The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Thirty-Four

Idon’t really remember the beginning of the ceremony. I don’t remember what the minister said. The scripture that he and the other speakers intoned. Or the hymns from the choir behind us. I don’t remember anything but Eric’s stormy yet unwavering gaze, forceful and unforgiving under the cold, stony light of the cathedral as the minister asked us to swear our intentions for each other.

“Jane Lee Lefferts, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto him as long as you both shall live?”

I nodded. My jaw felt like it was made out of metal, a trap that couldn’t be pried open.

But at last, I said what I had to say.

“I will,” I stated, loud and clear, but through my teeth.

“And, Eric Sebastian Franklin Stallsmith de Vries, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together with her in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?”

Eric stared at me for a long time, long enough that I wondered if he was actually going to say it or cut and run.

“I will,” he said, and his words fell like anvils at my feet.

The officiant turned to the congregation and requested their witness, to which they all replied another resounding, if slightly confused, “We will.” Then he looked back to Eric and me. “Now, you will speak your wedding vows.”

Eric took my hand, clasping it gently between both of his as he spoke the traditional Protestant vows we had both agreed on, repeating after the minister’s quiet voice:

“In the name of God, I, Eric, take you, Jane, to be my wife,” he began in a voice that shook slightly. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This”—he seemed to say it with extra emphasis that made me want to step away—“is my solemn vow.”

I stared for a long time. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t just because of the dress.

“Jane?” the minister prodded gently. “Would you like to say something to Eric?”

I switched hands, ignoring the way his larger one felt between my two. I spoke in a voice that sounded as hollow as the church, light and echoing. Full of nothing.

“In the name of God, I, Jane, take you, Eric, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

My voice cracked over the last word, and in the front row, my mother dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. I sniffed.

“Jane,” Eric whispered.

“Don’t,” I warbled. I couldn’t cry now. I wouldn’t.

We moved through a terse exchange of rings. I stared at the gleaming metal as it slid over my finger, then watched numbly as I slid on Eric’s solid platinum band. I spoke the words I had somehow memorized over the last weeks, but I couldn’t for the life of me understand now. Symbol. Love. Ring. Wed. What did they mean anymore? What had they ever meant?

When we were finished, the minister took my right hand and Eric’s left and put them together. Eric’s ring was cool against my skin. My chin quivered.

“Now that Eric and Jane have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of rings, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Hol—”

“Wait!”

A man’s voice called like thunder through the cathedral, rolling over the drone of the minister, cutting off his final words.

“What the fuck…” Brandon muttered.

“Who is that?” Skylar said sharply.

“Oh, shit…” Brandon muttered as he saw who approached. “Titan?”

Eric turned sharply to his best man. “You knew?”

Brandon glowered. “I was tapped at MIT. I went halfway through initiation before I met this asshole and cut out.”

Skylar popped over my shoulder to glare at her husband. “What? What initiation? What are you talking about?”

Behind her, Nina’s mouth dropped, though she quickly picked it up and resumed a placid expression. In the front row, I caught twin expressions of horror cross the faces of Celeste, Violet, and Heather as they watched the man striding down the aisle. All of them looked like they had just seen a ghost.

The speaker approached, flanked by several others, all of them white, wealthy, and dressed in more exquisite suits, like everyone else in the church. He was older, with a head full of shiny, almost unruly salt-and-pepper hair, and a nose like a hawk. He approached the altar like he was completely in the right to stand there with us, with seemingly no care for the five-thousand-member audience.

“Eric,” said the man.

Eric sighed. “Hello…Carson.”

From her seat in the front pew, Celeste stood up, holding her oxygen to her face as she sputtered. “Jonathan Carson, how dare you! Leave at once!”

The man didn’t turn back to the old woman. He was the only man in the church—maybe the only person in New York—who didn’t respond to her commands. “I’ve come to protect my best friend’s son,” he said without turning. “It seems he’s made a grave mistake today, and we’re here to rectify it.”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Celeste called, and Heather beside her seemed to think the same thing.

“What…what do you mean?” I whispered. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

In the front row, my mother slowly rose, clutching her handkerchief. Too late, I realized she had been crying through the entire ceremony. Now she just looked terrified.

“John?” she called in a small voice that reached us nonetheless.

