CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I stand beside Lucas in the heart of our village, surrounded by a tapestry of green leaves from the canopy above. His hand finds mine, a silent promise woven between fingers that are rough with the tales of past battles and soft with the tenderness he reserves just for me.
"Right here," I say, my voice a whisper on the wind, "between the great oak and the stream. This is where we should have our wedding."
Lucas's smile is like the sun breaking through an overcast sky, warming me to the core. "It's perfect, Grace. Just like you."
I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, not used to such open adoration, especially after being seen as the weak link for so long. But Lucas, with his unwavering gaze and steadfast heart, has always been the exception.
"Imagine it," I continue, c
