Page 19 of The Wrong Groom

The hallway outside is softly lit, the glow of chandeliers casting shadows on the polished floors. The faint hum of music drifts toward me, mingled with the low murmur of the gathered guests. Through the glass walls of the arboretum, I can see blurred movement and floral arrangements towering like sculptures.

Each step feels heavy, laden with expectation and bittersweet memories. The weight of the dress feels like it’s pulling me down, but I push forward.

I wait near the arboretum’s entrance, as I was instructed during the rehearsal. My father appears, dressed in a finely tailored suit. He doesn’t say anything as he offers me his arm. No compliment. No reassurance. Just the formal gesture, as if we’re sealing a business deal, which we are. I slip my hand through the crook of his elbow, and we wait.

I can feel the nerves crawling beneath my skin, a tight coil of panic settling in my chest. My breath comes faster. I feel like I might float away or collapse entirely. I’m about to get married to a man I barely know. A man who doesn’t want me. A man who will never love me.

Then the music shifts, and the coordinator gives a discreet nod.

This is it. The cue for our entrance.

My father begins to walk, and I move with him, tethered to his side.

The moment I step into the arboretum, I’m enveloped by a wave of warmth and light. The intricate floral arrangements, each bloom carefully selected, are flanked by a backdrop of lush greenery. Everything in here feels so alive.

All I can focus on is the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. My hands shake. There are so many people here to watch this mockery of a wedding—I don’t even know how many, since nobody ever asked me to sign off on the guest list. It’s in the hundreds, probably. The guests rise, all of their eyes turning to watch me. I don’t look at them. I can’t.

My father continues to march forward, slowly and inexorably leading me toward the altar, where Gabriel waits.

Gabriel.

He’s wearing a perfectly tailored tux, looking every inch the classic groom. His dark hair is neatly styled, and his eyes…

His eyes are locked on me.

Our gazes meet, and I feel something stir within me—something different.

Something electric.

Chapter 7

Gabriel

“She looks beautiful,” Reid murmurs beside me.

I stiffen at that, resisting the urge to turn to my line of groomsmen—who, conveniently, are my four brothers—and snap at him. The only thing that keeps me from shooting him a sideways glance is Alexis. I can’t look away from her.

She does look beautiful. Radiant is the word I would’ve used, really. Her copper hair is pulled into an elaborate bun, a few wavy tendrils framing her face. Her dress is gorgeous. I’m certain it was designed by her family’s fashion company, and I’m even more certain it’s going to grace the front page of some magazine after the wedding is over.

But it’s not the hairstyle or the gown that captivates me.

It’s… her. The light that seems to emanate from her. She has an ethereal quality, like she belongs to another world. One that’s better, more beautiful.

I stand frozen, watching her walk down the aisle toward me. The world around me fades, blurred at the edges, until she’s the only clear figure in my sight. I feel like I’m under some sort of spell.

When she and her father reach the makeshift altar erected between the low-hanging boughs of two blooming cherry trees, he steps away without comment or emotion. Her eyes linger on him for a moment, and I wonder if I’m imagining the sadness in her gaze. Things seem distant between them. His coldness underscores the transactional nature of the wedding, and the spell is broken.

Alexis clears her throat, clearly uncomfortable, and turns to face me. The priest begins speaking, but his words feel like they’re coming from a distant place.

As he begins waxing poetic about love and devotion, I can’t bring myself to meet Alexis’s gaze. I glance to the side, to the front row of the audience—to Peyton, who sits between Tristan’s wife, Chloe, and our longtime family friend, Ivy. Peyton’s hair is done up with braids and little ribbons, and her feet don’t reach the floor. She looks small and out of place among the adults around her, her face half-hidden behind the bouquet she clutches in her lap.

Chloe leans over to whisper something to Peyton, some kind of reassurance, and Peyton nods, although her eyes remain fixed on me. I manage a small smile for her, but it feels forced and hollow.

I finally did sit her down try to explain the concept of an arranged marriage so that she’d understand better what’s going on when Alexis comes to live with us, but still, a part of me wonders if she grasps the complexity of all of this. Honestly, I sort of hope she doesn’t. Her little fingers twist around the flowers, and she bites her lip, an expression she wears when she’s worried.

I breathe in deeply through my nose, returning my attention to Alexis and the priest. Chloe and Ivy promised me that they would take care of Peyton today. I have to trust that they’ll talk to her, assuage her worries.

Alexis glances over at Peyton too, her gaze softening briefly before she catches herself and turns back to me, masking her expression. I can tell she’s just as aware of the tension as I am, and for a moment, a shared understanding flickers between us.