Westley You Are Late Chapter 25
The wedding started on time.
The drama in the reception lounge never reached the grand ballroom.
My father walked me down the aisle and placed my hand in Thatcher’s.
His palm was slick with a thin layer of sweat.
I couldn’t help but glance at him.
“Are you nervous?”
His expression was perfectly composed.
“No.”
My father chuckled beside us.
“So stubborn.”
A few people in the front row laughed along with him.
Thatcher leaned his head down toward me.
“Mrs. Sinclair, let me keep some of my dignity.”
I squeezed his hand.
“All right.”
Just before the ceremony began, the ballroom doors opened one last time.
Westley stood at the back of the room.
He didn’t come in.
Across the sea of guests, his eyes found mine and held them.
Only when Thatcher slid the wedding band onto my finger did Westley finally look down.
I drew my gaze away.
The officiant was asking if I would take this man.
I didn’t hesitate.
“I do.”
Thatcher looked at me, and his eyes seemed to ignite from within.
When it was his turn, he answered so quickly that another ripple of laughter went through the room.
But he didn’t seem to hear it.
He was only looking at me.
When it came time for our vows, his were short and to the point.
“In sickness and in health, in happiness or in sorrow, you never have to make yourself agreeable.”
His voice was firm and steady.
“You are allowed to refuse. You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to say no, at any time.”
My eyes suddenly stung.
Once, someone had taken all my compromises for granted.
Thatcher was telling me I never had to retreat again.
I rose on my toes and kissed him before he could kiss me.
By the time the applause erupted, the ballroom doors were closed.
Later, a friend told me Westley had stood outside for a long time.
He had been clenching the diamond ring from the disastrous proposal so tightly that by the time he finally left, the setting had cut into his palm.
But that had nothing to do with me anymore.