MR. PEASANT TRILLIONAIRE

Chapter 8: A New Love

 The Langston open field had been decorated to the nines-or so the planners had intended.

Each of the twelve ivory rose and pale gold floral pillars that marched the length of the yard, stood dressed in the most diaphanous white silk. Each floral arrangement, twined through the ivory roses, connected in three varied sizes of diamond and crystal chandeliers suspended by arches, strung over the rows of precisely arranged plump chairs spread over the lawn, their lights flickering in the light of the diminishing sun. Business moguls, politicians, and socialites alike sat face to face, awaiting the biggest wedding of the society season.

Right in the center of it all sat a giant floral altar at the end of a long, white aisle, complete with white flowers. The scene could have been a wedding advertisement, and was picture-perfect.

It was just not for the bride.

Bianca stood at the opposite end of the white aisle from the guests and bridegroom who would be arriving in a few moments, her face almost invisible beneath her thin veil. Her dull, empty eyes could be seen just behind the material, as Bianca clutched her wedding bouquet in her shaking hands. The excited murmurs and amused, knowing glances from the audience did not register with Bianca who, dressed in the wedding dress and simple, ivory veil, seemed like a vision of perfection to them all. There was no longing, no happiness. Just an empty, gaping pain she couldn’t even give a name to.

“Smile.” Her mother’s voice was sharp next to her ear, and she gently squeezed Bianca’s arm, pushing Bianca’s lips into an imperceptible frown that counted as a smile. Bianca obeyed. That was all she had done ever since the divorce had been final; obeyed.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The officiant’s booming voice carried across the lawn, and every single person’s eyes flew to the middle of it all. “We are gathered here today...“

The crunch of tires on gravel suddenly stopped him. From a distance, the sound of a car, nearing the decoration installation, echoed through the very still, quite silent room. A standard, black Uber steadily pulled up just past the grand entrance arch that marked the entrance to the open field, and the elaborate floral altar. Nobody flinched. Nobody dared to breathe. It felt horribly wrong, wrong timing, and wrong person all at once. 

George sat there, eyes fixed ahead. The music. The chatter. The life he had lost-all right there in front of him. Kyla adjusted herself next to George and scanned the ostentatious setup.

 "So," Kyla stated finally, with a look at the grim-faced George, "this is where it ends-or starts?" George’s jaw tightened as he looked ahead. His fingers balled slightly on his knee before George breathed a long, drawn-out, silent breath, and said: “Neither. It burns.”

The driver turned slightly in his seat, and announced: "We are here." George slowly put his hand on the door handle. He paused, as if entering the car itself was crossing some invisible, irreversible boundary-and perhaps it was. He put his hand to the door handle again.

Click. The sound echoed through the still, tensely silent, wide-open lawn. The present and the past collided with each other, once again.

He burst through the door. And was outside. 

George. It was one of those times at a noisy reception where the world goes silent. And he was not alone. He had already taken the hand of the woman beside him firmly into his own grasp.

 Kyla. Dressed in her black gown and shoes with her even blacker expression. She seemed aloof, as she had never been anyone who required being loved. She carried a look of innocent sophistication about her. She was the most natural person George had ever met. 

Despite the staring eyes of every guest in that room; the attention of everyone in that room was fixed upon the two of them. 

The reception remained frozen for a few seconds. A muffled roar of disbelief rippled through the crowd; 

Mrs. Langston stood there as she frowned deeply ankles tightly grasping her silk sleeve. "What is that fool doing here?" she breathed directly into the ear of Bianca's father. 

Bianca gasped, catching her breath in her throat as though it had been stolen from her. Slowly, her breath caught again as Bianca’s eyes flicked upward following the direction of his gaze. 

George. He was with the woman she saw him with a few days ago; the one who had stayed in her mind all morning, who had planted the minuscule poison seed of doubt in her heart that was now a monstrous, writhing creature within her chest.

Bianca’s chest burned, it puffed out with every breath she took. She wasn't imagining this, she wasn't being over-emotional; this was real. Her anger instantly roared to life. 

Not knowing what she was doing, her mind still catching up, Bianca tumbled down from the steps on the altar.

 The entire wedding party appeared to collectively gasp. Marching up to George her heels clapping louder and louder on the soft grass, her anger blinding her. 

"GEORGE!" The cry echoed through the silent field, her shriek sounding like something out of a nightmarish dream. Her gaze met his. Kyla's huge, terrified eyes met hers. 

The entire room grew silent; the music died. George’s grip did not lessen. She felt something break within her. Bianca giggled, short, sharp pants of air escaping her throat; tears burned her eyes.

 "Are you for real?! You dare to show up here with her?" she spat out, her lips curved into a sneer. 

Kyla muttered something in his ear as though it had infuriated her, and Bianca stormed towards them, sneering again. "You think this is a joke?!" She swiped quickly at Kyla, only for George to quickly grab her arm before her hand reached Kyla's cheek. 

"Do not.....lay your hand on her," George said sternly, shocking Bianca and every one.