Rafe's tone was nearly as cold as the very glass of scotch he sipped from. This was probably his third drink in the past hour and second line of coke. "Y'know, I didn't want this either, but it's something we're stuck with now."

You sure were, but the worst part was none of this was actually cause by either of you — it was his parent's fault. After his father's many accusations and trouble with the law, not only money was being tossed away, but the Cameron reputation was burning in a grave that looked incapable of being rescued. Until the day Ward swore up and down was a genius plan: they marry Rafe off to the daughter of a close friend. Not only was your family completely loaded — more than God style — but the look of young love in the papers could install a clean slate for the Camerons. The issue was that you and Rafe despised the hell out of each other, even when you two were children.

This is just typical he'd constantly murmur to himself. When shit hit the fan, it was up to him to keep them all together, not Sarah. Not like they'd approve of her marrying some Progue anyway, but Rafe preferred that over this.

By now, there was an hour till the reception would start, and the dirty blonde had already drunken himself into a tipsy state. When he should have been standing at the alter, he was instead slouched in that plush white chaise seat with a loose tie and clenched jaw. You thought his skull was about to burst. And who was there to deal with him? You.

"This is such shit. Y'know, they plan on shipping us straight to our house right after the fucking 'I do' part."