Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Too late.
The door opens.
Ryan sticks his head around the doorframe. “We have to get a move on. We don’t want to risk being found.” His gaze rests appreciatively on me. “You look gorgeous, Bella.”
“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to wipe my clammy palms on the gown.
“Wait.” Mattie goes through her handbag. “Just give me a second to take her hair up.”
She finds a few pins that she uses to secure my hair in a messy bun. “There. What do you think?”
“Thank you,” I say, pulling her in for a quick hug.
We both laugh as her belly gets in the way.
She takes back the mirror. “You look perfect. Now go.”
“Come on.” Ryan offers me his arm. He’s wearing a smile, but tension emanates from him. “I’m afraid there’s no music.”
I return his smile. “That’s okay.”
Mattie kisses my cheek before slipping through the door, whispering on her way out, “Good luck, Bella.”
Ryan looks down at me. “Ready?”
I swallow and nod.
He pats my hand where it rests on the crook of his arm. “Let’s get you married.”
His attempt at humor doesn’t help to settle my nerves. It has nothing to with wedding day stress and everything with the man I’m running away from, but my escape is finally within grasp. Freedom waits at the end of the aisle, only a few steps away. I won’t be able to relax until the vicar declares us legally married.
Colin stands tall as Ryan walks me down the aisle. Guilt that his family isn’t here assaults me. Maybe we should have a small celebration when they return from their vacation.
We pass my mom, Mattie, and Jared, who are seated in the pew second from the front on the left. Doris, Brad, and Celeste sit in front of them. They’re all dressed up. Everyone made as much of an effort as they could on such short notice.
Doris jumps to her feet and leans over Celeste to hand me a makeshift bouquet of white roses. The stems are tied together with sellotape. Brad’s Spiderman pencil case lies open on the bench, his sellotape spilling out among his crayons. The sight makes me smile.
I mouth, thank you, aiming the gratitude at both Doris and Jared, and wink at Brad, who grins.
Colin looks me over when Ryan and I stop in front of him. Appreciation warms his eyes. Ryan kisses my cheek and takes his place next to Celeste. I smile at my family from over my shoulder as I place a hand on the arm Colin offers before facing the vicar.
Colin leans down to whisper in my ear, “Fuck. You look amazing.”
I mock-frown, whispering back, “Language. We’re in a church.”
The vicar picks up a Bible. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” Colin says, tearing his gaze away from me.
“As per the groom’s request, there won’t be a sermon today,” the vicar says. “We’ll dive straight into the formalities. Before we do, I’d like to read a passage from Psalms and say a prayer.”
Standing in a wedding gown in front of the nonjudgmental eyes of Mary feels unreal. I never dreamt about a wedding. I’m only nineteen years old. I always thought I’d travel the world and build a career first. It’s both scary and reassuring. My life with Colin will be stable and predictable. There won’t be nasty surprises like Mom had to endure, or did Mom think the same when she married Dad? Was she as sure of him as I am of Colin?
A part of it feels wrong too, so much so that I can’t breathe.
“Bella,” Colin whispers, nudging me gently.
I look at him.
He tilts his head toward the vicar, who says, “Repeat after me. I, Sabella Daphne Edwards, take—”
The rest of the vow is cut short as the doors fly open, banging against the walls. Sunlight spills into the space, the rays lighting Mary’s face. The vicar’s eyes go wide. The muscles of Colin’s forearm tense underneath my palm. The gasps of the people I love fill my ears as we spin around.
The bouquet of white roses drops from my hand.
A man stands on the threshold, the sunbeams bouncing off his dark shape. He takes a wide stance with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He balls his left hand, drawing my gaze to the action. My heart pounds in the cage of my ribs as I focus my attention on the gun he holds in his other hand. The sight reminds me of a scene I don’t want to remember.
Angelo Russo steps into the church, into the light. The chandeliers illuminate the harsh features of his handsome face. The look in his black eyes is more devious than I’ve ever seen. Dressed in a bespoke suit with a silk tie, he stands there like a god, flaunting the truth for the whole world to see. There’s no mistaking who the real groom is.