The Ghost at the Altar
We continued our march toward the front. According to Eleanor’s meticulous, cruel planning, I was meant to slink through the side paths, completely unnoticed, and bury myself at Table 27 by the kitchen doors.
Instead, I walked right down the main aisle, leading my triplets directly toward the altar where the groom was waiting.
Ethan stood near the flower-entwined archway. Beside him was Caroline Hastings, looking radiant but suddenly deeply confused in her custom French lace bridal gown.
When Ethan’s eyes fell upon us, I watched the exact moment his reality fractured.
His gaze drifted from my emerald dress, up to my face, and then down. Down to Liam. To Noah. To Caleb.
His breath hitched. The color left his face so rapidly I thought he might faint right there on the white carpet. His hands dropped to his sides. He took a half-step forward, completely forgetting his bride, completely forgetting the U.S. Senator standing in the front row, completely forgetting the priest.
“Clara…?” his voice was barely a whisper, but in the dead silence of the estate, it echoed.
