My Wedding His Farce Novel Novels & Stories

He rushed towards me and shook my shoulders in a hurry. "What the—Farrah you accepted the deal? What the hell, for real?!" I pursed my lips and slaps his hands away from me. "That sounded and seemed like Vanessa, Dylan. It's cringy," I uttered in pure disgust. "Tell me more about it! Will it be a grand wedding? Tell him to pick me as his best man! The made of honor will surely be Vanessa! Farrah! Call him–" "It'll be a civil wedding, and can you please give me my drink? I am a damn customer!" My palm made a loud thud when I strike the table, showing him that I am already infuriated of his crazy antics.

Never in his wildest dreams, however, did he think he would end up being ruined by Celia, an uneducated country woman! "Blergh!" He took another step back and spurted out a mouthful of blood before staggering and falling with his head leaning back. 'I'm doomed… I'm finished…' He thought tonight would be the day that he marked a new life as he married Jacqueline, the opportunity for him to be a proud man in the city, especially how astounding it would be for a late middle-aged man to marry a girl over 20 years younger than he was. Yet, it was never in his plan that…everything he had would be ruined in this wedding!

He pushed Mary Wickes away, each word heavy and sharp, his voice calm yet cold. "Tom, are you joking? The wedding invitations have already been sent out; everyone knows we're getting married today. Besides, this isn't April Fool's Day, is it?" Mary Wickes exclaimed in panic, then realizing something, pouting and acting coquettishly. Indeed he was joking; everything for the wedding was already prepared, and all the guests had arrived. Only a few formalities remained. Cancel the wedding? How could that be possible?

"If I did get plastic surgery, I'd look even better!" "Would you now?" Hayden exchanged a glance with Myron before bursting into laughter. "Your face doesn't need surgery, but..." He trailed off, laughing again. "Men! They always prefer curvier women!" On her wedding day, in a sacred church, these two men dared to crack such vulgar jokes! It was outrageous! Marcia forced a smile, but her gaze was sharp as a blade. "Shut up!" "How can the bride lose her temper? Eli, control your wife!" Myron teased, dramatically leaning against Elijah's chest with a mischievous grin.

Laughter still lingered in the air, but it had now turned to tired goodbyes, the kind shared between distant relatives, old friends, and strangers who had just bonded over champagne and jollof rice. The wedding of Zara and Regan was trending. Every blog had picked it up. From the luxury designer dress to the glamorous guest list, people were already calling it the wedding of the year. But behind the glitz, behind the staged kisses and perfectly filtered reels, the newlyweds were quiet. Distant.

It was a comedy about two lovers that planned to marry each other but their wedding turned out terrible when the lady's brother brought in his inexperienced friends to come sing at the party. They did sing so horribly disrupting the party and making everyone leave one after the other, the newly wedded couples hurled words of abuse at each other, the husband blaming his bride for bringing in nuisances to sing and interrupt his wedding. It was a funny one as they went back to beg each other and acted as the musicians on their own wedding day. Michal was still engrossed in the movie when she heard the door clicked open, she looked towards the direction and sighted her mother. Catherine closed t

he replied, his voice smooth and warm. Celine brought her hands together, the clap echoing through the bar like a cymbal crash. With a flourish, she poured herself a healthy helping of wine from the stranger’s cup. “Oh, I have a very, very funny story to tell,” she chuckled, her eyes dancing with a hint of mirth and mischief. “Interest me then,” he said, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. Celine’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the air like a dagger. “So, it’s my wedding day, and guess who’s not getting married?” she asked, her tone dripping with sardonic amusement.

The tears finally fell, staining the immaculate satin of my wedding dress. My mother approached, her face pale with concern. “Erika… darling… maybe… maybe the pearls…” “It’s not the pearls, Mother!” I sobbed, letting her hug me. “It was never the pearls.” It was the farce. The complete farce. The fiancé who didn’t love me. The rival who was a constant shadow. And now, the wedding organizer, a criminal. I was the protagonist of a tragic comedy, and the whole world was in the audience, laughing.

Ethan made me understand that if a person really wanted to marry me, he would not make me wait for even a minute. He did not say, “Emma, let’s only perform the marking ceremony once your arm recovers.” Since I was a perfectionist, I had readily accepted all of Randy’s excuses to push our marking ceremony back. He knew just how to make me change my mind. That was why he managed to keep me waiting. I also knew that once my arm recovered, it would leave behind a scar.

The headline read: “Hartwell Heir Marries Another Woman on the Day of Their Wedding, While His Ex-Fiancée Flees Into The Arms Of His Billionaire Uncle.” The internet was already turning my deepest heartbreak into a cheap public scandal. I was completely shocked. First, I was left behind at the church by my fiancé on our wedding day, and now, a scandal? I sighed deeply, wishing I could just melt away. The humiliation felt way bigger than I could handle.