[ WP ] Tell me a story from a world where arranged marriages have made a huge comeback in the west , and is swiftly becoming the most popular way to find a partner

`` It's not so bad, Jess. He's handsome, wealthy. Fit as they come, we trust him to protect you. You know that we only want the best for you, and he's an obvious choice.'' 
 
 I squirmed as my mother worked behind me, lacing a silky strand of ribbon up the back of my wedding dress. My sobs and protests had devolved into the occasional quiet gasp as I struggled to hold back the unending river of tears that seemed to press outwards against my eyes. 
 
 `` I ca n't, I do n't want to,'' I managed to rasp as I felt my corset tightening. `` Do n't you hear me? This is n't what I want!'' 
 
 Mother sighed, placed her hands on my shoulders, spun me around to face her. She stood two heads taller than I did at 16, and when she grabbed me by the chin and pulled me up to bring my face closer to hers, I had to stand on the tips of my toes to keep from falling. 
 
 `` You'll not ruin this for your father and I. You may not think it so no, but Jack is your best and only option. He'll take care of you. Maybe it was strange a hundred years ago, but not now, we are n't so simple minded these days. Now go. He'll be waiting for you.'' 
 
 Her nails threatened to dig into the soft flesh below my chin, so I relented, falling back onto the soles of my feet with a sigh of relief as I took the strain of my weight off if my toes. I nodded silently, and before I went, mother dabbed at the corners of my eyes with her kerchief, wiping away what felt like a month's worth of tears. I turned to leave the room and caught sight of my father, who took my arm in his and led me to the entrance to the chapel. We were both solemn and silent. 
 
 As we entered the building, at least 300 years old, organ music erupted from all around us, and the quiet chatter of the wedding guests ended as abruptly as the music had began. As we walked down the aisle towards my husband-to-be, I could hear people cooing and giggling behind us as the flower girl dropped petals of beautiful red roses in our wake. I felt beautiful and loved. The church was perfect, the guests loved us so. There was to be a gorgeous reception following our vows. It was all perfect. 
 
 I allowed my eyes to meet those of my future husband, Jack. His deep cobalt blues, always watching over his sweet smile. He stood proud as any man could, watching his young bride approach in a dress worth more than most of the guest's homes. My heart ached as his seemed to swell. I remember the times when we were children, watching goofy cartoons together, or playing tag out in the yard. I remember when I had fallen as a little girl and turned my ankle, and he had carried me the entire three mile trek home because it hurt me to walk. 
 
 The tears threatened to come, but I could n't let them. Even as I remembered as far back as I could; I may have been three at most, and he five, back when our parents still bathed us, my hand was tightening around the detonator I'd slipped into the sleeve of my dress. 
 
 Of course I love my brother. I love him as deeply as a sister can, but I can not be his wife. 
 
 Father and I reached the altar, where I halted and wrenched my arm free of his, before the priest began to speak. The guests gasped collectively and I held the detonator, a small cylinder with a shining red button at it's end, high above my head. My heart shattered as I watched my brother's eyes widen in terror, and as I pressed the button, the rest of the world seemed to shatter as well, and everything went dark.
