HALLOWED LOVE

CHAPTER 4: THE VOWS

A month ago I was trying to process the fact that I would be getting married soon and today, am in the chapel preparing to get married to a man I know next to nothing about no less. I don't even get to have my fairy tale wedding, but I will try to make this marriage work for both of us.

The chapel smelled faintly of white lilies and polished wood, a scent Jasmine had always associated with sacred moments, baptisms, confirmations, quiet prayers whispered in pews long after services had ended. Today, that same scent wrapped around her like a question she still hadn’t answered.

She stood in the bridal suite, her wedding gown draped over her body like a promise she wasn’t sure she was ready to keep. The dress was exquisite, custom-made, modest yet elegant, its long sleeves adorned with delicate lace that spoke of tradition and reverence. Her mother had insisted on every detail being perfect.

Perfection, however, felt hollow.

Jasmine’s hands trembled slightly as her maid of honor, Lydia, adjusted her veil.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Lydia said gently, meeting Jasmine’s gaze in the mirror. “Anyone else would be glowing.”

Jasmine forced a small smile. “I’m… processing.”

“That’s understandable,” Lydia replied carefully. “Arranged marriage. Powerful families. A groom you barely know.” She hesitated. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Jasmine’s smile faded.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”

Lydia studied her for a moment, then squeezed her hands. “Then I’ll pray that whatever this marriage begins as… it becomes something good.”

Jasmine nodded, her throat tightening.

When the chapel doors finally opened, the soft swell of the organ filled the air. Guests rose to their feet, turning to watch her walk down the aisle. Faces blurred together, family friends, business associates, dignitaries who viewed this ceremony as more of a strategic alliance than a sacred union.

Her father stood beside her, offering his arm. His grip was firm, reassuring, as though silently reminding her that this path, however difficult, was one he believed was right.

“Are you sure?” he murmured as they took their first step forward.

Jasmine didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be faithful.”

It wasn’t quite an answer but it was the truth.

Her eyes lifted instinctively to the altar.

That was when she saw him.

Adrian Marc stood tall in a tailored black suit, his posture impeccable, his expression carved from stone. He looked every inch the confident business tycoon the world knew him to be, controlled, distant, untouchable. If nerves stirred beneath his composed exterior, he gave no indication.

Their eyes met.

For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across his face, curiosity, perhaps. Or caution.

Jasmine’s heart fluttered, not with excitement, but with the weight of finality. This was the man she would call her husband. Not because love had drawn them together, but because obligation had pushed them onto the same path.

She reached the altar, and her father placed her hand into Adrian’s.

His palm was warm. Solid. Grounded.

And yet, she felt the space between them immediately, an invisible barrier built from years of solitude and self-protection.

The pastor began the ceremony, his voice steady and calm as he spoke of marriage as a covenant, not merely between two people, but before God. Jasmine listened intently, clinging to every word like a lifeline.

Adrian, on the other hand, seemed distant, his gaze focused straight ahead, his jaw clenched slightly as though enduring rather than embracing the moment.

When it came time for the vows, Jasmine’s breath caught.

She turned to face him fully, her heart pounding as she spoke.

“Adrian Marco,” she began, her voice soft but unwavering, “today, I stand before you with honesty and faith. I promise to honor you, to pray for you, and to stand by you not just in moments of joy, but in times of uncertainty and struggle. I promise to be patient, to forgive, and to choose love, even when it is difficult.”

Her voice wavered slightly on the last words, but she didn’t stop.

“I give you my commitment, not because this journey will be easy, but because I believe God can work through even the most unexpected beginnings.”

A murmur rippled softly through the chapel.

Adrian blinked, visibly caught off guard.

When it was his turn, he paused for a fraction of a second long enough for Jasmine to notice.

“I… accept this marriage,” he said finally, his tone measured. “I vow to provide, to protect, and to respect you as my wife. I will uphold my responsibilities and ensure stability for our family.”

His vows were precise. Controlled. Carefully chosen.

There was no mention of love.

Jasmine swallowed, steadying herself. She reminded herself that love could grow. That faith required patience.

When the pastor pronounced them husband and wife, polite applause filled the chapel.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Adrian hesitated.

The pause was brief barely noticeable, but to Jasmine, it felt endless.

Then he leaned forward, pressing a light, restrained kiss to her lips. It was respectful. Chaste. Almost formal.

Not the kiss of a man in love.

As they turned to face the guests, cameras flashed, capturing a moment that looked perfect from the outside. Smiles. Elegance. Power.

But beneath Jasmine’s calm exterior, her heart trembled.

The reception passed in a blur of congratulations and obligatory dances. Adrian played his role flawlessly, charming when required, attentive when observed. His hand rested lightly at the small of her back, a gesture meant for appearances more than intimacy.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured as they stood side by side greeting guests.

“So are you,” she replied.

Their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, something almost like understanding passed between them.

Later, as the evening drew to a close, Jasmine slipped away to a quiet corner of the venue, her heels aching, her emotions frayed. She clasped her hands together, bowing her head.

“Lord,” she whispered, “I don’t know what this marriage will become. But I trust You to walk with me through it.”

Footsteps approached.

She looked up to find Adrian standing a short distance away, his expression guarded but thoughtful.

“The car is ready,” he said. “We’re leaving for the penthouse.”

She nodded, gathering herself. “Thank you.”

As they walked together toward their new life, Jasmine felt the weight of the vows she had made settle fully upon her heart.

This marriage had begun without love.

But as she silently prayed beneath the night sky, she chose to believe that beginnings, no matter how imperfect did not determine the ending.

And somewhere deep within Adrian, though he would never admit it, her unwavering faith stirred something long dormant.

Something unsettled. Something dangerous. Hope.