My father placed my hand into Leo’s like he was passing me a fragile flower – it was a delicate transfer, father to soon-to-be husband, legacy to liability. And then Leo leaned in, close enough that I could smell his cologne (sandalwood, citrus, and smugness), and whispered in my ear:
“You look amazing. Call it a temporary truce for today?”
His breath brushed my cheek and the corner of his lips curled slightly, like the whole world was a joke he was in on. I nodded because yeah, I wanted the same thing. For today, we’d shelve the snark and enjoy the staged chaos called our wedding. We could throw verbal knives another day. Today, I was in a gorgeous three million dollar dress, marrying a man I didn’t choose, and somehow… I felt like a queen. And Leo? He looked like he was genuinely proud
