Wren woke before her alarm, the particular restless alertness of a day too large to sleep fully through, and lay still for a long moment in the pale early light, listening to the ordinary sounds of the townhouse stirring around her — Isabella's footsteps in the hallway, the distant clatter of someone in the kitchen, the whole household orienting itself around the day ahead with a quiet, purposeful energy that felt different from every other morning she'd woken in this house.
Isabella arrived with coffee before Wren had fully gathered herself, settling onto the edge of the bed with the particular efficient tenderness of a sister who had clearly been waiting for the excuse to fuss over her properly. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrified," Wren admitted, sitting up. "Not about marrying him. Abo
