The wedding was held at Cloudmist Manor.
Along the way, no one dared to cut in line.
The road passed through a field where the verbena grew wildly along the sides.
The sky was a clear shade of blue, with gentle light spilling down to earth, and clusters of small flowers winding through the fences, forming a romantic sea of purple blooms.
It was like stepping into a purple dream of Provencia.
The cars in front all slowed down a bit.
But the bride was sleepy, her chin resting in the groom's palm, sleeping soundly, completely unaware of the romantic scenery outside the window.
The car behind.
Milton Rivers chuckled, "Even the wedding route is planned so whimsically. President Lowell usually seems cold, but his meticulousness is truly impressive."
Zara Leighton responded, "What do you know? You only bother to plan like this for someone you cherish, proving this is true love."
Iris Yates teased, "What did the groom give you to make you his groomsman?"
"My charm."
