A low sigh, almost inaudible, reached Jessie Sterling's ears due to their proximity.
Victor Morgan didn't tell her not to cry. He simply wrapped an arm around Jessie Sterling's shoulder and, with his other hand, gently pressed her head against his chest.
"If you keep crying, your makeup will run." Victor always had a knack for pinpointing what Jessie cared about most. "I have a handkerchief in my pocket. Take it out and wipe your face."
The bride had looked beautiful walking down the aisle, but you never saw one carrying a pack of tissues.
When Jessie Sterling heard Victor's words, her sorrow seemed to halt mid-stream. She pictured the photos the photographer would take after the wedding—of her, a blubbering mess. Not being able to pick a single decent wedding photo would be a true disaster.
"You're so annoying!" Jessie Sterling didn't refuse Victor's kindness. The man was offering her a sanctuary in his arms, and she didn't want anyone to see her crying.
