Chapter 3 The Wedding

The wedding was held in the private chapel on the Hawthorne estate.

Emma stood before a floor-length mirror in a small anteroom, staring at the woman looking back at her. The dress was simple,ivory silk, no lace, no beads, chosen by Madam Hawthorne herself. "You're not the type for frills," the old woman had said. "And neither was I."

Emma's hair was pinned up loosely, a few strands framing her face. The only jewelry she wore was the engagement ring Alex had given her. She looked like a bride but felt like an imposter.

A knock came at the door. Madam Hawthorne entered, leaning on her cane. Her eyes lit up when she saw Emma.

"Oh, my dear. You're beautiful."

Emma managed a smile. "Thank you, Madam Hawthorne."

The old woman crossed the room and took Emma's hands. "You're nervous."

"A little."

"Good. A bride who isn't nervous isn't paying attention." She squeezed Emma's hands. "My grandson is waiting for you. And I've never seen him look the way he looks today."

Emma's heart skipped. "How does he look?"

Madam Hawthorne smiled, a smile that held eighty-three years of wisdom and love. "Like a man who just realized he's about to get the best thing that ever happened to him."

She led Emma to the chapel doors. Through the crack, Emma could see the small gathering, her parents, stone-faced; Fiona, her smile tight; Ethan, arms crossed; Isabella, sitting stiffly in the front row. And at the altar, in his wheelchair, Alex.

He was wearing a black suit, his dark hair swept back. His hands rested on his thighs, but Emma saw them tremble slightly. He was nervous too.

The doors opened.

Emma walked down the aisle alone. No father to give her away. No mother to weep. Just her, in her ivory dress, walking toward a man she had met twice.

She kept her eyes on Alex and he kept his on her.

When she reached him, she saw something in his expression she hadn't expected. Wonder.

"You came," he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"I signed a contract," she replied.

His lips quirked. "Right. The contract."

The officiant began the ceremony. Emma heard the words, love, honor, cherish, but they felt like they belonged to someone else. This wasn't a real marriage. It was a transaction, a performance.

And then the officiant said, "You may kiss the bride."

Alex looked up at her. Emma looked down at him. For a moment, neither moved. Then he reached up, his hand sliding behind her neck, and pulled her down.

The kiss was not what she expected. She had expected a brush of lips. A formality. The closing of a business deal.

Instead, his mouth was warm, firm, asking. His fingers tangled in her hair. And when her lips parted, just slightly, just in surprise, he deepened the kiss.

The chapel was silent.

Emma felt something crack open in her chest. Something she had been holding closed for a very long time. Her hands found his shoulders. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket.

When they finally pulled apart, Alex's eyes were dark, unreadable. Emma's heart was pounding.

The officiant cleared his throat. "I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne." Madam Hawthorne was crying. Isabella looked stunned. Fiona's smile had frozen into something brittle.

Emma looked at Alex. Alex looked at Emma. Neither of them said a word.