The Charismatic Lucien Wood

“Will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the holy covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her so long as you both shall live? If so, answer—I will."

"I will," the muscled, dashing male, standing arrogantly before the young priest answers and smiles at his bride, feeling so enthusiastic because his plans are going swimmingly as he had planned them. Merely the thought of the things he was going to accomplish from his marriage to the bride before him sends chills through him as he keeps smiling sheepishly.

“Will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the holy covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him so long as you both shall live? If so, answer—I will."

A deafening silence meets the words of the young priest as the charming gorgeous bride snaps her mouth shut and lowers her head as tears trickle down her cheeks in waves, ruining her lovely makeup and rendering her a mess of herself.

"Why ain’t she saying anything?"

"Isn’t she happy that she’s getting married to a billionaire hot guy like him?"

"Is she sobbing?"

"Perhaps she still loves her good-for-nothing ex that left her and ran away…"

"I’m sorry to say this but she’s a fool if that’s the case! I just wish I was in her shoes…" The aesthetic attendees relaxing in the nave on their various couches start murmuring shamelessly without an ounce of care considering the fact that the bride might be hearing their babbles.

"Anything wrong, young lady?" The young priest asks with both brows quirked disconcertingly.

All this while the heart of the groom keeps thumping rapidly. Beads of sweat suddenly appear all over his face and his pulse quickens. His lips keep moving in several directions but no word comes out.

He stares at her with misty eyes almost about to speak out but shuts his mouth when she raises her face to stare at him.

The bride, noticing his expression, shakes her head in declination, sniffing in the mucus that is beginning to drop out of her nose. "I will," she answers and gently wipes off her tears with her fingers.

‘So happy my plans have once again continued! I can’t wait! Gosh, I can’t wait!’ The groom thinks, slightly raises his shoulders, and inwardly smirks.

"Good! Our bride just responded! Let the murmuring seize!"

The murmurings seize at the holler of the young priest and everywhere becomes silent as if in a graveyard. The young priest having put the murmurings to order, glances at the bride and clears his throat.

"Now, you will say whatever I say after I’m done young lady, and put your name where you should. So goes to you, young man. I, ____, take you, ____, to be my lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

The bride stares at him, at her husband-to-be, and as well at her parents who are sitting a few steps away from her, in the adorned front seat, with smiles on their faces and sighs. She breathes in and out several times before clearing her throat.

"I, Juliet Pearson, take you, Brooks Miller, to be my lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part," she whispers with tears in her eyes and with an aching heart but instead of showing compassion, the attendees begin clapping and cheering her, turning blind eyes to her tears.

The young priest waves at them and just as in the first, the cheering ceases and everywhere becomes calm. "Go on, Mr. Miller. Make your confession."

Brooks smiles as if he has been waiting for this all his life and clears his throat. "I, Brooks Miller, take you, Juliet Pearson, to be my lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

The face of the young priest stretches into a radiating smile and he takes the rings from the hands of the ring bearer, then raises them above his head. "Though small in size, these rings are large in significance. Made of precious metal, they remind us that love is not cheap, nor common; indeed love is to be cherished…" he halts, stares at them, and continues. "While saying this, exchange your rings; With this ring, I thee wed."

He hands the rings to them a few minutes later and waves at them to go on.

From the western door, just as Brooks is about to put the given ring on his bride’s finger, a figure walks into the church—

It’s a man, a gold-colored long, soft, silky-haired man who has the face of an Adonis with eyes as deep as the deep blue sea currently storming with a glare. He’s handsome and gorgeous, apparently two inches taller than six feet, barrel-chested, and due to his tightly tattered top one can easily figure out that he works out with his overbearing six-packs, though he is not all that muscled. As his legs draw on the tiled floor noisily, all eyes turn to him including that of the priest, and the couple.

The man looks fray, yet he manages to garner the attention of everyone around.

The eyes of the attendees, her parents, Juliet, and even the priest widen at the very sight of him and they swallow lumps of spittle. Their mouths water as they stare at him keep moving and their pulse quickens. Just a stare at him sends electric shivers through them and makes them adjust in their seats.

"Is that really him…"

"He looks so toned and mystical now…"

"Has he been training…"

"Doesn’t matter though, he’s still an asshole…"

"I can’t believe he came back after everything…"

"What is he even doing here…"

"Look at how he is…"

"He’s still poor and wretched…"

"He has no shame! They should throw him out…"

The tall man that just walked in chuckles at the sound of the murmurings and without bothering to say anything, starts strolling towards Juliet who has suddenly turned so pale that she is now more like a white sheet of paper.

"Lucien," Juliet breathes and rushes to him, stopping him mid-way.

She traces her hands all over his face to his neck down to his chest as if she is seeing a ghost and a drop of tear trickles down her cheek.

"It’s really you! It’s really you, Lucien! You came back! You came back," she whimpers and abruptly faints dropping into his arms.