For the briefest moment after the final word left my lips, complete silence settled over the church.
The priest inclined his head solemnly before turning toward Romeo.
“And now,” he said, his calm voice echoing through the ancient church, “Romeo, repeat your vows.”
One of the attendants adjusted the microphone closer to Romeo’s mouth. The movement was almost hesitant, as though even he sensed the dangerous current simmering beneath the groom’s composed exterior.
Romeo never looked away from me.
Those piercing green eyes remained fixed on mine, cold enough to freeze fire itself.
When he finally spoke, his voice emerged low and measured, every syllable wrapped in that unmistakable Irish lilt that somehow made even the simplest words sound like commands.
“I, Romeo, take you, Juliet, to be my wife.”
His tone was devoid of tenderness.
“To protect what is mine... to honor the debts between our families... through every trial and every triumph.”
A faint muscle twitched along his jaw.
“For two years, we remain bound by blood... by duty... and by our own will.”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“My loyalty will remain unbroken.”
Silence settled over the sanctuary.
The words lingered between us, heavy with meanings no outsider could possibly understand.
Two years.
That single clause had been written into our grandparents’ wills decades ago, carefully crafted as both a chain and a key.
If we remained married for two years, the inheritance would finally be released, our obligations fulfilled, and our futures would once again become our own.
It was the only thought keeping me upright.
Only two years.
I repeated the words silently inside my head like a prayer.
Only two years...
Then we could walk away.
At least that was the lie I kept telling myself.
The priest smiled with quiet satisfaction, believing he had just witnessed two willing souls pledge themselves before God.
If only he knew.
This marriage wasn’t born from love.
It had been negotiated with contracts and sealed with threats.
Yet despite everything...