Page 3 of Accidental Groom
The congregation erupts in quiet chatter, whispers turning to gasps that turn to something close to hushed hysteria.
My father’s grip on my arm becomes bruising.
My stomach flips violently.
And Harry’s eyes cling to mine as I reach the final stretch of the aisle.
No smile, no warmth, just a cool and calculating assessment that strips me bare despite the layers of silk.
God, he must be nearly twenty years older than me — but somehow, impossibly,stupidlymore magnetic than George ever was.
There’s a gravitas to him that his son never had, the kind of controlled power that pulls you in even when you know you should run.
My hands shake.
My chest feels like it’s being crushed under the weight of lace and too little oxygen.
The room narrows to his face and the thunderous pounding in my ears as I take the few steps up to my would-be father-in-law.
I open my mouth to ask where George is, what’s happening, why this feels like stepping off a cliff?—
Mr. Highcourt looksrattled.
His jaw tenses, and he shifts his eyes from me to my father. “George isn’t coming.”
The words swirl in my head.
The floor tilts sideways.
I hear a gasp and a shuffle from somewhere close as my knees buckle like cut strings on a puppet, the bouquet slipping from my fingers.
Strong hands catch me before I hit the ground.
The world spins as I’m suddenly pressed against a chest, a solid but quick thumping of a heartbeat beneath wool and muscle.
Cologne invades my nostrils, dark and woody, grounding and dizzying all at once.
“Got you,” he murmurs.
It’s the last thing I hear before my vision goes white.
Chapter 1
Elena
The world comes back to me in pieces.
Muted voices. The rustle of tulle. The faint sting of ammonia under my nose.
When I blink, light floods in—too bright, too sharp—and I realize I’m lying on the velvet couch in the church’s dressing room.
My sister, Sarah, clutches my hand like I might slip away again. Her eyes are wide and doe-like, staring down at me like she’s mortified.
Mom and Dad stand somewhere behind me, their voices low. I catch my name once, George’s twice. The wordspressandphoto opmake an appearance, thenreputation, thenscandal.
Then it hits me.
The aisle.
