She slowly zoned out. She’d attended weddings before, but somehow, she’d never truly absorbed the weight of the ceremony itself. Now, she was standing beside Hugo while promises of faithfulness filled the air around them, every word felt loaded with implications she wasn’t prepared to face.
“Do you, Hugo Alexander, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?”
“I do.” Hugo’s voice was steady, certain, his amber eyes never leaving her face.
He sounds so sure. Like this means something to him beyond mere convenience.
“And do you, Sybil Margaret, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?”
Till death do us part.The words stuck in her throat. How could she promise something so permanent for what was supposed to be a practical solution?
“I do,” she whispered then repeated it more clearly. “I do.“
Hugo’s thumb brushed across her knuckles—a brief touch that might have been reassurance or something else entirely.
“The rings, if you please.”
Hugo produced a gold band set with diamonds that caught the light brilliantly. She hadn’t expected anything so costly, so obviously permanent.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” he said, sliding it onto her finger with deliberate care. “With my body, I thee worship.”
The feel of the cold metal was like a shock of cold water. His eyes darkened as he spoke, and she had the uncomfortable sensation that he meant every syllable.
Her hands trembled as she placed his ring in return. “With this ring, I thee wed. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”
What goods?She had nothing to offer him but problems and a scandalous past.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Kiss.Of course, there would be a kiss.
Hugo stepped closer, his hands framing her face with careful precision. For a moment, he simply looked at her, his amber eyes searching hers.
“Trust me,” he murmured so quietly only she could hear.
Then his lips touched hers—warm, firm, exactly the right pressure for a public kiss. It lasted only seconds, perfectly appropriate for a church full of witnesses, but it sent fire racing through her veins.
When he pulled back, his eyes had darkened to molten gold.
“There,” he said softly. “Not so terrible.”
Terrible? No. Terrifying? Absolutely.
“I present to you,” the Archbishop announced, “His Grace the Duke of Vestiaire and Her Grace the Duchess of Vestiaire.”
Duchess.The title felt foreign, like wearing clothes that belonged to someone else.
The congregation erupted in applause, and suddenly everyone was moving—Hugo’s daughters embracing her, friends offering congratulations, strangers pressing forward with curious stares and well-wishes.
Through it all, Hugo remained close, his hand at her back guiding her through the crowd. She caught glimpses of his profile as he accepted congratulations—polite but distant with most, genuinely warm with his daughters.
He’s different with them. With me, too, sometimes. Like, there are layers beneath that controlled exterior.
The thought was dangerous. She pushed it away.
The wedding breakfast at Vestiaire House exceeded even Sybil’s elevated expectations. Hugo had transformed his ballroom into something magnificent—crystal and flowers and enough food to feed half of London.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” she murmured as they moved through the receiving line.
