The vicious remark swept through Saint Jude’s Cathedral as Rosalie Durham walked down the aisle without a veil, refusing to conceal her face from the hundreds of guests watching her.
At twenty-nine, Rosalie was tall, broad-shouldered, and determined never to shrink herself for anyone. A prominent birthmark stretched across part of her left cheek and down her neck, while her hair had grown noticeably thinner near one temple. Ever since childhood, people had branded her hideous, cursed, and unworthy of love—cruel judgments her own father had helped spread.
That was precisely why she refused to lower her head as she passed nearly two hundred staring guests.
At the altar stood Manuel Nelson, the son of a once-respected businessman whose family name had been dragged through the mud. His father had died after being falsely accused of financial fraud, the family’s money had been frozen, and Manuel’s younger sister had been forced to abandon her university studies.
Then Emmett Durham had appeared with an offer.
He would restore the Nelson family’s reputation and settle every outstanding debt.
There was only one condition.
Manuel had to marry Rosalie.
