty-five years of existence, she had never met someone with so much arrogance and complex temperament as the man.

He was very different from Dennis, thank God for that. She couldn't imagine marrying someone that would remind her so much of the man who still haunted her dreams—awake or not. Yes, the years had healed most of the pain, but not the scars. They would always be there to remind her of the possible anguish she would feel if she ever gave her whole heart to someone else again.

And meeting Philip Strindberg assured her she wouldn't be as careless like before. She couldn't possibly give him anything since the man already had everything. And why would I? This is just a marriage for his convenience. And to save my father from whatever hell he got himself into. No need to give anything else but six precious months of my life, she thought.

But he's gorgeous and hot...Yes, of course he was and she was not denying that at all. She was not naïve not to detect the physical attraction they felt toward one another.

It can be a problem.

She restlessly turned to one side and closed her eyes to let sleep come slowly. So long as we don't act on it, she prayed before finally putting her mind to rest.

She did not even dare think about her father's real reason for making such stupid—and surely illegal—contract with Philip Strindberg. The daughter in her won and she knew that whatever her father's reason was—lame it may be—she could never walk in a police station and report what he had done. Maybe she'd find out about it soon, but for now she had to rest.

*****

She was awakened by the sound of angry knocking on her front door and the impatient buzzing of her doorbell. Groaning, she looked at her clock: 10:30 am. The time was slow to register through her sleepy head and when they finally did, she shot out of bed and stumbled to the floor.

"Shit!" she ran down the corridor and to the door. She didn't have to check who was outside because she almost felt the strong angry presence behind the door before she swung it open.

"Don't tell me you're going out dressed like that," Philip's livid eyes looked down at her.

Following his gaze, she stared down at her super thin night gown and gasped. She crossed her arms over her chest, cowering a little. "I think I've overslept."

He arched one eyebrow at her. "And what were you doing last night? I dropped you off early, didn't I?"

She breathed deeply and almost regretted it because his manly scent suddenly overwhelmed her senses. To stop herself from closing her eyes and revel at the scent of his aftershave, she stepped back and said, "Come inside. I'll just go get ready."

"Make it fast," he ordered as he stepped into the doorway, his full height looming over her. Today, he was dressed casually in a simple white shirt and dark pants.

"I will as I am so eager to get this day over with. Sit over there," she pointed at the only chair available. Everything else was occupied by canvases and some other things.

"Good thing you still keep something available for sitting," he said sarcastically.

"I don't care what you think," she started to walk back to her room, "and don't touch anything!" she shouted before running down the corridor and to her closet. She grabbed the first shirt her hand touched and dressed. She wore the shorts she used the other day and took the pair of brown ankle boots lying on the foot of her bed. The big brown bag at the back of her door was the only thing she could think of to match her bizarre outfit so she took it, threw the clutch bag she used last night inside, and grabbed her phone and keys. Taking one last look in the mirror, she decided to hold her blond hair up in a messy bun. She didn't really wear make-up so she was all good.

*****

Philip looked around Cassandra's room and he knew he would have a lot to deal with the very moment they said their wedding vows. The woman had little care for order and neatness.

He stared at the stack of canvases. He knew she was a painter, but he never realized she was that good. Tearing his eyes from the painting, he looked around the room again.

No, he was wrong. The woman was not disorganized. She was a mess.

Kurt Anders never told her anything about his daughter's personal life or history. All Philip knew was that she had had a difficult past two years.

Did it have anything to do with her fear of riding shotgun?

Before he could think more of it, she reappeared into the living room.

"Let's go," she uttered. He may have been looking at her works with admiration, but the moment his eyes landed on her it disappeared.

"Where do you think you're going dressed like that?" he demanded, his brows furrowed with disapproval.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked defensively.

His jaw clenched. "Don't bother. Let's go." He walked to the door and opened it.

*****

Cassandra shrugged and followed him out and locked her door, pretending the key was his neck as she worked with it.

This time, he did not bother to open any door for her when they reached his car. He went straight to the driver's side and got in.

"You're such a gentleman, sweetheart," she cried out at him, opening the backseat. Bending down to climb in, her mouth dropped. "What are these?" she demanded, looking at the boxes.

"They're the boxes full of crap and they are staying there," he said behind the wheel.

"And?"

"And they're there to keep you from sitting back there. Get here," he patted the passenger seat with his right hand.

"No," she shook her head vigorously. "Not gonna happen."

"You better get rid of that phobia once and for all," he said seriously.

"Please...I can't..." Cassandra's throat tightened. She hated begging, but she really wanted the backseat badly.

"No," he uttered the word like it was the final thing she'd ever get.

"I hate you already. I guess I already said that, but I really want to emphasis that today." She slammed the backseat door and with shaky feet walked to open the passenger side. Climbing in, she felt a sudden tightening in her gut. Cassandra took a deep breath, leaned against the leather seat and closed the door, too weak to slam it anymore. Blindly, she reached for the seatbelt and tried her might to fasten it. Philip's warm hands held hers and helped her with the task. She did not dare look at him because she was afraid she might attack him—she was not strong at the moment for that.

