No I Do Not Love The Groom Novels & Stories

"Excuse me?" "It's a common mistake in these arrangements. One person develops feelings, expectations change, things become complicated." His expression is carefully neutral. "I'm telling you now—I won't love you. I can't. It's not personal, it's just how I'm built. So save yourself the heartbreak and don't try." The words should hurt. Maybe they do. But I'm so numb from the past week that I just feel hollow. "I understand," I hear myself say. "Good." He opens the door for me. "The wedding is at two PM, St. Catherine's Church. Try to look happy in the photos. My father is particular about image."

It didn’t look like I had any matters to resolve, instead, it was all love. The slow music of Ave Marie started playing as I graced the altar and it was then I finally paid attention to the groom, who was on a clean black tux. He looked rich with his hair gelled down and packed into a small bun, chiseled jaw, tall, and like every woman’s dream. I found myself smiling, progressing toward him until I grasped it was Devin. I was getting married to Devin and not James? What the hell was happening?

"I won't stop you after the wedding tomorrow. Please, don't go. My parents don't believe the Don will marry me. If you walk away, they'll sell me to that bastard who tortured his three wives to death! "If you insist on leaving, you'll need to run me over first! In any case, I might as well be dead. If you don't want me, I'll have to marry that bastard." Lorenzo's hands tightened around the steering wheel, the veins on the backs of them bulging. After a long while, he let his hands fall. On the day of the wedding, the motorcade rolled toward the church. The groom's expression, however, was anything but pleased.

Finally, after managing to survive the weight of the guests’ eyes on me, I got to where my groom was waiting for me in the wheelchair with two officiants, one holding a fancy pillow with two shiny rings on it; the other just standing there. “Do you accept Miss. Winter as your wife, to love and to hold forever for better for worse, for rich and for poorer.” The second officiant asked, stepping forward as Damon and I looked into each other's eyes. “Yes,” He responded, nodding, not attaching any emotion to his voice so it was impossible to know how he felt about this. The officiant tilted his face to look at me. I flashed him a smile, looking back at him as I tore my eyes away from Damon.

I entered, my arm crossed with that of my father's as he walked me to the altar. I felt ashamed and disgusted to even have him next to myself now. We reached the groom who actually had a childish smile across his face. With the way he made it look like he was a seven year old in a man's body, I felt like turning around and leaving the wedding at that very moment. His hair was messed up and he even picked his nose right in front of me and then set his glasses right. Oh my God, I wanted to puke. Why does that witch Kira hate me this much?

“If he doesn’t want to marry me, fine, we don’t have to do this. Do you think I’m desperate to marry him?” The officiant and wedding planner exchanged uneasy looks before stepping forward. “Miss, isn’t this gentleman the groom?” The room went silent for a moment. Then, everything exploded. “Don’t be ridiculous! The groom is Owen Lewis! That’s the bride’s ex. What kind of wedding company is this?” “This is a wedding, not a joke!” “Where did Owen even go? I always said he was unreliable…” The noise swelled again as the officiant grew anxious and pulled Gavin forward. “Then let him explain himself. Are you the groom today or not?”

I strode through the door where Adonis was standing with a huge smile on his face, and I realized how much I missed him because I hadn't seen him for two days no "How are you, my love?" He gathered into his arms, and kissed my forehead. His eyes clouded in a sexual haz "You know, they say it's bad luck for the groom to meet his bride on their wedding day "That would have made sense if today was our wedding day, don't you think?" He said this while his fingers traced the delicate softness of my lower lip. I tucked my head under his chin, knowing that everything was going to work out fin "So, what are you doing here?" I pulled away. "Shouldn't you be welcoming your guests or something

Not the man who wanted me. Not the breath that almost lit me on fire. This was the voice of a groom addressing a bride he didn’t love....my mother. I blinked hard, confused, my fingers tightening around the sheet. My eyes slid up to his, and for a second, I saw him stare at me like he was searching for something I wasn’t supposed to show. I lowered my head to really read the document. Then my breath caught. My throat tightened. My eyes widened. My stomach dropped like a bucket falling into an empty well.

The murmurs of people in the congregation and multiple clicks of cameras from the mass media corner filled the air. Then all of a sudden, my limbs unfroze altogether and I turned to glare at the officiant. "I'm not a hugger." And I most definitely don't want to hug the asshole you married me to. "Well then," the Jamaican man said, ignoring the congregation's loud whispers. "If you aren't a hugger, you'll most definitely be a kisser. So you may now kiss your groom."

The groom doesn't look at me. Not really. Not since the kiss. There is something impervious in the line of his jaw, the shape of his lips like a sealed envelope. His eyes are straight ahead, stiff, full of thunderheads. I think he hates me. And for a moment, I want to hate him too. But I cannot give myself over to hatred. I don't even know if I belong to myself anymore. We make our way towards the end of the aisle. The double doors open, and we glimpse additional cameras, additional reporters, an ocean of luxury cars and velvet ropes.