Rise Of The Abandoned Bride
My stepsister, Lydia, who was sitting in the front row, dressed more elegantly than the bride, black velvet clung to her figure, and her lips curled in a smirk that sent fire crawling up my throat.
The priest's words blurred until I only caught fragments. "Do you take this woman as your lawful bride?"
"I do," Jethro said, flat as stone.
A ripple of whispers passed through the hall and I tried to smile, tried to tell myself at least he'd said the words, then I heard his voice again, lower, not meant for me.
"It changes nothing," he murmured, lips curving almost tenderly toward Lydia.
My chest tightened and blood drained from my face because he wasn't even trying to hide it.
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