Bride Number Ninety-Nine: My Groom Married Her First Chapter 02

Bride Number Ninety-Nine: My Groom Married Her First Chapter 02

A steaming bowl of lobster bisque sat waiting on the lounge table.

No chives. No cilantro. Even the parsley I don’t like had been picked out, down to the last fleck.

The hotel manager handed me a spoon, explaining with a smile.

“Mr. Calloway confirmed the menu himself at dawn. He said you get stomachaches when you’re anxious, and you won’t be able to eat anything else today, so he had the kitchen keep it warm.”

My hand froze around the spoon for two seconds.

The door opened right at that moment.

Grant walked in, bent down to check the temperature of the bowl with the back of his hand, and only when satisfied did he slide it in front of me.

“Eat first.”

He crouched, taking hold of my ankle.

The blister on my heel had already broken open, bleeding.

He frowned, pulled a Band-aid from his pocket, and carefully applied it.

“You’ve never known how to take care of yourself.”

“If I hadn’t come to find you, would you have finished this whole wedding on an empty stomach?”

Seven years ago, the first time I attended a restoration exhibition, it was him crouched on those same steps, patching a Band-aid on me because I wasn’t used to heels.

He’d looked up at me then, his eyes impossibly bright.

“Eleanor. From now on, whenever it hurts, tell me.”

“My hands were made to protect you.”

His hands were just as warm now.

But the person he protected wasn’t just me anymore.

While he wasn’t looking, I closed the digital copy of the divorce agreement on my phone.

I was about to speak when Hazel came rushing in, holding up her skirts.

“So this is where you two are hiding, eating the good stuff!”

She slid naturally up against Grant, leaning down to sniff the bowl.

“Lobster bisque? I wanted some earlier, but the kitchen said the last bowl was saved for Eleanor.”

Grant took the spoon out of my hand and fed her a bite.

“Eat, then, if you want it.”

Hazel took the bite, then glanced at me, feigning embarrassment.

“But this is Eleanor’s.”

“She has a small appetite. She can’t finish it anyway.”

He slid the entire bowl over to her and handed me a cold sandwich instead.

“Have this for now.”

I looked down at the peanut butter inside.

Grant knew perfectly well I had a severe peanut allergy.

At past dinners, if anyone so much as offered me a piece of peanut brittle, he’d knock it out of their hand without hesitation, his face going cold.

Now he’d forgotten completely.

Halfway through eating, the side seam of Hazel’s dress split.

She gasped and clapped a hand over the small of her back.

“What do I do? We’re about to start the vows.”

The stylist was sweating.

“It’s hand-stitched lacework. There’s no matching thread on such short notice—it’ll take at least half an hour to redo.”

Grant looked at me first.

“Eleanor can fix it.”

I had spent ten years learning fine Belgian lace embroidery from my grandmother.

The twin-rose motif on that dress—I had stitched it myself, thread by thread.

But when his eyes caught my pale face, he quickly changed his mind.

“Never mind. Take it off. I’ll fix it.”

Hazel flushed red.

“There’s no time. Can Eleanor just stitch it while I’m wearing it?”

After a brief silence, Grant took the needle and thread from the seamstress and held it out to me.

“Help her fix it.”

I didn’t take it.

“That’s my dress.”

“I only allowed her to wear it through the opening.”

Hazel’s tears fell instantly.

“This is all my fault, eating too much and ruining Eleanor’s dress. Grant, come with me to change out of it. I won’t do the vows.”

She turned to walk away, but the torn fabric caught on the door handle, and she nearly fell.

Grant pulled her into his arms in one motion.

When he looked up again, his tone had already turned heavy.

“Eleanor. Don’t push me to lose my temper today.”

“Haze can’t handle people abandoning her halfway. Once she finishes the ceremony, I’ll have the designer make you ten new dresses.”

I suddenly found it almost funny.

So in his eyes, the dress I’d spent months hand-embroidering, the wedding I’d waited seven years for—all of it could be settled with “ten new dresses.”

But some things, once ruined, stay ruined.

No amount can buy them back.

So I took the needle and thread after all, and knelt silently behind Hazel.

The fine needle passed through the hidden stitches, pricking the pads of my fingers again and again.

Grant glanced over once, brow furrowing. He reached for me—

But Hazel let out a soft, pained sound.

His hand changed direction instantly, steadying her waist instead.

Ten minutes later, the dress was mended.

Grant led Hazel out of the green room.

At the door, he looked back at me.

“Wait here.”

“Once the vows are done, I’ll come get you myself.”

Then, from inside the ballroom, the officiant’s excited voice rang out:

“And now—let’s have the groom place the rings on today’s bride!”

I looked down at my empty palm.

The ring I’d set on the table while mending the dress—it was gone.