“I think you’re a good match.”
I sigh, not understanding what this means, but maybe it’s like your loved ones knowing better what’s best for you. Marriages of convenience have happened since the beginning of humanity. With no expectations, I don’t see how ours could go wrong. There are no feelings involved, only a realistic planto join our empires and become even more powerful. With our busy schedules, it will minimize the chances of intimacy. The less we see each other, the better.
Vian will discover soon enough that his orders don’t extend to me.
Inhaling a deep breath to fortify myself, I walk out.
His cousin appears by my side holding a bouquet of white roses, simple yet fitting. To me, they are regal flowers––my favorite.
I smile, appreciating his attention to detail. I take it from her hand, lacing my arm around Conrad’s as we head back to the penthouse.
We exit onto the terrace, freshly decorated for a wedding. A white runner leads to the altar where an officiant waits for us. Vian stands in the middle of the archway of white roses, his face a painting of serenity, looking at me with eyes shining as if he’s waited his entire life for me. Emotions tug at my heartstrings, urging me to him.
It’s just us four, a photographer, a string quartet, and the officiant—intimate like I wished.
A wave of nostalgia drowns my being. In another life, I would have been long married to the man of my dreams. Yet, I marry a king of the underworld and will bring his child into our bloody world instead.
I force my lips into a smile while walking down to him to a violin melody, and something inside me clicks, as if our union was always meant to be.
Once I reach him, I clasp my hand around the bouquet to anchor myself and not flee. Flee somewhere he can’t find me.
His eyes lock onto mine, unraveling me as if speaking to my very soul, causing my heart to misbehave. His features soften, and he wears a look of sheer relief and bliss, adding to myconfusion. “You take my breath away. Glad this dress was your choice.”
“Why?” I breathe out, overwhelmed.
“Lucky guess.”
“Doesn’t it bring bad luck to see your bride’s dress before the wedding?”
“My bad luck ends today.” He smiles so brightly, it lights up a sun in my chest.
I sigh, not wanting to disappoint him. “You have too much hope in our union.”
“Hope is all I’ve ever had. I am a fool like that,” he says with such depth it stirs something hidden deep inside me. It’s like he speaks a foreign language, something I can’t decipher, yet I understand viscerally.
The officiant clears his throat, and with our witnesses by our sides, we proceed with the ceremony. Even the sun shines brighter, as if blessing our union, warming me.
I say “I do,” knowing I now belong to and with him, and only death can separate us.
I sign on the dotted line, agreeing to being his because I can’t ever be with the one man I loved and lost.
Vian will have to share me with a ghost.
Eyes locked, my knees go weak. There’s a promise intertwined with determination as he says I do with such resolution it makes me question if he realizes what he agreed to. A lifetime, yet my heart clenches as if it’s not enough.
After we sign the wedding certificate and the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, Vian cups my face. “May I kiss you, wife?”
Maybe there was something else in that sleeping drug making me feel dizzy even hours later.
I nod, incapable of forming words.
Gently, he presses his mouth to mine, feeding life into a body that has been withering away. He kisses me with such reverent gentleness—a testament to devotion. What a wondrous experience.
That he’s a gorgeous man is undeniable, but his looks don’t cause my belly to flutter with millions of butterflies clapping their wings at once. The connection transcends the physical attraction, leaving me bewildered. He deepens the kiss, spinning a spell I can’t escape.
It’s good, surely, being attracted to my husband. I don’t have to love him to be with him. Wanting someone is a biological need, and I haven’t been with anyone since my accident. It’s been four years, and whenever I showed minimal interest, those men disappeared before anything else could develop.
As his tongue swipes along the contour of my lips, my toes curl as if he wields electricity inside me.
