"Where's the groom? Shouldn't he be here by now?"
"Did something go wrong?"
Lylith's mind was in turmoil.
Alfred scowled. "Where's Chuck? Don't tell me he got cold feet!"
"No way!" Lylith snapped.
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Chuck stepped into view, sharp in a tailored black suit. She'd known he wouldn't let her down.
The music swelled, reporters raised their cameras, and the live stream began.
Beaming, Lylith stood face-to-face with Chuck at the altar.
Smiling, the priest asked, "Lylith Fowler, do you take Chuck Bassett as your husband? Do you promise to stand by his side for the rest of your life?"
"I do!" Lylith replied eagerly.
Then the priest turned to Chuck. "And do you, Chuck Bassett—"
"I don't."
Lylith's smile froze. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What did you just say?"
"I said, I don't." Chuck's expression darkened like a gathering storm. "Lylith, the person who saved me ten years ago, was never you. You claimed you had skin graft surgery for bur