"What the hell! You're not joking about it?" he asked as he looked at her closely.

"Just drive," she said breathlessly. She would have succeeded if she begged him one more time about sitting at the back, but she was too stubborn to do that.

He did as she told and started the engine. The moment the wheels rolled down the road, her heart hammered ten times as fast and she gripped her bag tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"Are you okay?" She saw him look at her with concern.

"Shut up," she snapped, too afraid to speak. She closed her eyes and imagined herself sitting at the back instead and the panic rising inside her ebbed a little. "I really hate you for this. Actually, I hate you for everything," she said again, her voice regaining a little bit of strength.

"You need to get over your fears, Cassandra," he said almost gently.

She snapped her eyes open. Who was he to tell her what she should do with her fears? He did not know anything about her fears. He had no idea that it was not the fear...it was the memories...

She mentally shook her head and snapped at him, "I didn't ask to be your wife. And I sure as hell didn't ask you to be my shrink!"

"I'm just trying to help you here," he countered back defensively.

"No, you were just thinking what others might think if they see your fiancée climb out the backseat!"

He was silent for a long time. "Yes, you're right," he finally said with honesty. "I don't want you sitting back there for that very reason."

She closed her eyes again when the rising panic and images began to flash through her mind. The tears were threatening to escape now and she fought them hard.

You're at the park... she tried to imagine, not so difficult for her artistic mind. Flowers everywhere... you're alone... yes, there's a dog and you're strolling with it... more flowers... dead body of Philip Strindberg lying on the ground... morbidly beautiful... more flowers... you're flying on a plane to a great place... Philip Strindberg falling down an endless pit, arms flailing in panic... drinking beer under a coconut tree... Happy thoughts, Cassandra, happy thoughts!

The tightening in her gut began to subside a little.

"Just close your eyes..." Philip tried again.

"Shut up and drive. Don't pretend you actually care and my eyes are already closed!" she snapped.

They drove in silence once again.

*****

Cassandra was mentally drained by the time they reached the place where she would be having her gown fitting.

"Let's go," he took her by the elbow.

She flinched away from him, staggering on her feet. "Don't touch me. I'm really pissed."

His face was painted with irritation. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know you really have it bad. It's not like you died out there, so stop with your childish—"

Cassandra let out a mocking laugh. "Childish? No, what you did was childish!"

"Shh!" he hissed. "Stop yelling. Fine, you're pissed. Now, let's go." He walked ahead of her and she was glad because she didn't want him to see her wobbled gait. Her knees were still weak from the ride. "Cassandra, hurry up," he called over his shoulder.

"I can take my precious time!" she exclaimed.

He stopped, looked back at her, and noticed her weak strides. "This is impossible," he said, walking right back to her. He grabbed her left hand and placed it behind his back to settle on his left waist. "I'll help you," he said with etch of gentleness as he circled his right arm behind her back.

"I don't need—" she started to pull her hand from behind him, but he held it in place with his free hand.

"Shut up," he ordered, tightening his hold on her. "Let's go. We're already late and we can't have you limping all the way."

She glared up at him, but did not argue much further.

*****

Philip never thought that agreeing to Kurt Anders' plan to marry his daughter and protect equated to babysitting as well.

He never thought she actually had a phobia.

Brushing aside the thoughts of the car ride, Philip murmured, "Smile," as they entered the doors.

The fake smiles on their faces as the lady at the counter of the bridal shop smiled at them could have blinded anyone. They looked perfectly sweet with their arms around each other. Only that he had his arm around his fiancée for a completely different reason.

"Mr. Strindberg, welcome," the pretty brunette smiled at them both.

"We're here for my fiancée's gown fitting," he said, smiling broadly at the woman, his eyes smiling as he looked down at Cassandra.

"Oh, how marvelous, of course, her gown is ready. It just needs to be fitted," the woman stood up and led them to the inner office.

"Where's the woman I talked to before?"

"Oh, you mean Ms. Vanessa? She's out today. Her husband had an emergency of some kind. But she left me orders to help you. I'm Lillian, by the way," she held out her hand to shake Philip's.

"This is my lovely fiancée Cassandra," he introduced and Lillian took Cassandra's hand and shook it warmly.

"I know you have been very busy, Ms. Cassandra. We just hope the measurements Mr. Strindberg gave us are correct. We'll see about that today, right? Please, follow me." Her father did, he corrected in his head.

Lillian motioned with her hand and led them inside a big fitting room furnished with an elegant sofa and a platform to stand on.

"I'll wait here," Philip let her go and kissed her on the mouth. Cassandra's eyes bulged in shock, her face flushing with renewed color as opposed to the pale look on her face inside the car.

"Don't look so shocked, my dear," Philip whispered in her ear before stepping back, a look of amusement on his face.

"Ms. Cassandra, are you ready?" Lillian asked behind her.

