Betting with the Bride

Prologue

The satin tulle sways against her ankles as she twirls in a complete circle. Astonished, Ivory trails her emerald green eyes leisurely over the mirror's image of the beautiful, white gown, and she wonders how in the world anyone could ever create a mesmerizing masterpiece out of plain fabric. Standing on the slightly raised pedestal in the dressing room, she can't help but feel out of place, as if she's in the wrong picture. The expensive gown is way out of her budget, but yet she's wearing it. Her maid of honor, a complete stranger, gracefully places Ivory's white, transparent veil on her perfectly styled, dull brown hair, and drapes it over her face.

Agitated, Ivory turns to face the grinning bridesmaid, "Should I feel like this, on edge?"

The blonde slightly nods with a flawless smile. "That means you love him," she informs a trembling Ivory.

But I can't. I promised not to, and my promises are kept. I'm not allowed to love him. The deal clearly states it; the deal the handsome devil dealt me, or as some prefer to call him, Hunter Richardson. As two men dressed in black suits open the grand double doors, I exhale deeply, and wonder if all this would've happened if I hadn't filled in for the waitress at the café.

Picture of Hunter to the side!