The pack hall looked different this time.
No white roses. No borrowed gown that didn't fit right. Mika stood at the same altar where Diego had rejected her six months ago, but this time she'd chosen her own dress — simple, dark, nothing that pretended to be something it wasn't — and this time, when she looked across at Diego, he was already looking back.
He hadn't looked away once since she'd walked in.
She'd spent the morning half-convinced she'd change her mind at the last second, the way she almost had at the first altar too, except that time it was Diego's mind that changed instead of hers. This time neither of them flinched. She kept waiting for the doubt to catch up with her. It never did.
The chamber was packed tighter than it had been for the wedding, word of the ritual having
