My Fiancé's Second Wedding - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Fiancé's Second Wedding, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Fiancé's Second Wedding.
At the hotel, my brother went to distract our parents while Gerald whisked me away to the bridal suite for makeup. If Mom saw how banged up I was, it would break her heart. On what should be the happiest day of my life, I couldn't bear to see even a shadow of sadness cross her face.
The makeup artist worked her magic, chatting away with starry-eyed admiration. "Miss Stanton, you're one lucky bride. Rumor has it the Hoffmans have been orchestrating this wedding for months—pulling out all the stops just for you."
My fingers traced the delicate embroidery of the wedding dress draped over me, the intricate patterns catching the vanity lights just so. It was more breathtaking than the one I'd originally designed. A quiet realization settled in my chest—had Gerald really been planning this all along?
My suspicion grew when Gerald knocked softly at the door, entering with a velvet box in hand. When he revealed a pair of elegant satin gloves, my breath hitched.
"Arabelle," he said, his voice tender, "wear these later so your mother won't see the injury."
The way he looked at me—the warmth in his eyes, the quiet care in his voice—stirred something deep inside.
When the moment came, I walked toward Gerald with perfect timing to the wedding march. As the officiant asked the question, my answer came without hesitation.
"I do," I said, clear and certain.
This was the first time I'd defied my family's wishes since choosing Jonah. I'd always trusted my judgment—after all, my parents raised me better than to make foolish choices. But reality had proven me painfully wrong. I'd been blind.
For six years, I'd poured my heart into loving Jonah, only to be left with scars—both emotional and physical.
The doctor had warned me: even after healing, a mark would remain. I accepted it without protest—the price of chasing a love that never truly existed.
The signs had been there all along. Jonah always dodged visits to my parents with flimsy excuses. Dad never liked him, and Mom voiced her doubts constantly.
Gerald? He did the opposite. He made a point to visit—playing chess with Dad, chatting with Mom, treating them with nothing but respect. Despite his feelings for me, he never overstepped or pressured me.
If only I'd paid attention sooner.
As we exchanged rings, Gerald's gaze never left mine. In his eyes, there was only me.
A man who cherished me this deeply—who put me first even when I didn't deserve it—was someone worth building a life with. Even without love, there was trust and respect. And I trusted my parents' judgment.
Because of my injury, some wedding games were scrapped. But the ceremony was every bit as lavish as Jonah's—maybe more.
Afterward, my parents didn't question my sudden change of heart. They simply hugged me goodbye, whispering, "Take care of him."
The second they left, Gerald didn't waste time. He rushed me to the hospital, where the doctor laid out options for scar treatment. Gerald's jaw stayed clenched the entire time, fists tight. My brother, fresh from seeing our parents home, looked ready to explode.
I reached up, smoothing the worry from both their brows. "The doctor said they'll minimize the scar. It's just a mark—not even on my face. Can you two stop looking like you're at a funeral?"
I kept my tone light, but my brother had already dug up the truth.
Meanwhile, Jonah's wedding had imploded. His calls started hours ago—desperate, frantic, one after another. I ignored every single one.
When he couldn't reach me, he tried my brother.
My brother glanced at his phone. His grip tightened. Then—
"Jonah, you son of a bitch!" he roared, voice shaking the hospital walls. "Who the hell gave you the right to stab my sister?!"
The makeup artist worked her magic, chatting away with starry-eyed admiration. "Miss Stanton, you're one lucky bride. Rumor has it the Hoffmans have been orchestrating this wedding for months—pulling out all the stops just for you."
My fingers traced the delicate embroidery of the wedding dress draped over me, the intricate patterns catching the vanity lights just so. It was more breathtaking than the one I'd originally designed. A quiet realization settled in my chest—had Gerald really been planning this all along?
My suspicion grew when Gerald knocked softly at the door, entering with a velvet box in hand. When he revealed a pair of elegant satin gloves, my breath hitched.
"Arabelle," he said, his voice tender, "wear these later so your mother won't see the injury."
The way he looked at me—the warmth in his eyes, the quiet care in his voice—stirred something deep inside.
When the moment came, I walked toward Gerald with perfect timing to the wedding march. As the officiant asked the question, my answer came without hesitation.
"I do," I said, clear and certain.
This was the first time I'd defied my family's wishes since choosing Jonah. I'd always trusted my judgment—after all, my parents raised me better than to make foolish choices. But reality had proven me painfully wrong. I'd been blind.
For six years, I'd poured my heart into loving Jonah, only to be left with scars—both emotional and physical.
The doctor had warned me: even after healing, a mark would remain. I accepted it without protest—the price of chasing a love that never truly existed.
The signs had been there all along. Jonah always dodged visits to my parents with flimsy excuses. Dad never liked him, and Mom voiced her doubts constantly.
Gerald? He did the opposite. He made a point to visit—playing chess with Dad, chatting with Mom, treating them with nothing but respect. Despite his feelings for me, he never overstepped or pressured me.
If only I'd paid attention sooner.
As we exchanged rings, Gerald's gaze never left mine. In his eyes, there was only me.
A man who cherished me this deeply—who put me first even when I didn't deserve it—was someone worth building a life with. Even without love, there was trust and respect. And I trusted my parents' judgment.
Because of my injury, some wedding games were scrapped. But the ceremony was every bit as lavish as Jonah's—maybe more.
Afterward, my parents didn't question my sudden change of heart. They simply hugged me goodbye, whispering, "Take care of him."
The second they left, Gerald didn't waste time. He rushed me to the hospital, where the doctor laid out options for scar treatment. Gerald's jaw stayed clenched the entire time, fists tight. My brother, fresh from seeing our parents home, looked ready to explode.
I reached up, smoothing the worry from both their brows. "The doctor said they'll minimize the scar. It's just a mark—not even on my face. Can you two stop looking like you're at a funeral?"
I kept my tone light, but my brother had already dug up the truth.
Meanwhile, Jonah's wedding had imploded. His calls started hours ago—desperate, frantic, one after another. I ignored every single one.
When he couldn't reach me, he tried my brother.
My brother glanced at his phone. His grip tightened. Then—
"Jonah, you son of a bitch!" he roared, voice shaking the hospital walls. "Who the hell gave you the right to stab my sister?!"
End of My Fiancé's Second Wedding Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Fiancé's Second Wedding book page.