His First Love Called, and My Wedding Ended

4: 4

An hour passed, and Warren still hadn't come back.

Guests in the ballroom kept asking what was going on, laughing that the bride's family clearly had no manners, showing up late to their own wedding.

Nanette posted to her social media feed and tagged me.

It was a girlfriend's-eye photo of Warren holding the kitten, examining it.

The caption read: 【What a lucky little baby. The second he heard the kitty was sick, kitty's daddy dropped his own wedding and rushed over.】

Warren commented: "Of course I did. Or someone would start crying again."

Below it, a row of comments from the groomsmen: "Warren really spoils her."

Reading the feed, I felt, strangely, no more ache. I even tapped a like with a blank face.

Two hours passed, and Warren still hadn't come back.

Plenty of guests had grown restless and left their seats, and the media friends who'd come to shoot photos and video were already starting to record the bad impression.

I used to be the one who managed all these relationships for him, tending them carefully.

Now I sat in the dressing room, waiting at my leisure.

Carrie came into the dressing room ten times, wound tight,

opened her mouth to say something and swallowed it every time, then went back out.

Two and a half hours, and Warren finally made it back.

Seeing me still in my wedding dress, sitting there perfectly fine,

he let out a breath without thinking,

then rounded on me for not going out front to soothe the guests.

I shot him a look and said nothing.

All at once he felt a flicker of panic,

as if something were slipping past what he could control,

"You did terribly today. As punishment, you won't be handling my account anymore."

"Everything you were in charge of will be handed over to Nanette from now on."

"If you behave through the rest of the wedding, there might still be room to reconsider."

I still ignored him.

Seeing that I wasn't begging him, nervous and desperate the way I always had been, Warren's eyes narrowed in surprise.

Nanette had already nodded, her face flushed.

"Warren, I'll do it even better than Gail did."

Then she rose onto her toes, tilted her face up, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Warren's mouth.

Warren, caught off guard, didn't pull away. And when he saw I still had no reaction, it only made him angrier.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text,

and there, startlingly, was that number I knew by heart and had never once dialed.

Some instinct told me at once: Mercedes had made the decision for me.

I stared at it for three seconds, then opened the message.

"You little brat! More stubborn than your old man! Would swallowing your pride cost you a pound of flesh?"

"Anyway. Wait for your old man. I'm coming by private jet. Ten minutes out from the venue."

Reading the words,

I could almost see the old man standing beside me,

scolding me with a laugh, full of that booming energy of his.

I bit down hard on my lip to keep from sobbing aloud,

but the tears came with no warning, falling one after another like beads off a snapped string.

I hadn't cried when I caught Warren pushing back the wedding to treat his childhood friend's cat.

I hadn't cried when Warren used Hudson's life to force me to go through with it.

I hadn't cried when everyone sneered that I had no family behind me.

Now I couldn't stop the tears at all.

Warren only knew my father had ignored me for years,

but he had no idea why,

that it was because, to make my family accept him, I'd made a bet with my father,

that I couldn't go home and couldn't use my family's connections.

Seeing me cry, the panic that had gripped Warren steadied instead.

He thought I'd finally caved,

so he stepped up and gently wiped my tears,

opening his mouth with grand magnanimity.

"Good, so you do know to be afraid. When the ceremony starts, apologize to the guests properly."

"Just say your family came late and held up the wedding. My account goes back to you after that."

I gave a soft laugh, shook off his hand,

closed my eyes and wiped the tears from my own face,

and when I opened them again, everything was clear.

Up front, the officiant was calling for the bride and groom to take their places.

I lifted my skirt and walked toward the front hall, steady on my feet.

Warren called after me to wait. I didn't look back.

At the entrance to the hall,

the man stood waiting at the door, towering as a mountain, as dependable as he'd always been in my memory.

Seeing me look over, he gave me a nod from across the room.

And Warren, coming up behind me,

went white the instant he saw who it was,

a cold wave shooting up his spine straight to the crown of his head.

"……"