“There,” I say to Father Gregory. “We’ve done it, then. Sorted.”
He blinks.
“Sorted.”
“Aye. We have the paperwork, witnesses, and a priest. What more do we need?”
“Rings, son,” he says, his eyes wide. “Did you buy a ring for your betrothed?”
I swallow hard, the thick gold bands that were my grandparents’ sit in a black velvet case in my father’s study. “Aye. Bronwyn,” I gesture for her to come closer. “Do you remember the ring I showed you?”
“Aye,” she says, clapping her hands with glee. “I’ll be right back!”
She runs to fetch them.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Erin says, her voice thin and reedy, not her usual tone.
Something’s off. Her eyes are too wide, the pupils blown, and her breathing’s coming in short, quick bursts through her nose. She’s trying to hide it, of course she is, but I’ve been watching her long enough to know when she’s struggling.
Her fingers start tapping against her thigh, rapid and rhythmic, the movement barely visible. She catches herself after a few seconds and stops abruptly, tucking her hand under her leg like she’s been scolded for it before. Probably has been, knowing how people are.
“Erin.” I keep my voice low, steady.
She doesn’t answer. Her gaze darts around the room, and her jaw’s clenched tight. There’s a fine tremor running through her shoulders.
Fuck. She’s losing it.
I shift closer, angling my body to block her from the rest of the room. Give her some privacy from the nosy fuckers who’d stare. “Erin, look at me.”
Her eyes snap to mine, but they’re unfocused, glassy. Her breathing’s getting worse—faster, shallower. She’s not getting enough air.
“Too much,” she whispers, so quiet I almost miss it. “It’s too much.The—the lights are too bright, and that woman won’t stop talking, and everyone’s looking at us, and I can’t—I can’t—breathe?—”
“Hey, hey.” I reach out slowly, telegraphing the movement so I don’t startle her. My hand hovers near hers. “Can I touch you?”
She nods frantically, and the second my palm covers hers, some of the panic in her face eases. Just a fraction, but it’s there.
“That’s it, lass. You’re alright.” I lace our fingers together, squeezing firm enough that she can feel the pressure. Grounding. “What else helps? Tell me what you need.”
“I—” Her breath hitches. “I don’t know. I can’t think. My head’s too loud.”
“Is it the noise? The people?”
“Everything. All of it.” Her free hand comes up to clutch at her chest, nails digging into the fabric of her dress. “I need—I need it to stop. Make it stop.”
Christ. I hate seeing her like this. Hate that I can’t just punch whatever’s hurting her.
I lean in close, pressing my forehead to hers, our noses nearly touching. “Breathe with me, Erin. Match me, yeah?”
I take a slow, deliberate breath in through my nose—four counts—and let it out through my mouth. She tries to follow, but it’s choppy, uneven. Her whole body’s shaking now.
“You’re doing grand,” I murmur. “Again. In through your nose. That’s it.”
It takes a few tries, but gradually, her breathing starts to sync with mine. In. Hold. Out. Her grip on my hand is tight enough to hurt, but I don’t care.
“You’re safe,” I whisper. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”
“Everyone’s staring,” she chokes out.
