I tighten my fingers around Zane’s hand even though every nerve in my body is screaming to pull away.
The officiant’s voice rises, calm and steady. "Do you, Elaine Hartwell, take Zane Whitmore to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, forsaking all others, keeping yourself only unto him, so long as you both shall live?"
I say the words, carefully, deliberately, forcing the syllables out even though my stomach twists into knots. "...I do." My voice is steady, but my knees tremble. I glance at Lucas for reassurance. He squeezes my arm once, a subtle anchor, then steps back to give space.
Now Zane’s turn. His voice is low and deliberate. "...I take you, Elaine, to be my wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse..." His fingers brush mine as he slips the ring onto my finger. My hand twitches instinctively, but I don’t pull away. My stomach knots and I grit my teeth. I hate that my pulse reacts to him. I an co on I freaking loathe the man.
"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride," the officiant says.
My chest tightens. My mind screams at to resist, to refuse, to shove him back. But before I can even think, his lips are on mine. It’s not gentle, not coaxing.....it’s commanding, his mouth moving with precision, as though this mont belongs entirely to him. I keep my hands on his shoulders, resisting the pull of my body, forcing my spine straight even as heat spreads through and my stomach flutters in defiance.
When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t soften or smile, he doesn’t offer reassurance, only his arm, stiff and demanding. I slide my hand through it because I have no choice. The weight of him beside is a constant warning coil, a heat that crawls along my side.
We start down the aisle together. The flash of caras accompanying the guests cheering and throwing flowers, they murmur softly, craning necks to catch a glimpse of the bride. My brothers flank , Lucas closest, his hand occasionally brushing my back, a silent shield. Noah and Caleb stay a step behind, protective.
Halfway down the aisle, I notice Zane shift slightly, stiffening. He coughs once, clears his throat, then scratches at the side of his neck. His hand twitches, as if so small itch suddenly demands his attention. I glance at him and notice his face flush slightly, eyes blinking rapidly. My pulse jumps, a wicked twist of satisfaction curling through .
Lucas notices too, a frown pulling at his brow, but he doesn’t say anything. I can feel his gaze flicking to Zane, then back at , assessing the situation. Noah and Caleb stiffen, sensing sothing too. I bite back the smallest smirk, keeping my composure, holding his arm like the perfect wife should while silently thinking of all the ways he might be inconvenienced without even realizing it.
By the ti we reach the exit, his movents are slightly off. He coughs again, once more, his hand instinctively clawing at his throat, the other gripping mine like he’s trying to anchor himself to reality. Guests are too preoccupied with the spectacle to notice the tiny twitching panic in him. Lucas leans in slightly, whispering a quiet, "You okay?" but I shake my head subtly, signaling that I’m fine, because I’m not the one that’s need comfort now.
The music fades behind us, the air outside heavy with evening warmth. I finally allow my own heartbeat to slow, forcing each breath asured and calm, even as Zane next to struggles to regain composure, coughing one last ti before straightening. I glance at him, expression neutral, letting a flicker of triumph linger in my chest. He doesn’t et my eyes. Good.
Lucas lets out a soft sigh beside , and I think I see Noah and Caleb exchanging a small, knowing glance. I tighten my grip on Zane’s arm just enough to remind him that I’m still tethered to him. The taste of satisfaction is quiet but sharp. I hate him, yes, and right now, right at this precise mont, he is off-balance, just enough that it feels like a small victory.
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