“And if he doesn’t?”
“He’ll keep it down,” Cayce repeats, and in that quiet way he has, the decision is already made.
Aoife gives us the order for the procession, the names of the people who will pretend they know what to do, and the way to step back from the altar so we don’t knock anything over and become a cautionary tale. She runs us through the first exchange. We don’t say vows. We practice where to stand, when to turn, what to do with our hands.
When she calls a break, the room loosens. Men I don’t know pull out phones and pretend they don’t want to be here. Women I don’t know watch me like I’m both a test and a lesson. Pru plops onto the front pew and kicks her foot like she wants to kick a person. Tiernan takes up a spot by the side aisle and answers a text like the phone is lucky to be in his hand. The entire time, his eyes are locked on Pru.
Aoife checks her list. “We run the recessional once and we’re done,” she announces. “Fifteen minutes if you all pretend to be human.”
“I think the bride might need water,” someone says in a voice like a microphone at a bake sale. I don’t, but the idea of refusing kindness in a church feels like blasphemy, so I nod. A younger cousin whose name I don’t know sprints to the sacristy and returns with a paper cup like he’s just done me a favor that makes us family.
Cayce checks the side door and then turns back to me. “We should talk,” he says.
“We are talking.”
“About this,” he says, the thin line of a smile not appearing. “About what it is.”
“The wedding?”
“The marriage,” he corrects. “What it means.”
“I don’t know what it means,” I say, because lying would be pointless and I’m tired of pretending that ignorance is a sin. “Ithought I was going to be a nun. That’s the only set of rules I bothered to learn. I didn’t have anything else to imagine.”
He studies my face, not impatient. “What did you picture?”
“Quiet,” I say. “A small room that was mine. People who didn’t expect me to be useful in ways that hurt. A set of hours that made sense.” I swallow. “Finishing my degree.”
“You’ll finish,” he says like a promise, not a concession. “I’ll fund a department if I have to.”
“I don’t need a building with my name on it. Just a piece of paper.”
“I didn’t say your name.” He tilts his head. “I said fund. I know how to get what I want without putting us on a plaque.”
“What do you want?”
He takes a breath that sits low. “You. In my house. Safe. With work that belongs to you and not to me. With a key that works in every lock. With the ability to tell me when I’m wrong and make it count.”
“That’s a lot of words for a man who only seems to say ten per day.”
“I save them for the right ears,” he says.
I glance down the aisle where Nan is pretending not to scrutinize us. “That’s your grandmother?”
“She is.”
“She told me she’ll be at the wedding,” I say, “and that if I want to run, she’ll help me.”
He nods once. “She told me the price for the bands was giving you a door that isn’t mine to control.”
“And you agreed.”
“I did.” His jaw flexes. “And I am not worried.”
“You should be,” I say.
“Am I so awful?” he asks mildly.
“You’re not awful,” I say. “You’re a choice with a life that would be mine. I think we both know I’m terrible at making the right choices.”
