s Cathedral. Three stylists hovered around her. They pulled and pinned her blonde hair

r ribs she had to take shallow, rapid breaths. She reached

. She held a velvet box. She walked up behind Wren and clasped a heavy sapphir

ispered an apology, her hands shaki

rabbed her mother's hand. She squeezed it hard. She forced her v

ted through the floorboards. Arthur, the Ainsworth family b

nd against the tight corset. She locked her jaw. She wiped all t

linding wall of white light hit her face. Hundreds of camera fl

to the thick carpet of white rose petals. The loud, vibr

d of the long aisle stood Pierce. He

nto a handsome smile, but his dark eyes were

ar. He took Wren's hand a

ingers wrapped around hers, he squeezed. He

frozen for the cameras. She curled her fingers inward and dug

riest. The cameras clicked frantically fr

he words echoed off the high stone c

d her. He looked deeply into her eyes. He lean

up this photo op, he would tank

ilted her chin up, looked him dead in the eye, and s

y flawless, tailored perfectly by his team, yet he treated it like a weapon. He shoved it down her finger like he was locking a prisoner in iron

rabbed his gold band. She shoved it onto his finger w

nd told Pierce he c

his hand and wrapped his fingers around the back of Wren's neck. His grip

lips were hard and cold. There was no sof

Wren's nose. Her stomach rolled with intense nausea. S

ierce pulled back. He raised his hand and gen

ng the contact. She faced the crowd and

erneath the massive skirt of her dress, Wren stepped awa

fted her weight. She brought the sharp heel of her s

d. A tiny muscle fea

ehind them, cutting off the noise and the cameras. In