The PROXY Groom

CHAPTER VII: The Wedding Day

The morning sun streamed through the tall church windows, illuminating the rows of white chairs meticulously arranged for the ceremony. Flowers bloomed along the aisle, their scent sweet and subtle, but none of it could calm the tension thrumming through Maxine’s chest.

Guests arrived, greeting each other with smiles and polite chatter, oblivious to the storm that had erupted in Maxine’s life the day before. Co-workers exchanged whispers, friends nodded at each other, but everyone assumed today would be a typical, joyous wedding.

Except for her parents.

“Where is she?” her mother whispered, worry etched into every line of her face. Her father’s hand gripped hers tightly, knuckles white. “We haven’t been able to contact her since yesterday. Something isn’t right…”

Instinct screamed at them that Maxine was in trouble, but before they could act, the rumble of a white car echoed outside the church. Heads turned. Conversations halted.

The doors opened, and Maxine stepped out, resplendent in her elegant white wedding gown. The intricate lace hugged her figure perfectly, the train flowing behind her as if she were gliding rather than walking. Every detail was flawless. Every step calculated.

For a heartbeat, all worry dissipated. She looked like the bride everyone expected, calm and radiant, as if nothing had happened at all.

Except… the groom was missing.

Where was he? Where was the man everyone had expected to see waiting at the altar? A murmur spread through the guests, eyes darting nervously. Questions whispered from lips pressed together.

Maxine’s parents exchanged a quick glance, concern flickering in their eyes. But she smiled at them softly, brushing their worry aside. She bent down, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks.

“I promise,” she whispered, “I’ll explain everything after the ceremony.”

Her words were a lifeline, a temporary balm to their unease. With a calm nod, they released her hands, allowing her to begin the walk down the aisle.

And there he stood.

Roman Estillore.

The very man she had argued with, plotted against, and now… now waiting for her at the altar. His posture was perfect, shoulders squared, hands lightly clasped in front of him. His expression was gentle, calm, but with that faint, controlled intensity that Maxine knew too well. He acted the part of the loving groom flawlessly, every movement precise, every glance directed to make the audience believe they were in love.

Gasps and whispers rippled through the guests. Co-workers, friends, even distant relatives leaned forward, trying to reconcile the man standing there with the rival they knew in the office.

“Is… is this a joke?” someone whispered. Another shook their head, lips pursed in disbelief.

Maxine kept her composure, her gaze fixed straight ahead. Her heart raced, her fingers tightening around the edges of her bouquet, but she maintained the façade. Step by step, she moved forward, letting Roman’s presence guide her as if he were the anchor she desperately needed.

The co-workers exchanged glances, puzzled. “They must have planned this,” one muttered, “after all that rivalry at work… it’s some kind of surprise!”

Maxine allowed herself the briefest of smiles, glancing at them subtly, though she whispered only to her parents, “I’ll explain everything after the wedding.” Her voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of secrecy.

As she reached the altar, Roman’s eyes met hers, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips. Every guest’s gaze followed, convinced that the love between them was real, that this had been their secret plan all along. Roman reached out, taking her hand with careful gentleness, guiding her closer.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. The whispering crowd faded, leaving only the two of them standing together, bound by circumstance, by necessity, and now by a performance that needed to be flawless.

Her parents watched closely, relief and confusion mingling in their expressions. They could see the subtle reassurance in Roman’s actions—how he held her hand just right, how he angled his body protectively, and how he smiled warmly at her, as if she were truly the bride he loved.

The murmurs of the guests continued, but none dared interrupt. They were captivated by the spectacle—by the couple who, despite obvious tension in their eyes, exuded the illusion of love.

Roman leaned slightly closer to Maxine, whispering just enough for her to hear, “Just follow my lead. Everything else will fall into place.”

She nodded subtly, though her pulse thundered in her ears. Every step, every gesture had to be perfect, convincing, flawless. She played the part of the radiant bride, hiding the fear, the confusion, and the heartbreak that still clawed at her from within.

Finally, the music swelled, and Maxine’s parents took a step back, allowing her to stand fully at the altar. Roman straightened, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. Their eyes met again, and for the guests, it was the image of perfect harmony, a couple in love, ready to be united.

The priest cleared his throat, his voice steady as he began the ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Maxine…”

A soft gasp rippled through the audience as he paused, hesitating slightly. Roman’s hand tightened around Maxine’s, almost imperceptibly, and he whispered softly, “Trust me.”

“…And Roman Valloso—” the priest began, but Roman interrupted lightly, correcting with calm authority, “Estillore. Roman Estillore.”

A ripple of laughter and whispers ran through the guests. Some assumed even the priest was joking, misnaming the groom in a playful gesture. Others raised eyebrows, trying to reconcile what they were hearing with what they expected.

Maxine’s parents exchanged another glance, worry still present but tempered by the sight of Roman acting with care and respect.

As the ceremony progressed, Roman maintained his role perfectly. Every glance, every word, every gentle squeeze of her hand made the guests believe—made everyone think they were seeing true love, not a forced arrangement born from desperation and necessity.

And when the priest finally prompted for vows, Maxine’s breath hitched. This was not part of the plan. She froze, expecting to be saved, but Roman leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was deep, passionate, perfectly timed, and it drew a collective gasp from the audience. Then came the applause—loud, enthusiastic, and unrelenting. Roman held her close, guiding her effortlessly into the performance of a lifetime, his calculated actions hiding every trace of the hidden agenda behind a mask of love.