Wedding Day
1528 Words
My father hated my wedding.
I knew this because he hadn’t said a word since he saw me.
Not, you look beautiful.
Not, are you ready?
Nothing.
His eyes had traveled over the silk, the lace, the tiny caps barely resting on my shoulders, and his mouth compressed into a thin, bloodless line.
It remained that way as we waited behind the open garden doors.
I smoothed my hands over my hips.
The dress moved beneath my palms like water.
Mari had made it for me.
Not altered something my father chose. Not rescued a dress from whatever bridal nightmare he’d planned.
Made it.
Ivory silk skimmed my body instead of swallowing it, following my waist and hips before loosening around my legs. The neckline fell in a shallow cowl between thin straps, deceptively simple from the front.
Silk plunged nearly to my waist before dissolving into sheer lace, low enough that the upper edges of my back dimples threatened to appear. Below that, tiny silk-covered buttons began their long descent through a train scattered with lace.
It looked like something that could have existed a hundred years ago and somehow belonged entirely to me.
I loved it.
Strings began somewhere beyond the doors.
At least he’d gotten one thing.
I’d kept the quartet.
His arm appeared beside me.
No smile.
No question.
Just an elbow.
Then I slipped my hand through.
The doors opened.
Sunlight poured in.
And for a moment, I forgot the man beside me entirely.
The garden had become something else.
Wildflowers spilled along the aisle in natural, yet perfectly manicured drifts, climbing between ferns and greenery. Wine-dark blooms disappeared into faded mauves with speckles of tiny white flowers, and blooms of antique chocolate sunflowers. Wooden benches stood beneath the trees, their grain silvered with age.
Hand-dyed ribbons moved overhead.
Ochre.
Dusty blue.
Wine.
Rust.
Silk tied through branches and a maypole near the edge of the garden, lifting lazily in the breeze.
Everything belonged.
My father was rigid beside me.
I almost smiled.
He hated it.
There wasn’t a white rose in sight.
His jaw tightened.
Then I saw the fountain.
Water arced behind the ceremony in glittering sheets, sunlight breaking through the spray.
Of course he added a f*****g fountain.
A laugh climbed my throat.
I swallowed it.
I was not going to laugh while walking down the aisle toward the man my father had sold me to.
My eyes found Roman.
He was already watching me, a soft smile playing at the edges of his lips.
His gaze flicked toward the fountain.
Then back to me.
The shallow crease appeared beside his mouth.
Oh, f**k you.
My smile escaped anyway.
His disappeared.
Not slowly.
One second Roman looked amused.
The next, he simply—
Stopped.
His eyes moved over me.
The lace at my shoulders.
The silk following my waist.
Lower.
Then back to my face.
Even from here, I saw his chest expand.
Gold moved through his eyes as his face split into the softest smile I’d ever seen.
Something warm unfurled low in my stomach.
I concentrated on walking.
The quartet carried us farther into the garden.
People turned as we passed.
Some I’d met over the last two days. Others I hadn’t. Anders wolves mixed among a handful of Valcourts my father apparently considered necessary.
Eliza stood near the front.
She was crying.
Badly.
I smiled harder.
Beside me, my father somehow became stiffer.
It occurred to me that he was being forced to walk through every decision I’d made without him.
The flowers.
The benches.
The ribbons.
No crests.
No white roses.
No seven-course dinner waiting inside.
No enormous floral arch framing the ceremony.
Just water, stone, trees, flowers and that ridiculous, but seriously amazing, fountain.
For once, his silence felt less like control.
It felt like I was winning. And he was losing.
We reached Roman.
Up close was worse.
His suit wasn’t black; it was a deep forest green. Perfectly fitted, the jacket pulling across shoulders I now knew moved very differently beneath fabric.
Roman’s eyes met mine.
Green.
Gold.
Green again.
My father stopped beside me.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then he took my hand.
Something in my chest tightened.
For one ridiculous second, I thought he might kiss my cheek.
Instead, he placed my hand into Roman’s.
A transaction completed.
Twelve million dollars delivered.
Roman’s fingers closed around mine.
Heat flooded my palm.
His eyes never left my face.
Then he shifted.
