Abby
The afternoon sun streaming in through the tall windows of the chapel casts the stones in a warm golden light, giving everything a sort of ethereal energy. I stand in the hallway, my arm linked with Anton’s, as the wedding coordinator prepares everyone to walk down the aisle.
“Are you ready, Abby?” Anton asks softly, leaning close.
I nod nervously and bite the inside of my cheek. It’s just hard to believe that Karl and I are doing this again—another wedding, this time of our own volition rather than an arranged marriage.
“I-I think so,” I manage.
Anton smiles down at me. He looks so different now than when I first met him; clean shaven, eyes full of life, hair neatly combed to one side.
“I must ask, Abby,” he asks, “what made you choose me to walk you down the
