Page 48 of The Temporary Bride

Tristan stands at the altar, a vision of timeless elegance in his impeccably tailored wedding suit. The deep navy fabric clings to his athletic frame, emphasizing broad shoulders and a strong, commanding presence. The jacket is expertly cut, the lines crisp and clean, conveying a sense of sophistication that mirrors the grandeur of the occasion.

But despite that grandeur, there’s a relaxed grace to Tristan’s appearance. He seems calm—utterly composed, exuding an aura of quiet strength.

The journey down the aisle feels like a lifetime compressed into minutes. As I approach Tristan, I glance at his face, searching for any sign of the man I barely know, hoping to find a glimpse of the connection we’re supposed to share. His eyes meet mine, and for a fleeting moment, I catch a spark of something—a flicker of vulnerability that mirrors my own.

I reach Tristan at the end of the aisle, his eyes meeting mine with a warmth that momentarily eases my nerves. The ceremony is about to begin, and I take my place beside him. It’s then that the realization strikes—my bad ear is facing the priest.

Shit. I hadn’t accounted for this.

All of my careful planning, all of my mind’s eye visions of how this wedding would go, and I never considered that I might not even be able to hear the instructions for my vows.

Tristan takes my hands in his. I try to hide the momentary panic that shoots across my face, but I think he sees it anyway. His mouth pulls tight, and despite his measured expression, I can see the concern in his gaze.

The ceremony begins, and a hushed anticipation settles over the gathered guests. I strain to hear the priest’s prompts, but the words blur into an indistinct murmur. Anxiety creeps in as I worry about missing my cues.

The delicate notes of the string quartet fill the air, creating an ethereal backdrop to the moment. Of course, I can hear them just fine, as well as the quiet murmurs of the gathered crowd, but I’m straining to sharpen the muffled sound of the priest’s voice beside me.

I can make out “we are gathered here today,” but the rest of that sentence is a muddle. After that, there’s something about “if anyone has reason to object to this union, please…”

I glance out at the crowd, wondering with a touch of dread if someone will rise to their feet. No one does, even though I can think of about a million reasons why they might.

The priest speaks again, but I can’t make out his words. I only realize he was talking to me after a few seconds, when I meet Tristan’s gaze and see the worry swimming in his blue eyes.

I turn my head toward the priest, positioning my ear awkwardly in his direction. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, quietly enough that the crowd won’t be able to hear me—though I know Tristan will. “Could you please repeat that?”

The priest offers me a benign smile, then says, “Please repeat after me and take your vows, madam.”

“Of course.”

As he starts reciting the vows, I follow along, my voice matching his cadence. “I, Chloe Dawson, take you, Tristan Thorne, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

The words sound hollow to me, rote and rehearsed, lacking the depth and spontaneity I imagine true vows should possess. I glance at Tristan, and he smiles reassuringly, his eyes urging me to continue.

He seemed so genuinely worried a moment ago, like he thought that I was about to refuse. Why would he think that? We’ve come this far, haven’t we? I’m not about to back out of this commitment now.

As Tristan takes his vows, he speaks slowly and clearly, and for some reason the words don’t seem as hollow this time.

“I, Tristan Thorne, take you, Chloe Dawson, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

I swallow as the priest nods in satisfaction.

“You may now exchange rings,” he instructs us.

The metal is cool against my skin as Tristan slides the ring onto my finger. I place the other ring on his finger, and it glides over his knuckles. The garden feels very quiet, just the sound of the breeze moving through the trees and the distant call of birds somewhere beyond the topiary.

Then the priest smiles, gesturing between the two of us.

“By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Chapter 16

Tristan

When the priest says “husband and wife,” something happens in my chest that I can’t quite explain.

There’s relief in it, because when Chloe hesitated before her vows, my gut twisted hard and I was certain she was about to back out, throwing my entire future into chaos. But it wasn’t just the CEO position I was thinking of. Standing here, holding her hands in front of everyone and watching that flicker of uncertainty cross her face, my family’s company and my position in it were the last thing on my mind.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest adds, and I barely wait for him to finish the sentence. I tug on Chloe’s hand, pulling her flush against me, palm the back of her head, and kiss her.