Chapter 4 - An Unfinished Vow
The double oak doors swung wide to the soaring notes of Wagner’s Bridal Chorus. Two hundred senators, corporate executives, dignitaries, and socialites rose in unison, smiling warmly as Arthur walked down the white runner.
Instead of waiting at the altar, Arthur walked the aisle with Noah gripping his left hand. Murmurs rippled through the pews. Beside the altar stood Pastor Evans, smiling benevolently over his gilded leather Bible. Behind Arthur, Victoria glided forward on the arm of her purported uncle, her face beaming with triumphant radiance.
When Victoria reached the altar, she extended her lace-gloved hand toward Arthur.
Arthur did not take it.
He turned toward the officiant, then reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulled out a wireless handheld microphone from the lectern, and faced the congregation.
The music ground to an awkward, discordant halt. The guests exchanged puzzled glances.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Arthur began, his voice echoing with majestic clarity through the high vaulted glass ceilings. "Thank you for joining us today at what was supposed to be the celebration of my second marriage."
Victoria’s face tightened. She took half a step forward, hissing under her breath, "Arthur, what are you doing? Put the microphone down."
Arthur ignored her entirely. "Most of you know that eighteen months ago, I was a broken man. I had lost my beloved wife Evelyn to cancer, and my daughter Claire was struggling. When Victoria Vance entered my life, I believed Providence had granted me a second chance at companionship."
The audience smiled sentimentally, believing it to be an emotional pre-vow speech. But Victoria’s hands began to clench into tight fists beneath her veil.
"However," Arthur continued, his tone dropping into an icy register that made the front row freeze, "I recently learned that true love does not poison a man’s tea with thallium to trigger artificial neurological decay."
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the conservatory.
"Arthur!" Victoria cried out, her voice pitching high in faux horror. "You’re having an episode! Someone call his doctor! He’s hallucinating—"
"Nor does true love forge financial records to destroy an innocent young woman’s non-profit," Arthur boomed over her protests, "and have her unlawfully committed to an unregistered psychiatric ward so she cannot protect her father or her son."
May you like
Arthur raised his right hand, pointing directly at the projection screens on either side of the altar, which were originally intended to display childhood montages of the couple.
"Marcus," Arthur called out toward the tech booth. "Play the file."
