Chapter eighteen
A Couple Hours Later
Ishouldbefocusedon my duties as best man.
Instead I’m thinking about Sky because I’m a lovesick fool.
The groom’s quarters are in the chapel building on the castle grounds, tall windows frame Prague’s red tile roofs and pale church towers rising from a distance beyond the gardens.
Inside, the space gives half royal dressing chamber, half old-world study. Dark walnut wardrobes, brocade chairs gatherednear the windows, and a long oak table cluttered with cufflinks, watches, and half-empty whiskey glasses. Polished shoes line the wall beneath the wardrobe while the midnight-blue tux jackets hang in a careful row.
Disney princes.
Marisol committed to the bit down to the very last detail.
Truthfully, our tuxes are classic. Satin lapels in deep ink blue instead of black. Crisp white shirts with covered buttons. Silk bow ties. Gold cufflinks shaped like little crowns. Even the pocket squares are embroidered with a custom crest, which somehow makes the whole thing more ridiculous and perfect.
Julian stands in front of the mirror fastening his tie with fixed concentration. Fred sits near the window in one armchair, Jose in the other, each holding a low glass of whiskey and looking entirely too relaxed for fathers on wedding day duty. Irving drapes himself across the back of a velvet settee with all the grace of a man born to be inappropriate in historic buildings.
The last seventy-two hours have wrecked me in the best possible way. The plane. Sky’s room. The look on her face last night when she finally believed I’m all in. The way she said she loved me like the words scared her and steadied her all at once.
Best of all, how she felt in my arms after. Soft, pliant ,and present. Our future has suddenly developed a pulse.
I haven’t had nearly enough sleep. Also: I do not care.
Julian gives up on the bow tie and looks at me in the mirror. “You’re somewhere else.”
“Nah, man. I’m right here.,” I adjust one cuff.
Irving twirls a finger around his head. “Physically yes. Mentally…not so much.”
Julian turns from the mirror, studying me now with the same skeptic sneer he used in law school when he knew I was lying but wanted to watch me do it anyway. “Didn’t sleep well?”
“I slept fine.” I feign nonchalance.
“Well, I didn’t sleep last night.” Irving points his glass at me like he’s about to submit evidence. “My suite shares a wall with Sky’s.”
Fred’s brows go up. Julian stills.
I glare.
Irving takes his time, savoring his moment before he continues. “Care to give us an update, Romeo?”
I stare at him. He stares back.
Julian’s mouth parts. “Wait. More progression?”
“Mm-hmm.” Irving nods at me without looking away.
Julian points at me with one hand and at Irving with the other as if physically connecting the dots in the air. “You dirty dog.”
“Walls are old. Very little mystery survives in this castle.” Irving lifts one shoulder.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck and look to the ceiling for half a second, mostly because not smiling is impossible.
“Zach.” Julian walks closer, his expression somewhere between triumph and disbelief.
No point pretending. “We’re in love.”
