The rehearsal breaks for real. People drift toward the doors. The candles dim with the cooling air. Cayce puts a palm at the small of my back—public, light, nothing anyone could complain about—and steers me toward the side exit where the cars idle.
“Caterina,” Nico says behind us. I stop because I’m polite and because I want this finished.
He steps closer, eyes trying to soften in a way that probably works on girls who like being second. “You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly. “There are other ways to belong.”
“I don’t intend to belong to anyone,” I say. “I intend to decide.”
His gaze flicks to Cayce’s hand where it hovers, and for a second something mean shows. “Decide quick,” he says. “Before the ring he binds you with makes decisions for you.”
“Walk,” Cayce says to me, and I do. Nico doesn’t follow.
Outside, the cold wakes my arms. The car door opens. Cayce waits for me to get in first. I do, because picking the wrong hill to die on is bad strategy.
As the door shuts, my phone buzzes. A message from an unknown number pings the top of the screen:
Unknown: Enjoy your last night out. We’ll buy you a drink.
I don’t show him immediately. I read it twice. The threat is so subtle it makes my skin itch and tighten.
“Problem?” Cayce asks.
“Maybe.” I hold up the screen so he can see. He takes the phone, reads, passes it back.
“Block the number,” he says calmly. “Then text Tiernan exactly what it said.”
“Won’t that cause…drama?” I ask.
“It will cause planning,” he says. “Drama is what happens when men who don’t plan are surprised.”
I forward the message to Tiernan, and then block the number. Pru’s car pulls in behind us; I can see her through the glass, talking with her hands and making Aoife laugh against her will. Tiernan is already on his phone, that steady face turned toward the wind.
“You’ll still go,” Cayce says. “You’ll still have your night.”
“You don’t have to let me,” I say, just to hear what he’ll do with the sentence.
“I’m not letting you do anything,” he says. “I’m not your father. I’m your partner. And I’m going to be your husband.”
The word lands in my ribs and sits there like something I might get used to. The car pulls away from the curb. The church disappears in the rear window. Ahead of us, the city starts lighting up for night.
I’m added to a group chat with Pru and Aoife
Pru:WE’RE DOING THIS. AND I’M STEALING A CENTERPIECE.
Aoife:Don’t tell the groom.
I look at Cayce and keep my face straight. “What if someone steals a centerpiece?”
“I’ll let Aoife fight that war,” he says. “I’m saving my energy.”
“For?”
“Tomorrow,” he says. “And for anyone who thinks they’re buying you a drink tonight.”
“Maybe I’ll let them,” I say, because the small rebellions feel like air being pulled into my lungs.
He turns his head a fraction. “Let them try,” he says. “Then tell me which hand to break.”
I shouldn’t like that. But I really, really do.
