Anders Larzelere's PoV:

- "My Six Pack Is On Full View."

I stare at the closed door for a minute, wondering what the hell I got myself into.

How did I agree to marry her? Just like that?

Thinking about it now, I feel like I was under some sort of spell or something. Maybe that girl—Alarice, is her name,—hypnotized me with her beauty.

No kidding.

I'm seriously confused.

I shake my head and slowly trudge to the only other door in the room, which must be the bathroom. When I reach it, I balance against the wall and kick off my shoes—which I had put on earlier when I'd been haughty enough to actually think that I can defeat her—and enter the huge bathroom.

No surprise there.

It's like one of the bathrooms in my and my Uncle's home.

On the crystal white marble cabinet beside the elegant sink, there are a some clothes laid out along with some towels.

So she already decided to make me stay...

On closer examination, I discover that the clothes are indeed new.

Not surprised here either.

I sigh and strip down, stepping into the shower

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Seriously, Anders? How did you agree for a freaking wedding?! You're only twenty! Twenty for Christ's sakes!

The more I'm alone, the more and more this situation seems unreal and, I don't know, completely unacceptable.

I grab a white towel and rub it across my dripping hair, shutting the bathroom door behind me.

I know that you're bored with your life, but a freaking wedding?!

God, I wish that I would stop freaking out over it. So what if I agreed to marry? It's just a fake one! Besides, it would be the craziest thing I've ever done in my life. I need a good adventure now and then.

I walk to the silver edged, full-length mirror, taking a look at myself.

Perhaps she seems to be so keen on selecting me to be her fake husband—or fake fiancé, for now—because, just maybe, I'm looking good.

I mean, I don't work out for nothing.

And I guess you could say that my features are kinda decent looking.

Nah, who am I kidding? She doesn't seem like the type to fall for looks.

But then again, what do I know of her 'type'?

She might be a date-rapist.

Or a human bomb.

Or a—okay, I'll stop, don't glare at me. I'm just telling.

I grab a brush from the short table like white thing, which probably serves as the dresser, because it has all sorts of make-up items lined up neatly atop it.

But still, I can say that she has only a 1/4th of what girls like Graceline Machado - the queen bee and on and off girlfriend of Aaron - have.

I run the brush through my brown curls, combing it slightly backwards. Satisfied after combing, I shake my head, letting the strands mix up slightly, messing up the neatness and adding some edginess.

Since when do you care about 'edginess', Anders?

I force my alter-ego to shut up and turn around, reaching for the button-up she left for me—which I placed on the bed.

The door opens.

I turn around in surprise, only to find Alarice standing there with a hand on the doorknob, and another on the door frame, frozen in her place. Her mouth is parted and her eyes are wide, as they slowly travel south, and only then I realize I'm not wearing a shirt.

And my six pack is on full view.

I blush.

She closes her mouth as she looks at me intensely, not taking her eyes away. Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows loudly, and I can almost see her pupils dilate, and then darken.

They really darken.

My cheeks heat up even more. and I cough self-consciously as I turn away, reaching for the shirt. Thankfully, it is not already buttoned up, or, I'd have to unbutton it with my fumbling fingers before I can put it on. I shrug over both shoulders and turn to her, putting on the buttons one by one.

I clear my throat.

She snaps up like she was just pulled out from a trance, looking away in embarrassment. "Sorry,"

"Um, no problem." I shrug as I button up the rest of the buttons, leaving the top two open, revealing my chest for once.

Yup, I'm naughty like that.

I control a smirk when her eyes travel down once again to my chest, bending down to pull on my shoes.

"Liking the view?" I tease, placing my foot on the edge of the bed's frame, tying up the laces.

"Oh yeah, very much actually." She replies with a wink, surprising me.

Crap. Plan has failed. I thought she would at least look shy about it.

But it's my fault to expect that from her actually. With her ability to knock a man off his feet — literally — I shoulda guessed she wouldn't be shy about checking one out.

I take a look at her form-fitting jeans and full sleeved white shirt rolled up to the elbows, only then realizing that we're actually wearing the same thing.

"You bought us the same clothes?" I gesture to the space between us, amused.

She looks away with a somewhat shy grin.

Finally something.

"Yeah..."

"Ha Ha. It's cute." I compliment, grinning.

"Okay, okay. That's not the issue now. I came here to tell you that be introducing you to the Pa—Shit, I mean, my family members today,"

I wonder what 'Pa—' is? She always seems to think of one thing but say another thing.

"Oh." I say, straightening up after tying both laces.

"Yeah, so come on."

With that, she walks to me and loops her hand through mine, dragging me towards the door.

She stops suddenly.

"Just warning you, my family is kinda big."

"Big? How big can they be?" I ask, confused.

"Um, around 310 members?" She prompts, looking at me with raised brows.

"WHAT?" I exclaim, wide-eyed as I stare at her with complete shock.

"Haha," She laughs nervously. "Not all are my family. But, all of them are my far relatives,"

"What—"

"Don't worry, I'll kick anyone's ass if they say anything about you." She then drags me out of the door, leading me to my own funeral.

Which freaking family on earth has 300 freaking members?

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