The bridal march played, and all the guests turned to look at her. As she came down the makeshift aisle between the chairs, her knees shook. She wished she’d taken Mrs. Berry’s idea and let Sunny walk her down the aisle. But the dog was still so young, not fully trained, and liable to rush off and chase or sniff. She glanced at the dog, sitting in the front row, tucked carefully at the housekeeper’s feet. Daisy gave a nervous smile, and the dog panted back happily, seeming to smile.
The emotions of the other guests were more complicated.
On one side of the aisle she saw her own friends, artists and artisans, in wacky, colorful clothes. On the other side sat Wall Street tycoons, Park Avenue socialites and international jet-setters in sleek couture.
The only thing which both sides seemed to agree on was that Daisy was a greedy sellout, a gold digger cashing in, marrying the man who’d killed her father.
She stopped to catch her breath. No. She was just imagining that. No one would think that. She forced herself forward.
But as Daisy walked past the bewildered eyes of her friends, and the envious, suspicious faces of the glitterati, she felt very alone.
Then her eyes met Leonidas’s, where he stood beside the judge at the end of the aisle. And she remembered all the joys of the last week. The sensuality. The laughter. The trust. They were going to be a family.
Gripping her bouquet, she came forward. The judge took a deep breath.
“My friends,” the man intoned, “we are gathered here today...”
There was a hubbub at the door. Someone was hoarsely yelling, trying to push in. Daisy whirled to look.
A gray-haired man was trying to push into the ballroom, struggling against the two beefy security guards.
Franck Bain.
Daisy’s lips parted. Why was he here? How had he found out?
“You can’t marry him!” the middle-aged artist cried, his shrill voice echoing across the ballroom. “Don’t do it, Daisy! I can take care of you!”
Leonidas made a gesture to two other guards hovering nearby, and they quickly moved to assist. The four security guards grabbed the thin man, who was struggling and panting for breath.
“Don’t marry him!” Franck gasped. “He’s a liar who killed your father—an innocent man!”
As he was forcibly pulled from the ballroom, the double doors closed with a bang.
A very uncomfortable silence fell.
“Shall I continue?” the judge said.
The guests looked at each other, then at the bridal couple. The PR team, who were filming the event live for Liontari’s social media feeds, seemed beside themselves with delight at the unscripted drama.
Daisy’s heart thundered in her chest. She wanted to fling away her bouquet, to make a run for it—run from all the judgment and guilt, her own most of all.
But her gaze fell on her engagement ring, sparkling on her hand, resting on her pregnant belly. Run away? That would truly be the act of a coward. No matter how much anyone criticized her for it, she’d already made her decision. She was bound to Leonidas, not just by their child, but by her word, freely given four days before.
I’ll marry you, Leo.
Daisy met Leonidas’s burning gaze, and she tried to smile. She nodded at the judge, who swiftly resumed the ceremony.
Ten minutes later, they were signing the marriage certificate. And just like that, they were wed.
Leonidas kissed her as the judge pronounced them husband and wife, but his kiss was oddly polite and formal. As they accepted the congratulations of their guests, Daisy’s friends also seemed uncomfortable, their eyes sliding away awkwardly even as they pretended to smile.
At the wedding reception, held on the other side of the elegant ballroom, the very best champagne and liquor was served, all from Liontari’s brands. The PR crew gleefully filmed all the glamorous, exotic guests, the wealthy and the beautiful and brightly bohemian, laughing and dancing and eating lobster, pretending to have the time of their lives.
But underneath it, Daisy felt hollow.
Don’t marry him. He’s a liar who killed your father—an innocent man.
The reception seemed to last forever. Leonidas was strangely distant, even though he was right beside her, and after hours of forced smiling, Daisy’s face ached. Finally, the last guest drank the last flute of champagne, left the last gift, and departed. Even Mrs. Berry left, with Sunny in tow, leaving only the bridal couple and the PR team in the ballroom.