Chapter 9 - The Sovereign Vows
The wedding of Nathan Blackwell and Vivian Winters was held not in a high-rise downtown or a cathedral filled with politicians, but on the very lawn where our lives had collided six months prior.
The security teams were still there, hidden discreetly among the ancient oak trees at the edge of the property, but the atmosphere was entirely different. The white gravel drive was lined with cascading white wisterias and amber fairy lights, the music of a single cello drifting over the quiet waters of Lake Michigan.
Every member of the estate staff—from the kitchen preps to the laundry girls who had once been my peers—sat in the front rows as honored guests, side-by-side with the few legitimate corporate leaders Nathan still trusted.
On the morning of the ceremony, I stood before the full-length mirror in the master suite. I wore an ivory gown of French lace that fit closely through the waist, falling into a long, dramatic silk train that swept across the polished floorboards.
The door opened softly, and Ethan stepped into the room, wearing a miniature version of his father’s black tuxedo. He walked to my side without a single trace of his limp, his small face glowing with a pride that made my eyes fill with tears.
"You look like a princess, Vivi," he said, reaching up to hand me a single yellow rose from the garden.
"And you look like the most handsome best man in Chicago," I whispered, kneeling down to fix his silk bowtie. "Are you ready to walk me down the aisle, Ethan?"
"Yes," he said, holding his arm out with a tiny, aristocratic flourish that made me laugh. "Daddy’s been standing at the altar for an hour. Vance said he’s nervous, but I told him you wouldn't run away because you love the horse sounds too much."
May you like
As the heavy glass doors of the conservatory opened, and the guests rose to their feet, I took Ethan’s hand. We walked out onto the green turf together, our steps synchronized, our eyes fixed on the man waiting at the end of the white carpet.
Nathan stood before the flower arch, his hands clasped in front of him. The moment his gaze settled on my face, the fearsome don of the Chicago syndicate entirely vanished. His lips parted slightly, his blue eyes reflecting a devotion so pure and absolute it made the surrounding crowd disappear.
