A Flair For The Dramatic Bride Novels & Stories

My young mistress's betrothed was dying, and she ordered me to marry him in her place to turn his luck. People believed the joy of a wedding could drive out sickness and misfortune, and that a dying man might be pulled back from the grave by it. "The royal physicians all say Lord Blackwell won't live past seven days! Why should I marry him only to be buried at his side? "He's never even seen me. You can marry him instead. "You're nothing but a lowborn maid. Being allowed to marry the regent is the luck of a lifetime." Before I could react, the glowing words appeared before my eyes again. [Celeste is such an idiot. What does she mean, he won't live past seven days? Lord Blackwell has the

She feels like the bride and her friends dancing in front of her is just too much. They dance with so much enthusiasm and the best thing about it is, they know just how to move with the steps. The hall is decorated in golden and seafoam, like the bride's outfit. The place is the real definition of wealth and abundance. The tables are closed with white clothing, a golden flower vase in the middle, pistachio drapes on the ceiling and the high table too. It's so beautiful even in Bushra's envious eyes.

My father, usually slumped and defeated, stood ramrod straight, puffing out his chest like a peacock displaying ragged feathers. And then there was Clara. My sister. The sun in our pathetic little solar system. The reason for this whole nauseating spectacle. She stood beneath the aforementioned chandelier, bathed in its golden glow, a vision in white. The dress, a custom-made creation according to my mother's breathless whispers, flowed around her like liquid moonlight. Her smile was dazzling, her eyes sparkling with what I could only assume was manufactured happiness. She was the perfect bride-to-be, the envy of every woman in the room, the pride of the Moreau family.

The orchestrator of this charade, was gazing at me with approval, and the relentless media capturing every moment with their cameras, The entire affair was frustrating beyond measure. I felt an overwhelming urge to slap those counterfeit smiles off their faces with the bouquet of red roses I held tightly. Gripping the flowers tightly, I reluctantly made my way closer to the altar, each step seeming more grueling than the last. *** Under the scorching sun, Eric, too, stood waiting for his supposed wife, pretending to be happy. His jaw began to ache, and the marriage hadn't even commenced yet. However, he couldn't deny that the woman who was to be his wife looked stunning in her white dress, w

Scarlett LEANED AGAINST the back wall of the barn and watched the bride spin around the dance floor. Benji's parody song of the B52's Love Shack played through the speakers. The day was almost over. She couldn't believe how many times they'd had a near disaster, starting with the surprise flower arch the bride had thrown at her first thing in the morning. Scarlett had realized too late this bride's methods, how she'd manipulated Scarlett into going above, beyond and farther than was reasonable.

They chorused happily, spraying flowers all over my body. "Thanks so much guys" I smiled. "Wow you are all dressed up looking so beautiful" I said. Fleur, Dianne,Maisey, Selena and Moira are my bridesmaids,they are all in the same cream-coloured gown which suited them perfectly,their faces, covered in a simple makeup and their hair, styled differently. "Thanks bride...go take your bath,you won't like to keep the groom waiting" Fleur said. "Yeah yeah...have you ever heard of a smelly bride?" Dianne said sarcastically pushing me into the bathroom...I smiled.

Blackwood's eligible bachelors, nursing quiet crushes, now firmly in the past. The wedding day arrived crisp and golden, leaves turning fire along the drive. Serena fussed with my veil—simple lace over a gown that hugged without screaming "bride." Lavigne cried wiping flour from her hands as she hugged me. Diane arrived with prosecco for the bridal suite, toasting "to the end of drama and the start of boring bliss."

Each word echoes hard against the walls as she goes on, her hands gesticulating wildly, bangles chiming like wind chimes in a storm. "And then this little tailor of a man—such a tiny thing, honestly, how anyone can be so small I'll never know." She snorts, reaching for another sweet from the silver platter without pause. "Anyway, I told him, if the lilies arrive that late, I'll simply walk down the aisle with no flowers at all! Can you imagine? Me, the bride, without flowers!" Her laughter crashes through the room like breaking glass. Cookie crumbs tumble from her lips as she throws her head back, cornflower braids catching the weak sunlight. The yellow tulle of her dress spreads across the

"Stop it! Stop fighting, aaah!" Someone stomped her dress. She screamed, "It's rented! I have to return it!" Nobody cared. Mid-fight, her dress got yanked off. Boom—just her and a pair of pasties. "Jack! Jack!" she shrieked, arms crossed, trying to cover up. Viewer count skyrocketed. Comments went feral: [Damn, the bride's skin is so fair!] [Good stomp! Lower and we'd see more!] And worse. Way worse.

Altezza and the rest of the Quirino family stood up and chose to stand behind the Brianna family's entourage. They were all dressed alike, although with different styles and tailoring, except for the bride and groom and their parents, of course. "Where's Flavia?" Adaline searched for the pretty girl but couldn't find her. "She chose to join the Claire family," Altezza answered, his lips so close to Adaline's ear that she shivered. Because Adaline was wearing 4-inch heels, her height now reached at least Altezza's neck and was equal to Letizia's if only she wasn't wearing high heels.