Page 57 of Sinful Bride

“I’m definitely regretting that loaded burrito I had for breakfast.” At my swift glare, he cuts the jokes and shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I mean, I see what you’re seeing, but I’m no expert in bridal jitters.”

I’m trying not to hyper-focus on Daphne’s pained expression, but it’s difficult not to. She should be smiling, or crying, or both.

Anything but… this.

Even a stoic Mona Lisa smile would be better than whatever this is.

Fuck. She’s not going to turn tail and run, is she?

… Is she?

Mak suddenly clears his throat and leans in super close. “I think I just figured it out.” He nudges me on one side. “Pretend like you’re not seeing the Hamishes in the middle row, left side.”

I suck in a deep breath. Sure enough, Stewart and Ophelia Hamish are sitting in the middle of the left side of the aisle, smiling and nodding at guests as if they’re allowed to be here.

How the fuck…?

I’m ready to lunge right for them, but Makari stops me. He grabs my arm and grumbles in my ear, “Patience, brother. Let us handle this.”

To my surprise, he nods to Jameson, who nods back and falls in line with Mak’s stride over to the two most despised people in this room.

Stewart and Ophelia are genuinely surprised when they’re grabbed by the arms and hoisted to their feet. Thankfully, they don’t make a huge scene out of it. This room is filled to the brim with corporate celebrities, political figureheads, and patriarchs from the kinds of families no one should ever dare try to double cross.

Suffice it to say, this is a stacked deck I’m playing with—and they know it.

Mak and Jameson escort the couple to a side door and out. When Mak signals to his men, they duck away to ensure Mister and Missus Hamish make it safely to their car. And off the premises.

When Mak returns to his spot at my best man, he confirms that his men are on it. “They’re not going to leave, though,” he adds in a low rumble of frustration.

I’m not tearing my gaze away from Daphne for anything. She looks terrified and I have half a mind to escort her down the aisle myself. “This is why I prefer to do things my way,” I grumble back.

“Call me superstitious, but I don’t think it’s good luck to murder your bride’s parents on your wedding day.”

The priest whips his surprised gaze to us, but we both ignore him and plaster on peaceful smiles.

And then a hush falls over the room as Daphne takes her first steps in.

The music soars, though I’m barely aware of it. The crowd croons, though I can barely sense them.

I’ve got eyes only for her.

My angel in white.

My little flame.

My fucking future.

She reaches the end of the aisle and hands off her bouquet of roses to Hazel, then places her hands in mine. It would be great if she looked as elated as I feel. Now that her parents are gone and we’re starting the ceremony, I can’t imagine why her hands are limp or her eyes distant or her smile still looks like it’s hurting her.

She gets through her repeated vows flawlessly. Anyone who doesn’t know her well enough would mistake the cracks in her voice as heartfelt emotion.

And not for the heartbreak that it is.

I pull her the slightest bit closer to me when it’s my turn. Look deep into her eyes. Hold her hands tighter, warmer, in mine.

She needs to know that I mean every word.

She has to know that, right?

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