Novel & Cerita Father Of The Bride Part Two

She burst into tears and ran out, hands covering her face. Then I felt the heat of his breath by my ear. "Let's finish the wedding first. I'll explain everything later, okay?" With the nuisance out of the picture and me not quite in the mood to make a scene, the guests stayed quiet, and the ceremony moved along quickly. Not long after, I was in the bridal room, slapping the mattress hard with my palm. 'What the hell was that earlier? Was that supposed to be some kind of seductive act? Hmph. As if that would work on me.'

(Dante's POV) The wedding day was bright and sunny. The Blackwood family's private estate was a fairy-tale scene of white roses and crystal chandeliers. The guests, Chicago's elite, were all waiting for the wedding of the century. Dante stood at the altar in a custom tuxedo, handsome and imposing. Marco was beside him as his best man, occasionally glancing toward the entrance. "When is the bride arriving?" a guest whispered. "Should be any minute," Dante replied, though a flicker of unease crossed his face.

There was only a single, faded photograph. I picked it up. It was a picture of a younger Damien, probably in his late teens. He had his arm around a middle-aged man with a kind, weary smile. The man had Damien’s eyes. His father. They were standing in front of a small, run-down auto shop. *Sterling & Son.* On the back, in a looping, feminine handwriting, was an inscription. *For Robert, who believed we could build anything. All my love, Grace.* Robert. Grace.

She dabs at the corner of her eye with a small lace handkerchief before wrapping her arm around Nicola, Taylor’s sister, and giving her a squeeze. A clink of silverware on glass grabs my attention and I turn to see my father standing up, looking very official and proud of himself. I have been dreading the ‘Father of the Bride’ speech, but my mum has promised me that she has vetted it and that I will love it. I hold my breath as my dad welcomes everyone and then starts with a couple of amusing stories from my childhood. My eyes fill with tears as he talks about how proud he is of my accomplishments and I feel the love radiating from him. Despite the difficulties I have had with my mother over

The music dropped an octave, a heavy chord that signalled the room to rise. Nixon yanked me up by my arm, his grip bruising. "Stand," he hissed. I stood. The bride appeared in the doorway. She looked less like a living woman and more like a sacrificial lamb wrapped in ivory lace and heavy, beaded silk. A thick, gossamer veil obscured her face entirely, trailing behind her like smoke. Her father walked at her side, his fingers clamped around her elbow, physically steering her toward the altar. They reached the stone steps. The father did not smile. He simply peeled her fingers off his arm, dropped her hand into Alpha Lincoln’s massive palm, and stepped backward into the crowd without a single

She opened her mouth to speak but I didn't notice that and spoke over her. “Will you marry me Miss Odessa Vale?” She closed her mouth slowly and stared at the diamond ring in front of her. “Oh shit, I didn't kneel” I quickly got on one knee. The whole restaurant was staring, people were bringing their phones out to record. Silly me had forgotten how famous we were. She kept staring at the ring and at me. The silence was getting uncomfortable and I was ready to take whatever answer she gave. “Yes, yes I'll marry you Ricardo” she slid her fingers into the ring I was holding, with a beautiful wide smile.

I say feeling a little bit relieved. "Ryder isn't your father, Chase is your biological father and he's dead " he throws the bomb. I don't want to believe him but then I've always have this doubt in my mind that Dad 'Ryder ' is not my father. Tears began to fall. No this is too much to take. My father of which I don't know betrothed me to someone and he's dead. Now the person wants me to marry him. I don't plan on getting married at 19 and I don't think there is any I can do to change that.

everyone replied, raising their flutes of champagne and drinking from it. "It is now time; the moment has arrived for the Father and Daughter dance. Please join me in welcoming the bride and her father to the dance floor." The guests cheered as Dad walked up to me. "Let us dance, my sweet." he said as he stretched his hand to me. I dropped my champagne flute, took his hand and walked with him to the dance floor as Camilla Cabello's 'First Man' plays from the speakers. I placed my head on Dad's chest as he maneuvered us across the dance floor while the guests watched.

She is fully intending to make me suffer until I can get her into bed. Oh, yes, we are going to get along splendidly. My long strides quickly eliminate the distance separating us. Taking her hand, I hold her gaze as I press my lips to her gloved knuckles. “I very much approve of this dress”. She blinks slowly as a corner of her luscious mouth lifts. “I had a feeling you might”. “Step aside, boy”. My father says, shoving on my shoulder. “You're not supposed to be this close to the bride until you are exchanging your vows”. He offers her his arm. “My son is a savage. Allow me to escort you to the parlor”.

“This is Belle. My new bride.” Silence. The word seemed to echo against the study walls. Bride. William did not react immediately. For a heartbeat, his expression was blank. Then something flickered behind his eyes. Shock. Then disbelief. Then something darker. His jaw tightened visibly. His gaze moved over me but not like his father’s had. Not clinical. Not transactional. But burning. Accusing. As though I had personally insulted him by existing. He did not bow. Did not greet me.