I looked straight at him, my tone light yet sharp. “What a coincidence, Tatum. I, too, have prepared… a surprise for you.”
Tatum froze for a brief moment before sneering, his dismissal sharp. “Oh? Then I’ll look forward to your surprise. But of course, nothing you could prepare would ever match the ‘grandeur’ of mine.”
His tone dripped with arrogance, superiority practically spilling from every word.
I said nothing more, only kept the faint curve lingering at the corner of my lips.
The solemn melody of the wedding march filled the hall. Leaning on my father’s arm, I stepped forward, each stride calm and steady, carrying me closer to the stage.
Finally, we reached the priest.
He opened the Bible with solemn care, his voice deep and formal as he asked, “Mr. Bernard, do you take Miss Buckley as your wife? Whether in joy or sorrow, wealth or poverty, health or sickness, will you love her faithfully, with no reservation, for all your days?”
With pride in his voice, Tatum declared, “I do!”
His impatient gaze swept toward the audience, locking briefly with Zara’s eyes, as if waiting for the next act in his carefully staged play.