Chapter 7 - The Bridal Suite
The wooden floor groaned softly beneath my dress shoes as I walked down the stone gallery toward the bridal suite.
With every step, the sound of Rachel’s voice grew louder, filtering through the thick oak panels.
She wasn't crying.
She was furious.
“I don't care what the protocol office says!” she was shouting, her voice carrying that sharp, shrill edge I remembered from our childhood arguments in Ohio.
“I am five minutes away from becoming a princess!”
“You tell the King’s equerry that if Alexander doesn't walk out to that altar in ten minutes, I am going to the press myself!”
I reached the double doors and signaled Captain Thorne to hold back his men.
“Wait here,” I commanded.
Thorne nodded once and raised his hand, halting the guards in a silent semi-circle behind me.
I pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
The room was enormous, draped in gold damask tapestries with crystal chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceiling.
Racks of designer dresses, makeup tables covered in expensive cosmetics, and silver buckets holding half-empty bottles of vintage champagne were scattered across the Persian rugs.
Four bridesmaids dressed in pale lilac silk were huddled near the window like frightened sparrows.
And standing in the center of the room, looking at her reflection in a three-way gilded mirror, was Rachel.
Her wedding dress was a masterpiece of lace and silk, trailing twelve feet behind her across the floor, covered in thousands of hand-sewn seed pearls.
A diamond tiara on loan from the royal collection sat perched upon her styled dark hair.
She looked breathtaking.
She looked untouchable.
She looked completely monstrous.
“I told you not to bring anyone else in here without—” Rachel snapped, turning around with her hand outstretched to push away whichever servant had entered.
The words died in her throat.
Her hand froze mid-air, trembling against the silk folds of her gown.
The color drained from her face so fast I thought she might collapse onto the floor.
Her eyes, widened in sheer horror, traveled down my frame, taking in the white cover, the high choker collar, the gold stripes on my sleeves, and finally the golden nametag above my pocket.
CARTER.
For ten seconds, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner.
The bridesmaids stared back and forth between us, noticing for the first time the striking similarity in our jawlines, our cheekbones, and the shape of our eyes.
“Emily?” Rachel whispered, the sound barely carrying across the room.
“Hello, Rachel,” I said, my voice completely level, completely calm.
She took an involuntary step backward, the heavy train of her dress tangling around her silver heels.
“You... you can’t be here,” she stammered, her voice shaking violently.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” I agreed, taking three slow steps into the room.
“After all, according to the documents you signed under royal oath, I died in the line of duty two years ago.”
A sharp gasp escaped one of the bridesmaids near the window.
Rachel’s eyes darted frantically toward the open door behind me, looking for her security team, her publicist, anyone who could stop the nightmare unfolding before her.
“Who let you in here?” she hissed, dropping her voice to a harsh, desperate whisper.
“Did you bribe someone?”
“Did you come here to ruin my life?”
“You always hated that I wanted more than that miserable town in Ohio!”
I looked at her, and for the first time in my life, I felt no anger, only an overwhelming sense of pity.
“I didn't want you to stay in Ohio, Rachel.”
“I paid your rent when you couldn't afford groceries in New York.”
“I worked seventy-hour shifts in the engine room so you wouldn't get evicted.”
“And when you invited me to lunch six months ago, I was happy for you.”
“Until you told me that my uniform was embarrassing.”
Rachel’s breathing became rapid and shallow, her diamond tiara trembling against her hair.
“It was for the family!” she cried, tears of pure panic welling in her eyes.
“You don't understand how these people operate, Emily!”
“They judge everything!”
“If they knew my sister was just an ordinary sailor, they would have looked down on me!”
“They would have treated me like trailer trash from the Midwest!”
“I am not an ordinary sailor, Rachel,” I said, my voice cutting through her excuses like an axe.
“I am a Commander in the United States Navy.”
“I earned every single thread on this coat.”
“And the man whose family you are trying to marry into didn't think my service was embarrassing.”
Rachel blinked, confusion cutting through her terror.
“What are you talking about?”
The heavy door behind me swung fully open, and Captain Thorne stepped into the room.
“Commander Carter,” he announced firmly.
“His Majesty the King requests your presence in the Bishop’s Library immediately.”
May you like
He turned his gaze toward Rachel, his eyes cold as granite.
“And you, Miss Carter, are ordered to accompany her.”
