Matthew felt he should walk away, leave her alone, but this was to be their wedding night. Even if she threw something at him in her anger, he had to face her. He grasped the doorknob, turned it, and began to open the door. Then he heard it. A soft, helpless sob. A bride should not be crying on her wedding day. Even he knew that. His mother and father had reputedly been filled with joy at their wedding—and it had gone sour. What hope for happiness was there when the bride began her new life in tears? He pushed the door open the full way. “Don’t cry, Octavia,” he said gently. Octavia was seated on the edge of her bed, wearing her gown. She looked up; her eyes were red and puffy, and tears had streaked down her cheeks, leaving glistening traces. Damn. What words were there? Just the lies he could give her. Maybe, if he told her he loved her, if he pretended he was capable of it, he would stop her tears. Or maybe he needed to distract her. “There are some advantages in being a bride,”
