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Tears of the Stolen

Page 150

by Jillian Rink

I carefully closed the door, and the sound drew his attention toward me. His gaze drank me in, and my scent surrounded me in a new wave, as strong as it had been when I first woken up. The corner of his mouth curved, and he held his hand to me. I crossed the room without a second thought, lacing my fingers with his to hide their trembling.

“Nervous?” he asked.

I nodded. It didn’t feel wrong to be vulnerable with him now. “This is a lot more important than keeping track of drink orders. Pretty sure I’m going to do something in the wrong order and then everything’s going to light on fire.”

His expression lit with amusement.

“I won’t let you.”

The words had my toes curling, but I did my best to remained unaffected.

“So it will light on fire if it’s done wrong?”

His laugh skated across my skin, and I melted into him. He lifted our joined hands and kissed the bright red mark nestled between my thumb and forefinger. I’d had it for over three weeks now. It had become just another part of my skin, really. Odd to think in another hour it would be gone entirely.

As long as I didn’t accidentally set everything on fire.

“Where’s the Votarist?”

He hummed. “The Rites begin at nine. We have a few more minutes.”

“Like a first look.” Then I pursed my lips. “Well, kind of.”

He smiled. “First look?”

I shrugged. “It’s a little bit of time before a wedding for the people getting married to just be together. Except it’s not really like this. Weddings there are way more public. Even the smallest of them have fifteen or twenty guests.”

“Weddings?” His tone made it clear the word didn’t translate right.

I flushed. “It doesn’t matter.”

He pursed his lips. “Everything about you matters, Amethyst. Tell me about these weddings from your Arizona.”

“Well…” I bit my lip, trying to figure out where to start. “This rite, these vows we’re about to make to each other, that’s the wedding. Except they’re done in front of other people. Witnesses, they’re called. They’d often wear a dress specific for the day that they wouldn’t wear again. And then, typically, there’s a reception right afterward, like the celebration for Arden and Monique. There’s dancing and food and cake. The bride would often have a bouquet of flowers that she would toss to all the unmarried women at some point in the night. There was an old belief that the person who caught the bouquet would be the one to get married next.”

“All of it in one day?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So what’s the first look?”

“There was a tradition for a long time that you couldn’t see your partner on the day of the wedding until the ceremony. I don’t really know why it was a thing. But some people found the entire day to be really overwhelming, and they wanted to have a bit of time just with their partner before everything became hectic. A chance to see the special dress and have that moment together without an audience. They called it the first look.”

He ran his thumb along my jaw and then palmed my throat.

“A moment alone to soak in the moment? I like the sound of that.”

He kissed my temple and then took a step back, his gaze soaking in every minute detail of me. His gaze burned, his eyes slowly melting into the molten ore.

“You’re beautiful, Sterre.”

Like a damn maiden, I flushed all the way to my hairline.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re beautiful?” His smirk told me he knew that wasn’t what I’d asked. I rolled my eyes and scoffed. His laugh was low, and it had a shiver coasting down my spine. Wisteria wrapped around me as he coaxed me back into his arms.

The door he’d come through opened, and a Votarist walked into the room, their hood up, hiding their face.