The older man—Carson—turned slowly, locating the source of the voice. “Hello, Yu Na.”

“John.”

My mother pushed herself up from her chair with great effort. Slowly, she approached the crossing, her gaze flickering between me, Eric, and this strange man.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I think the real question is what are you doing here, Yu Na?” Carson said. “Especially with her. You were told to stay out of my affairs. Did you think this was the way to do it?”

“John. John. I tried, I really tried—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Carson turned to me and nodded, like he was meeting me in a dance out of a Jane Austen novel, not interrupting my wedding. “I suppose now I shall meet my daughter. Hello, Jane.”

My jaw dropped. For once in my life, I couldn’t speak.

“Perhaps another time we shall meet properly,” Carson continued. “Unfortunately, now is not that time. Your fiancé needs to come with us. Now.”

Eric puffed his chest up, recovering his voice. “I’m not going anywhere, Carson,” he said. “I heard Janus’s—well, your commands—and it doesn’t matter. I married her anyway. The minister just said the words. The license is signed. It’s done.”

But Carson didn’t move, didn’t even seem phased.

“Eric,” I whispered to the man still holding my hand with a death grip. It was funny. Five minutes ago, I was dying to be rid of him. Now I only wanted to keep him close. “What is going on?”

Carson just cocked his head like you would to a trained dog. Then he opened his mouth and uttered two words: “Deorum vocas.”

Eric shuddered, then emitted a long, low sigh, like a balloon slowly draining. He turned to me, slowly, and for a minute, his eyes closed, as if he were in pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

And then he dropped my hand and followed the man out of the church, leaving me standing on the altar alone.

The doors echoed behind them when they slammed shut. And then chaos erupted.

“What do you want to do?” Skylar asked as people rose from their seats, chattering, pointing at me, many already moving toward us.

“I—I don’t know.” I turned to the minister. “Am I married? What just happened?”

But the poor man looked just as stumped as I was. “I—I don’t know. We didn’t technically finish…”

“Am I married?” I asked again, to the ushers, Brandon, Skylar, my bridesmaids. Even that smug bitch, Caitlyn Calvert. “Am I married? Someone, tell me!”

But before someone could, there was another cry from the front row.

“Help!” someone shouted from behind the throngs of people.

“Someone, call an ambulance!”

“Is there a doctor in the church?”

“Grandmother!” Nina jumped off the steps and ran down to the first row. Some of the crowd moved aside to allow her to access her grandmother, who lay passed out in her chair.

“Celeste!” I flew down the steps, ignoring the yards of fabric billowing behind me. I reached the frail old woman, slumped in her seat, and placed two fingers at the side of her neck where her pulse should have been.

“Oh, God,” I whispered as I looked at Nina. “Oh, God.”

…

…

“She’s dead.”

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, to all of my readers. I dedicated this book to you because I can’t even count how many of you have emailed me and messaged me, begging for Jane and Eric’s story since I linked those three rough chapters to the end of Legally Ours, over a year ago now. It’s been a long wait. I hope you think it’s worth it. And I REALLY hope you’re not to mad about the cliffhanger. Because it’s me, right? You know what you were getting into.

Secondly, to Danielle and Patricia, who read every chapter of this book as I was writing, offered praise and cheer, ever confident in my abilities even when I was not. Patricia, Eric is all yours, girl. You earned him. Thank you both for your tireless support.

To my dear, dear friends in the author world, without whom I would never be able to last in the landscape of social media: In particular, Jane, Harloe, Kim, and Laura: you are my sisters in this strange, strange business. I cannot wait to squeeze all of you tight. Thanks for indulging my curmudgeonly moments and for not putting up with my shit. Also, thank you to Ava, Sierra, and Claire for being such lovely souls who have allowed me to get to know you and your talents. And to the wonderful authors in the Do Not Disturb Book Club, the Private Party Book Club, the Romance Support Group, the Emerald City Author Chicks, and the Spring Fling Anthology: I am SO delighted to continue these beautiful collaborations with all of you. Thank you for your support.

And of course, to my husband and kids. The Dude is an everlasting source of inspiration for these men. I’m lucky to have him, and even luckier to have his support for this venture. My three kids provide uncountable moments of inspiration and levity. I do this for myself, yes, but also for all of you. You are my heart.