She nodded, forced a smile on her face and turned her back at Philip after giving him a piercing look. "Yes, I'm ready."

"Whatever the outcome of the gown will be wonderful if you're the one wearing it," he said after her.

She placed her hand behind her and gave him the finger. He chuckled in return.

When Cassandra disappeared, he fished his phone from his pocket.

He opened Henry Bell's message.

I heard you're fitting gowns and shit. See you at the wedding.

Philip's jaw tightened as he typed a reply.

Is it ready?

Henry's reply came fast.

You haven't even said the vows yet. Worry about the divorce papers later.

He typed another reply.

Have it ready or I am not doing this.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Philip sighed and waited for his bride.

*****

She had figured out long before that Philip (probably with her father's help) had already chosen the gown she'd wear for tomorrow, but she never thought it would be perfect. It looked like it was made for a princess. It bared her cream-like shoulders and hugged her not-so-perfect torso in a very uncomfortable way, but she had to bear with it because there was no way she was getting married without a perfect curve. The skirt was nearly weightless and that was perfect. She was not really fond of being up to date with the fashion world, so she didn't really mind if she was wearing the latest trend as long as she was comfortable with them. Apart from the corset which she had to bear for the simple reason of narcissism, this gown seemed like it was made just for her. And she surprisingly felt good.

But wearing the gown and looking at her reflection in the mirror brought back so many memories again. She smiled sadly, taking in the hand-sewn beadworks of her dress.

"It's perfect," Lillian exclaimed. "We don't need to adjust anything at all."

"Yes, you're right," she said lamely. A mixture of different kinds of emotions swirled inside her. "Can I take it off now?" she asked. She didn't want to stay inside the dress any longer. After all, it was not made entirely for her. No matter how beautiful it might be, it was merely a costume for tomorrow.

"But how about the veil?"

"Oh, don't worry. I know it would be perfect," she waved off.

"Wouldn't Mr. Strindberg want to see you wearing the gown?" Lily asked again.

Cassandra was starting to lose her patience. "No, he won't and I won't let him. We have this tradition..." she trailed off.

Lillian's pretty face lighted with understanding. "Ah, yes, you're not alone on that. Most of our clients still choose to follow the tradition."

"Yes, I'm one of them. So, can you help me out of this now?"

"Yes, of course." The woman stepped closer and helped her.

*****

"I can't see it? Why?" Philip demanded.

"It's tradition, honey, remember?" she told him with a fake smile.

"I would have loved to see it though," he muttered, and then turned to Lillian, "Thank you anyway."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Strindberg," the lady answered. "We'll deliver the gown tomorrow at six AM and help in case any adjustments will be necessary."

"Thank you," Cassandra said and tugged Philip's arm. "Let's go, sweetheart."

"Yeah," he said and led her out the door.

"Where to next?" she asked as they exited the building.

"The Plaza," he replied.

"It's a good thing it's not that far," she said as she climbed inside the passenger seat. She was energized enough to endure another shotgun ride.

*****

"Here, try this," Philip fed her some sort of steak. She already forgot what it was called. All these fancy food and their fancy names were too much for her.

"Hmm..." she forced a smile as she chewed. She really wanted to throw up now and go to the nearest place that served real food. "It's great," she lied.

"We'll have that," Philip said to the man in front of them.

"Yes, of course."

"Try this, sweetheart," Cassandra said to her future husband and forced a rather big amount of creamy textured chicken in his mouth.

"Hmm..." he beamed with puffed cheeks. He gave a thumb up and the man wrote the dish down.

They spent another hour trying to push as much food into each other's mouth much to the caterer's delight.

After the food tasting, they visited The Terrace Room. Cassandra's heart filled with so much emotion upon entering the venue. It was seeing the place where she was going to tie the knot with the man standing beside her that made her realize she was actually getting married.

Everything they did today, she did two years ago. Except this one was not filled with the joy and love she felt back then. This one was just something she had to do to save her father's ass.

*****

"You already planned everything," she told Philip over lunch.

"Of course. That's what I do. I plan."

"I mean, have you already planned everything?"

"Of course," he said, sipping his wine. "I already planned for you to live at my home for the next six months," he stopped for a moment and said, "Hmm...except one thing."

"What?"

"The honeymoon. I never thought of it until now. Everyone would expect us to go on a honeymoon."

"You must be kidding me."

"No, I'm not."

"I already have plans. I'm off to go to—" she stopped midsentence and smiled.

"What? You're off to go where?"

"Nothing," she answered, "Let me plan our honeymoon instead."

He looked at her for a second before shrugging, "Fine with me," he said.

"Free your two weeks of your schedule after the wedding."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not. Free it or I'll go have my honeymoon alone. We can just edit some photos together and show it to your family."

"Not gonna happen. Okay, fine. Two weeks. Where are we going?"

"That's for me to plan and for you to find out," she grinned wickedly. "I should at least do my part in this damn event, right?"