Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
The grand pipe organ swelled, filling the vaulted ceilings of St. James Chapel with the majestic chords of the wedding march. The double doors swung open, and Camille Bennett began her walk down the aisle, her arm looped through her father's.
The guests turned to admire her, but the whispers in the pews weren't about the bride. They were about the woman sitting in the very front row, on the groom’s side—a side that had been entirely empty during the rehearsal.
The woman was dressed in a stunning, midnight-blue silk traditional Nigerian outfit, accented with a magnificent, perfectly pleated headtie (gele) that rose like a crown. Around her neck were ropes of flawless, priceless South Sea pearls. She sat with her back perfectly straight, an aura of absolute power and wealth radiating from her very presence.
Camille’s eyes landed on her as she reached the middle of the aisle.
She froze mid-step.
The face was older, yes, but the piercing, intelligent dark eyes were unmistakable. It was the homeless woman from yesterday. The woman she had ordered dragged away. The woman she had thrown a crumpled hundred-dollar bill at.
Camille looked at Adrian.
Adrian stood at the altar, wearing a flawless charcoal-gray suit, his expression completely unreadable. He wasn't looking at Camille. He was looking at the woman in midnight blue with a mixture of reverence, shock, and a deep, blooming understanding.
Harrison tugged Camille’s arm, forcing her to keep moving until they reached the altar. The music faded into a tense, suffocating silence.
The bishop stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now, or else forever hold their peace."
The silence stretched for one second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
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"I object," a rich, resonant voice echoed from the front row.
Ifeoma Okafor stood up.