One step placed his body between my father and me.
My father noticed.
Roman finally looked at him.
The warmth vanished from his expression.
His gaze moved over my father once.
Cold.
Dismissive.
My father’s lips thinned.
He waited.
For a nod, maybe.
A handshake.
Some ceremonial acknowledgment between Alphas.
Roman gave him the smallest nod I’d ever seen.
His attention returned to me.
My father ceased to exist.
I shouldn’t have liked that as much as I did.
He walked away.
Roman’s thumb shifted against my hand.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
I stared up at him.
“Hi.”
His mouth twitched.
“You look…”
He stopped.
I waited.
Apparently so did everyone else.
One dark brow pulled down.
I leaned closer. “Having trouble?”
“Yes.”
A laugh escaped me.
Roman looked relieved by it.
The officiant cleared his throat.
The ceremony was blessedly short.
No Valcourt rites.
No Luna vows.
No promises to obey, submit, merge bloodlines, produce heirs, strengthen packs, or otherwise surrender pieces of myself in front of an audience.
Nothing in the words belonged to anyone but us.
Even the rings waited on a small handmade ceramic dish instead of a velvet pillow.
Roman slid mine onto my finger.
Then Roman offered me his.
I took it.
His hand was enormous beneath mine.
Rough.
Warm.
I pushed the band over his knuckle.
His fingers curled once beneath mine.
The heat climbed higher.
Just Roman looking down at me as if there weren’t a few hundred people watching.
Then came the vows.
“I promise to honor every choice that is yours to make.”
My throat tightened.
Of course he would say that.
Not obedience.
Not forever.
Not a promise that asked anything from me in return.
I have a choice.
My father had spent my entire life treating my choices like an inconvenience.
Roman had made respecting it a vow.
My vows were simpler.
Nothing about forever.
Roman didn’t ask for it.
By the time the officiant began his final words, I was having a considerably larger problem.
My hands were burning.
And it was spreading.
Roman still held them between us, his palms rough against mine, and warmth had spread from my fingertips through my wrists and up my arms.
Soon, I could feel the heat in my chest, drifting down and sitting below my ribs.
My breathing was almost coming in ragged gasps.
What the hell?
I looked down.
Just Roman’s hands around mine.
My pulse skipped.
I looked back up.
His eyes were waiting.
Green burned around molten gold.
My stomach dropped.
Or melted.
Possibly both.
The garden blurred around him.
Water rushed behind us.
Leaves moved overhead.
Somewhere, strings had gone quiet.
Roman’s thumb brushed the side of my hand.
My mouth went dry.
Because I knew what came next.
And suddenly I understood something I hadn’t allowed myself to think about.
I wanted him to kiss me.
Not because a ceremony required it.
Not because a few hundred people expected it.
I had wanted to know what Roman’s mouth felt like before I openly admitted I wanted anything from him.
Maybe beneath fluorescent lights.
Maybe when his hair curled around his ears.
Maybe when he stood in my studio with his hands shoved into his pockets because he wanted to touch me and wouldn’t do so unless I asked him to.
Maybe longer.
Oh.
The burning realization settled somewhere lower than my stomach.
Roman’s gaze dropped to my mouth.
Heat tore through me.
The officiant smiled.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Roman didn’t move.
Of course he didn’t.
Waiting.
Asking.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
This was mine too.
I tightened my fingers around his.
Then stepped closer.
Roman inhaled.
His hand released mine.
Slowly, carefully, it moved toward my waist.
Stopped.
An inch from the silk.
I could feel the heat of his palm through the space between us.
I looked up at him.
Gold swallowed green.
“You can kiss me,” I breathed up at him, my body fully leaning against his now.
Something inside Roman broke.
His eyes flashed gold with deep brown freckles.
Hunger replaced his careful, restrained movements.
His hand tightened around my waist.
Heat exploded across my skin.
He bent his head toward mine.
My fingers caught his lapels, pulling him.
His breath kissed my lips before his mouth.
What the hell is he waiting for??
I pressed closer, standing on my tippiest toes, in the highest heels I’d ever worn.
My body begged him to stop the burning.
My lips tingled with every breath he spilled across them.
Then the windows exploded.
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