He gazed across the assembled wedding guests—Sanctuary Island’s warm, friendly, quirky residents on the bride’s side…New York’s wealthy elite on the groom’s. In the heart-thumping anticipation of these last few moments before his bride appeared, Miles could barely focus on anything other than the insistent, possessive drive to make Greta Hackley his, now and forever. But since it would probably be bad form to stride up the aisle, tear open the door at the back of the room where she was waiting to make her entrance, and carry her off, Miles forced himself to stand still. Casting about for a distraction, Miles registered the swell of the music as the string quartet began to play the processional piece and the first bridesmaid appeared. His attention snapped to her as recognition and memory filtered through the wedding haze. Ah, yes. Vivian Banks. This should be interesting. It took all of Miles’s control not to turn his head far enough to sneak a glance at the final groomsman standing arrayed behind him.
