People are already inside. Family. Business allies. Strangers who’ll watch and whisper and later pretend they were part of something holy instead of transactional.
Eli offers his arm. I take it. We climb the steps together, my heels clicking against marble. Each sound echoes, too loud, too final.
The doors open, and the first thing that hits me is the scent: candles, lilies, something faintly metallic beneath it all. My heart beats once, hard, then steadies into something that doesn’t feel like mine.
The music begins.
He leans closer. “Ready?”
I nod, even though I’m not. I never will be.
We start down the aisle. The space is vast, all gold and stone and light filtered through stained glass. Eyes turn as we move, some faces I recognize and others I don’t. I keep my head low, veil softening the edges of everything. The sound of the organ swells, a steady rhythm to pace my breathing.
Don’t look up. Don’t think. Just move.
Step after step, I count in my head. Fourteen rows. Twenty-eight steps. Sixty heartbeats.
My hand tightens around Eli’s arm, the lace of my glove brushing against his sleeve. He doesn’t look at me. He’s focused ahead like this is just another duty, another deal sealed with a ceremony.
My throat burns. I swallow it down.
The altar grows closer. The priest waits.
I can’t see Orlo yet, not clearly. My veil blurs him into a shape: tall, still, composed. The kind of silhouette that could belong to anyone.
But my chest tightens anyway.
When we stop, Eli turns to face me.
“You’ll be alright,” he murmurs again. Then, softer, “I promise.”
Promises mean nothing in this world. But I nod anyway.
He presses a kiss against the veil again—quick, careful—and then steps back, leaving me there. Alone.
The music fades. The world narrows.
And then I hear it: the voice that shouldn’t exist here. The one my mind still dreams about.
“Hello, nixie.”
The sound hits me like a strike. Everything inside me stills.
I blink once, twice, trying to breathe, but the air’s gone. My heart stumbles in my chest. I lift my chin slowly, and through the veil, I see him.
Nicolo.
For a second, the entire cathedral disappears—the flowers, the crowd, even the priest waiting with his open book. It’s just him. Standing there in a black suit that fits like sin, hair slicked back, a faint shadow along his jaw.
He looks infuriatingly composed, but I can see it: the tightness in his mouth, the storm in his eyes. Forest green. Darker than I remember. Hungrier too.
My hand trembles. I don’t know whether I want to hit him or hold him.
He steps closer. The sound of his shoes against marble echoes louder than the music ever did. When he stops in front of me, his expression softens—barely, but enough to undo me.
The priest clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Shall we begin?”
I can’t move. Can’t think.
