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Not that he is much to look at. The man is of an average height, with dark brown hair and light blue eyes. Women might find his type attractive, but as a businessman, he screams smarmy to me, and I wonder what Charlotte possibly sees in him.
Even from here, I can see his bow is a little crooked, and his shirt is untucked from various angles. His pants are wrinkled, and there are creases on his vest. He looks terribly untidy, as if he just rolled out of bed in the tux. This is not usual for someone that is about to get married.
My eyes narrow at the tufts of hair that he was unable to slick down. It almost looks like he had a quickie in some closet or something.
I have a bad feeling that I can’t shake off. His appearance is not normal.
However, it is at that very moment the band starts playing the wedding march, and I can’t help myself as I turn around to see Charlotte enter.
I usually pride myself on being a very cool and composed man. I have to be, considering I am the CEO of a successful company and amongst the wealthiest men in Chicago.
But even so, I feel myself gaping as Charlotte enters the room, her beautiful features set in a happy smile, and her white dress emphasizing her form and yet making her seem modest. There are no frills on that dress, something I failed to note before, just embroidered white roses on the edges of the gown. The simplicity just makes her shine more, and I hold my breath.
I quickly turn around, not wanting her to see me looking at her like that. My eyes catch the groom staring at her and then he quickly turns to look at the brunette again.
My fingers tap on my leg, and my instincts scream at me that this whole thing is going to go south within minutes.
Charlotte doesn’t notice me while she passes by. She walks gracefully to the altar, murmuring something to the priest, who beams at her. It doesn’t escape me that she has no one to give her away, and I clench my teeth.
I watch as Agatha accepts the bouquet from her; her pink dress is very understated, which is something new for my sister, who believes in flash and glamour. However, she just delicately dabs at a corner of her eye and smiles broadly as the ceremony begins.
Everything runs smoothly, until the priest asks, “Do you, Erik take Charlotte to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
As if a trigger was just pulled, things went downhill from there.
I start to rise from my seat, recalling the conversation in the hall with horror coursing through my veins, a bad premonition, just as Erik smirks at Charlotte and says, “No.”
Everybody freezes.
Charlotte blinks, and she raises a hand to touch his wrist as if she is trying to understand, when he slaps her hand away.
“Don’t touch me. I don’t want to make you my wife. God, woman, I can hardly fuck you.”
Charlotte’s face grows white as she takes a trembling step back.
I am on my feet just as Agatha rushes to Charlotte’s side.
“Erik.”
His name leaves Charlotte’s lips in a pleading whisper that I can’t stand, but the man isn’t done yet, his lips twisting into an ugly sneer.
“What the fuck would I do with a barren woman like you?”
Barren?
The word barely processes in my mind as I see the broken look on Charlotte’s face, and I find my feet moving.
From the corner of my eye, I see the brunette stand up and make her way out into the aisle, just as the groom walks down the steps leaving his shattered fiancée behind. He barely takes one step towards the brunette woman before I throw my fist in his face, making him fall to the ground with the force of the blow.
Fury pours through me, my blood boiling at the cruelty this man just inflicted on Charlotte. My body rages at the injustice, my protective streak when it comes to this woman in full boil, demanding blood.
I hear the startled cries and the scream of the brunette woman, who turns to look at me and gasps in recognition, her hands going to cover her mouth. I give her a cold look, a part of me knowing she has something to do with this.
Erik groans from his position on the ground, his groomsmen running over to help him up. None of them speak a word. Erik’s nose is bleeding, and he squints through his hands that are trying to stem the blood flow.
“Who the fuck – I’m going to sue you, you fucking bastard!”
“Go ahead,” I invite him calmly, letting him see the violence simmering just beneath the surface. None of his friends defend him.
