Chrissy
December 23, Late Afternoon
I never imagined I’d get married in a haunted house.
Okay, technically Ashgrove House wasn’t haunted… but it felt like it should be. The ceilings were too high, the halls too long, and the ghosts in this place weren’t dead people. They were all the choices made by us and the people around us, all the tragedies and triumphs we’d been through on our way to this day, this hour, and this wedding.
I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress for the tenth time, my fingers snagging on the wedding ensemble Lucia had sworn up and down she ‘threw together’ from storage.
Liar.
Nobody just ‘threw together’ something this pretty. The soft ivory lace dress hugged my waist and flared lightly at my hips, the neckline modest enough for my grandmother and still lowenough that I knew exactly what kind of look Ben would give me when he saw it.
I caught my reflection in the old gilt mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself in such a gorgeous heirloom dress.
I still had the same big dark eyes, the same freckles across my nose, and the same too-wide mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something smart, but in this gown? I looked and felt like a modern-day princess.
His mother’s ring was still firmly on my ring finger, soon to be joined by a matching art deco wedding band. The little fake emerald caught the light and flashed like it knew the secret I’d been trying not to say out loud.
I was madly in love with Benjamin Stonewood, and I was about to marry him.
My stomach flipped like it wanted to climb out of my body and dive out the window. A brisk knock sounded on the dressing room door.
“Come in,” I called, trying not to sound like I was about to throw up on Lucia’s beautifully polished hardwood floors.
The door opened and Henry stepped in, not in his usual dark security attire, but in a charcoal suit that somehow made him look even more dangerous. He still moved like he had a gun within reach, even though today, he was holding a leather-bound book instead.
“Ready, kid?” he asked.
I huffed out a laugh.
“Absolutely not, but I can’t wait at the same time.”
One corner of his mouth tugged up.
“Good. That means you still have a functioning brain.”
He gave me a quick once-over, not creepy, just… assessing. Protective. His gaze lingered a beat on the engagement ring on my finger.
“She’d have liked you,” he said quietly. “His mother.”
The words punched straight through my chest. I swallowed, blinking hard.
“Don’t say that unless you really mean it,” I whispered. “I’m hanging on by a thread over here, Henry.”
He stepped closer and adjusted the little cluster of winter flowers Lucia had pinned in my hair: white camellias from the solarium, a sprig of pine, and a hint of deep red holly berries from the lodge garden.
“I don’t waste words,” he said. “You know that by now.”
Yeah. I did.
He offered his arm.
“Your grandmother’s already seated. Lucia’s threatening to throttle anyone who breathes too loud in the solarium. And your groom is down there pacing holes into a century-old rug. So unless you’ve changed your mind…”
I stared at his arm.
Had I changed my mind?
