Chapter 16 Crashing A Wedding

• ​One year later, light streamed through the stained-glass windows of the historic stone chapel, painting the wooden pews in shades of crimson and blue. Tall vases of white roses lined the center aisle.
• ​I stood at the back of the chapel, clutching my bouquet of cream lilies. My dress flowed down in soft lace tiers, trailing behind me as the organist struck the first heavy notes of the bridal march.
• ​Through the open archway at the front, Atticus stood waiting by the altar. He wore a crisp black tuxedo, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. For a man who regularly negotiated complex corporate mergers, his posture looked remarkably stiff, his eyes locked onto mine as if he feared I might vanish into thin air if he blinked.