Page 130 of Poison Vows

The state the garden is in brings a chill down my spine.

For some reason, I was expecting something extraordinary straight out of a movie with flowers, birds chirping happily, but all I see are wilting flowers, overgrown weeds, dry leaves, and dead plants.

“Why does it look like this?” I ask in shock.

“The young master has forbidden anyone to touch this garden for the past eighteen years.”

“If he forbade it, why is the ceremony happening here?” I question but don’t receive an answer.

I know better than anyone that Emmett doesn’t play when it comes to his mother.

Ripley doesn’t reply. Instead, I’m led quietly down the messy paths toward the center clearing where I spot what looks like a makeshift altar.

In front of it stands a priest, and next to him is a judge, at least that’s what I presume from the robes they are both wearing.

A red carpet has been rolled in the middle, like a makeshift aisle. On either side of it are chairs.

For some reason, I’m bothered by this.

If Emmett forbade anyone to touch this garden, then why is this crap being done here?

Is it because he’s not here?

I finally understand why Emmett’s hatred for his family runs deep.

An orchestra I hadn’t noticed before starts playing soft, classical music.

It’s not the tune usually played when brides enter the chapel and walk down the aisle. No, this is something completely different.

A tune that feels eerie for some reason.

“The bride has arrived,” the priest suddenly says, then everyone present rises.

I see my mother, Melissa, Senator Hughes, and his father to one side of the aisle.

Then on the other, Emilio, Giovanni and Angelo are on the second row, while Scarlet and her grandfather are on the front row, all of them looking at me.

As I watch, Vaughn enters from the other side and comes to stand at the end of the aisle.

He looks incredible in the tux and bow tie.

His hair is swept back at the sides, a bit messy on top.

He’s smiling at me, waiting for me as the music plays, but I can’t move.

I stand there like my feet are frozen to the spot.

Alarms are blaring in my head.

Panic like a violent waterfall starts cascading down on me with fervent chaos.

It dawns on me that I’m still clutching my phone with a death grip.

Other brides walk down the aisle with beautiful bouquets of flowers, but here I am, discreetly checking if Emmett has finally read my messages.

He hasn’t.

I can’t do this.

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