Chapter 6
Trent’s voice was hard, each word a punch. “Sloane’s been mine for ten years. Everyone in this city knows that. Declan might not have any shame, but the Sterlings sure do.”
On the other end, Tyler finally broke. His voice came out strained.
“Trent… just… watch the second video I sent you.”
The aisle was long. White roses carpeted the floor from the entrance all the way to the altar.
Declan wore that oldfox smile.
“I’m not greedy,” he said. “The wedding itself doesn’t matter. Just give me the certificate.”
I laughed. “You think throwing a wedding is easy?”
I looked up at the crystal strands hanging from the dome.
“Flowers, a band, hundreds of guests, a Michelin-starred reception. It’s all free. Why wouldn’t
we take it?”
His smile didn’t change, but his eyes went deeper.
I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “And you, Mr. Sterling…”
I met his eyes.
“You had your car parked in the church alley before we even got the certificate. Your custom suit was hanging in the back seat. And you’re gonna tell me the wedding doesn’t
matter?”
Declan’s lashes twitched. Just once.
Like a stone dropping into a lake, ripples spreading, then gone in a second.
But I knew I’d hit something.
A spark lit up behind his eyes. The thrill of a worthy opponent.
“Sloane.” He said my name,
He didn’t explain. Didn’t deny anything,
“I’ll play along with the free wedding.” He leaned down, his breath brushing my forehead. “But
what you just said…”
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He paused and traced a small circle on the back of my hand with his thumb. “That little observation? That’s gonna cost you interest.”
I looked up at him.
He didn’t say another word. He took my hand and turned us toward the altar.
The pipe organ struck up the Wedding March.
We took the first step.
On both sides of the aisle, guests stared like a wave crashing in.
Whispers. Phones held up
to
take pictures.
The groomsmen looked like they’d swallowed eggs whole.
Declan’s pace was steady.
His grip on my hand was firm but not tight.
Second step. Third step.
White roses trembled at our feet.
I glanced sideways at him. He didn’t look back.
But the corner of his mouth lifted by one degree.
That expression said one thing: You’re not getting away.
Down in the groom’s family section, chaos broke out.
Uncles and older relatives were redfaced, whispering angrily. Someone muttered, “This is
disgraceful.”
The groomsmen were worse.
Some tried to rush the altar, but they were held back.
Others reached for their phones to warn Trent, only to realize their phones had been taken.
Finally, it hit them.
This wedding had never been their game to control.
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The priest’s white robe came into view.
He opened the book and cleared his throat.
“Sloane Bennett, do you take…”
He never finished.
Behind us, the cathedral doors slammed open.
“She does not!” Trent’s voice, ragged, furious, rushed in with the sunlight and wind. “Sloane! Get down from there!”
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