Page 73 of RAKEish

The question that remained: would she ever trust her heart on an unchartered path when it came to love? Or would she always be the woman who looked for the safe route?

Which left her with a decision. Yay or nay—hypnosis for the broken hearted.

As she was about to flip a coin, a knock at her door interrupted the moment. It was times like these, she wished her building had a doorman.

For a hot second, she allowed herself to imagine that it was Scott knocking at her door. And when she opened it, he would tell her he had a broken heart—not penis—and would she please help him fix it. That was how the dream that started it all had been analyzed. In her sleep, Lux’s brain had conjured a man like him wanting a woman like her to ease the truth of her reality and the whole dating app debacle.

CHAPTER 25

Scott stood rigidly at the altar, his hands clasped so tightly he was losing feeling in his fingers. The chapel, adorned with the finest silks and flowers, felt less like a venue for a joyous union and more like the grand stage for his personal tragedy. He could hear the soft rustling of the guests, the quiet anticipation of the crowd waiting for the grand event to unfold.

Behind him stood his best friend, Mark, anxiety and distress emanating from him and coating Scott in misery and regret. If ever there was a man who did not want to be a best man, it was Mark. But to not have him stand up with Scott would have caused talk because everyone in Shiretopia knew they’d been best friends since preschool.

Their plan for Scott to flee Shiretopia, thus allowing Mark and Rose more time to find a way for their happy ever after, had failed. Not that Mark or Rose blamed him. They’d all known their plan was thin; they just hadn’t realized how thin.

Scott turned and glanced at his friend, who gave him a tight smile.

The solemn notes of the wedding march reverberated through the chapel, each chord resonating with a sense of finality in Scott’s heart. As he watched Rose, a vision in white, glide down the aisle on her father’s arm, the reality of the moment hit him with the force of a tidal wave. The veil delicately draped over her face did little to conceal her tear-stained cheeks, a poignant reminder of their heart-wrenching conversation just moments ago.

As the priest’s solemn voice filled the hallowed space, the age-old question hanging in the air, “If anyone here knows any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace,” a weighty silence enveloped the room.

Scott’s pulse quickened, a rush of adrenaline flooding his system. He’d forgotten about this pivotal moment in the ceremony. If only they had thought ahead, planted someone in the crowd to voice an objection…

His eyes darted desperately across the sea of faces, searching for a savior, a chance, a miracle. He couldn’t help but think of Ms. Birdie, whose fearless spirit would have boldly challenged the royal decree. Unfortunately, she was not in attendance and could not come to his rescue. A twist of fate had delayed her arrival.

Beside him, Rose’s quiet sniffles pierced the silence, a subtle reminder of their shared plight. Scott reached out, his fingers intertwining with hers in a silent promise of solidarity. They had agreed to a temporary alliance—a marriage in name only, a facade to weather the storm.

In the quiet aftermath of their union, they would seek their mutual freedom.

Rose’s fingers tightened around his, her watery smile barely visible through the veil. Scott, ever the gentleman, discreetly handed her his handkerchief, a small act of kindness in their shared charade.

The priest’s voice, grave and unwavering, brought Scott back to the present. Each word seemed to echo from a great distance, his thoughts adrift in a sea of memories. Memories of Doc—her vibrant laugh, the fierce spark in her eyes, her unyielding spirit. She had been a constant challenge, a thorn in his side, and yet, in removing that thorn, it had embedded itself irreversibly in his heart.

Now, as the moment to recite his vows drew near, a sense of suffocating panic set in. His mother’s words echoed in his mind, a mantra for him to always follow his true North. Yet, how could he have ever chosen to go back for Doc and rekindle her love when his best friend’s freedom hung in the balance, a pawn in this royal game?

The priest turned to Scott. “Scott, repeat after me. I, Scott,” he began, initiating the binding vows.

Scott’s throat tightened, his voice a mere whisper lost in the grandeur of the moment. He knew the weight of the words he was about to utter, the invisible chains they would forge. “I, Scott,” he echoed, his voice barely audible, a reluctant echo in the hushed chapel.

“Take thee, Rose,” the priest continued, oblivious to the turmoil churning within Scott.

“Take thee, Rose,” Scott repeated mechanically, each word a heavy stone in his heart. He was playing his part in a script written by others, a script that betrayed his true feelings.

“To be my lawfully wedded wife,” the priest concluded the phrase, a final step toward sealing a fate Scott never wanted.

Suddenly, a soft, pain-filled sound escaped from Rose, a note of distress that resonated with Scott’s own inner turmoil. It was a sound that shattered the façade, a crack in the perfect image of the royal wedding.

That very sound seemed to trigger something in Mark. With a sudden burst of resolve, he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tense air. “Stop. I can’t stand by and watch this happen.”

The priest, taken aback, turned to Mark. “What is the problem, my child?” he asked, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

“I’m in love with Rose.” Mark’s confession hung in the air like a thunderclap.

The chapel, once a scene of royal decorum, erupted into a cacophony of whispers and gasps. Guests turned to one another, their expressions a mixture of shock and intrigue.

“He’s lying,” Scott said. There was no way he would allow Mark to take the heat. If anyone was to be painted the villain, it would be him. “He’s just saying that to get me out of this wedding. The truth is, I’m in love with another woman. Madly in love. That is why Rose is crying.”

Mildred, the wicked queen, stood with a regal yet cold demeanor. With a dismissive wave of her hand toward Mark, she commanded, “Take him away.”

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