My Groom Swapped Brides at the Altar So I Swapped Grooms in the Parking Lot Chapter 02

My Groom Swapped Brides at the Altar So I Swapped Grooms in the Parking Lot Chapter 02

Cole and Marcus flanked me on both sides as I walked.

“Watch your step, Sloane.”

“Look at the garden. Brandon had it all fixed up for you.”

I did not answer.

Nice as it was, this was not the house we had picked out together.

I took a few more steps, head lowered, when my hand brushed empty air.

My bag.

I had left it in the wedding car.

I turned around and started walking back.

Then I caught the low murmur of voices from around the corner.

Cole and Marcus were talking in hushed tones.

I stopped.

“Brandon’s a genius. All he had to say was ‘Astor family tradition,’ and both brides ended up under full-face veils.”

“Got this one all lined up over here, while he gets to exchange vows with Delia on the other side. Handling both without missing a beat.”

“No kidding. He wrecked Delia’s eight engagements, and now he finally gets to marry her himself. His lifelong wish finally came true.”

“What about Sloane, though?” Marcus sounded more nervous. “She ripped the veil off before even getting inside. When she finds out the groom isn’t Brandon, what is she going to do? Make a scene?”

“Make a scene?” Cole snorted. “Best case, she thinks it’s a mix-up and cries for two days. Then Brandon locks things down over there, comes back, says, ‘Sorry, Sloane, my bad,’ and she’ll crawl right back. It’s always the same old story.”

“Keep your voice down!”

“So what? She’s too far away. And that’s just how she is. Even if she heard us, she’d act like she heard nothing.”

I stood there in the middle of the gravel path.

The hem of my white wedding gown fluttered in the breeze, rising and falling.

So that was what I was to them.

Hear nothing.

See nothing.

Get walked over, then pretend it never happened.

I did not want to admit it, but maybe the signs had always been there.

Three years ago, when Brandon first spiraled over one of Delia’s engagements, I had brought dinner to his office in an insulated lunch bag.

His desk was covered with photos of her.

His eyes were bloodshot when he said, “You know what she did to me back then? I haven’t settled that score yet. She isn’t marrying anyone.”

After he wrecked her engagement, his parents tore into him. I even spoke up for Delia.

“She’s a widow. She’s had it hard enough. Just let her go.”

He smashed his enamel mug against the wall.

He said the past could not be buried that easily.

I did not know what past he meant.

I only thought she was pitiful.

Then came the second time.

The third.

All the way to the eighth.

Every time he destroyed her wedding plans, he would disappear for a few days and come back with red-rimmed eyes.

I thought it was hatred so deep it hurt him.

Now I understood.

That was not what hatred looked like.

Only someone who could not let go would destroy every chance she had to marry another man.

It hit me all at once.

A month ago, when I had told him with my heart full of hope, “Brandon, we’ve been together for so long. What if we moved the wedding up?”

His face had gone stiff for half a second.

Not surprise.

Irritation.

Because by then, Delia’s ninth date had already been set, and his head was full of plans to sabotage it.

Half testing him, half out of spite, I said, “Delia’s date is supposed to be lucky. What if we picked the same day?”

His eyes suddenly lit up.

So bright I thought it was coincidence.

So bright I thought it was fate.

So bright I thought he was finally ready to face that “enemy” with me.

No.

What he agreed to was a chance to switch brides.

That lace veil he insisted on was never romance.

It was a blindfold.