Page 37 of Not His Bride

Fog machines in the wings do their job. Pale smoke drifts and pools against the boards, rolling slow and low so you see every footfall. Triple-thick pillar candles line the aisle, spaced out so they’re not overwhelming. They’re Velvet Masquerade’s own, all scented Velvet Wine.

The guest list fits in the first two rows. Ziterweigen sits front and center. At his feet is a soft-sided cat carrier with the door propped open against the leg of the chair. Gumby, the cat, pokes his gray head out for a sniff, then disappears again. I don’t blame him—there’s a lot going on. I love the little fur ball, though. He’s my maid of honor.

This time, there are no press or distant business acquaintances.

Debbie is perfectly composed, one ankle crossed over the other, dressed in light gray. Thank God. If she were sobbing again, I would ask her to leave. Also, her phone is nowhere in sight. Gallagher made the no-phones rule clear, though I doubt anyone needed clarification about who it was really for.

My parents are sitting next to Debbie. My father had asked to walk me down the aisle, but I politely declined. We’re amicable, even going out to dinner every now and then, but as I already told him, I’m not pretending we’re closer than we are.

I’m off-stage, just past the curtain, standing with both arms loose by my sides. I don’t have a veil or bouquet. The dress is deep wine-colored lace, fitted through the bust with a plunging wrap neckline before gathering tight beneath my ribs. Sheer lace sleeves flutter around my upper arms, and the skirt falls loose from the waist, shorter in front and trailing behind me. Naturally, my black velvet choker is tight around my throat. This ensemble is all I need.

Gallagher waits at the altar in a dark charcoal suit with a wine-colored vest, tie, and pocket square.

Every note floats above the fog. Would some view it as tacky? Probably, yeah, but Gallagher and I don’t care.

The candlelight from the aisles picks up the edges as I walk. For a second, all I can hear is my own pulse. I feel every pair of eyes on me, but it settles my nerves.

When I make it to Gallagher, he holds out both hands. I take them immediately.

The audience is silent. The candles flicker. Gallagher and I stare at each other.

If you’re going to rewrite your own story, this is the way to start.

The officiant—a woman in a midnight suit—says a line, maybe two. Then it’s time for vows. I’ll admit, I wasn’t paying as much attention to her words as I was to my soon-to-be husband’s eyes.

Gallagher clears his throat. “The first time I married you, I barely knew you.” His thumb moves once across mine. “I knew you were smarter than everyone gave you credit for. I knew you carried a cheap Phantom mask in your purse and would argue with me over a chandelier like your life depended on it. That was about it.”

A few people laugh softly. Gallagher doesn’t look away from me. “Now, I know you drink black tea when you’re working. I know you pretend you don’t care about compliments when you absolutely do. I know you’ll spend hours getting something exactly right and then shrug when somebody tells you it’s good. I know you love dark rooms, ugly little ravens, that adorable choker that I consider iconic, and apparently, my cat loves you more than me some days.”

“Gumby has earned it,” I say.

“He has.”

Gallagher smiles, but it disappears almost as quickly. “I know what your face looks like when you’re about to tell me I’m wrong. I know when you’re angry and when you’re pretending you aren’t. I know you hate asking for help. I know you’ll give people more chances than they probably deserve.”

His grip tightens around my hands. “I also know what my life felt like when you weren’t in it.”

That causes a tickle at the back of my nose. Tears well in my eyes, and I urge them to stay put. I don’t want to cry. I want to stay present and focus on him.

“I went home after our first wedding and had a hundred things I wanted to tell you and no right to call you.”

His voice roughens. “I could live without you; I already proved that. But I absolutely hated it. I don’t want a place you don’t walk into. I don’t want to hear something funny and reach for my phone before remembering I can’t tell you. I don’t want another accomplishment if you aren’t the person I get to come home and talk about it with. Without you, it’s all meaningless.”

His eyes stay on mine. “I love you, Lilith. I love how difficult you are. I love how capable you are. I love that you never needed me to save you, and I love that you chose me, anyway.”

He takes a breath. “And I know better than anyone that being chosen once doesn’t mean you stop choosing someone afterward. So that’s my vow. I’ll choose you when it’s easy, when we’re pissed at each other, when I screw up, when you screw up. I’ll choose you even when you claim the graveyard scene is the best part of Phantom of the Opera, and when Gumby flicks his tail in my direction because he’s already getting cuddles from you.”

He sends me the smallest smile. “I’ve got one life and I want you in all of it. That’s all I’ve got.”

The tears win anyway. One slips free before I can blink it back.

The first time I stood across from Gallagher at an altar, I wanted so badly to believe he had chosen me. Since then, he signed annulment papers he never wanted, gave me room when I asked for it, stayed completely out of Velvet Masquerade, and walked away from the deal he once wanted more than me.

He’s already done everything he promised.

That’s what gets me. He knows me now. I spent so much of my life wondering whether someone would ever look at me and choose me before Debbie, before the company, before whatever else they wanted.

I don’t wonder anymore.