Vows Written in Shadows
1584 Words
Arwen stood in a side room, staring at herself in a floor-length mirror. The wedding dress swallowed her, looking like a train that needed two people to carry.
Her mother circled her, tugging at the veil.
“Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not fidgeting.”
“Your hands are shaking.” Celeste grabbed them, stilling them. “Breathe. You look perfect. Just like...”
“Like Isolde would. I know.” Arwen pulled her hands back. “Is it time?”
“Almost.” Celeste stepped back, studying her. “Your father is waiting outside.”
“Great.”
“Arwen.” Her mother’s voice dropped. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But you’re doing something incredible.”
“Am I? Or am I just digging us deeper into something we can’t get out of?”
Before Celeste could answer, Thorne appeared in the doorway.
“It’s time.”
Celeste kissed Arwen’s cheek and slipped out.
“You ready?” Thorne asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” At least he was honest. He offered his arm. “But for what it’s worth, thank you for saving us.”
Arwen took his arm. “You keep saying that like I had options.”
“You always had options. You chose this one.”
The doors opened.
Music swelled, something classical and too loud. Hundreds of faces turned, stared.
Arwen’s knees went weak.
Thorne’s hand clamped over hers where it rested on his arm. Almost painful.
“Walk.”
She walked.
The aisle stretched out with white roses everywhere. Photographers lined the back wall. Guests in silk and diamonds, watching like a theater they’d paid admission for.
At the altar, Caelum waited.
He stood perfectly still in a black tuxedo, hands clasped in front of him. Not nervous or excited, just waiting.
When she got close enough to see his face, his eyes met hers.
No smile.
Thorne lifted her hand when they reached and placed it in Caelum’s.
“Take care of her,” Thorne whispered.
“Of course.” Caelum’s tone was business-appropriate.
Thorne disappeared into the front row.
Caelum’s hand was warm around hers. His thumb rested against her wrist, right over her pulse. Could he feel it racing?
The officiant cleared his throat.
Words about love, commitment and building a life together.
The officiant recited the vow for Cealum.
“I do.” He said.
“And do you, Isolde Catherine Valehart, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
The cathedral went silent.
Arwen looked at Caelum's eyes. They were starting to see a little too clearly.
“I do.”
“Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The officiant smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”
Caelum turned to face her. Reached up and lifted her veil with careful, deliberate movements. Folded it back and looked at her.
“Ready?” he murmured, so quiet only she could hear.
She nodded.
He leaned in and kissed her.
It should have been performative for the cameras and the guests.
But his hand came up to cup her face. Thumb brushing her cheekbone. The kiss was soft and careful.
Arwen forgot to breathe.
The cathedral erupted. Applause, cheers, camera flashes going off like lightning.
Caelum took her hand. They turned to face the crowd.
“Smile,” he said through his teeth,
Arwen smiled. They walked back down the aisle together while people threw flower petals, shouted congratulations and took pictures.
She felt like she was watching it happen to someone else.
-----
The reception was chaos disguised as elegance.
Tents on the estate lawn. Champagne towers. A cake the size of a small car.
Arwen and Caelum sat at a head table on a raised platform.
“You need to eat something,” Caelum said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten all day. You’re going to pass out.”
He cut a piece of chicken from his plate and held the fork out to her. “Eat.”
“I’m fine.”
“And I said eat.” His eyes were hard. “People are watching.”
Arwen took the chicken from the fork.
“Happy?”
“Thrilled.” He turned to respond to something Marcelline said on his other side.
The evening dragged on. Toasts, Thorne thanking everyone for coming, Marcelline talking about legacy and family, Silas making some dry joke about prenuptial agreements.
Then the first dance.
Caelum stood and offered his hand. “Shall we?”
The band started playing. Something slow and classic.
He led her to the dance floor. Put one hand on her waist, took her other hand in his.
They moved. He was a good dancer like he’d been trained for it.
“You’re shaking again,” he said.
“I’m nervous.”
“About what? We’re married. The hard part is over.”
Arwen looked up at him. “Is it?”
Something in his expression shifted. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind.”
They turned. His hand pressed firmer against her back.
“A few more hours,” he said quietly. “Then we can leave.”
“Where are we going?”
“The master suite.” He paused. “It’s been prepared for us.”
Her stomach flipped. “Both of us?”
“We’re married. People expect us to share space.” His jaw tightened. “Don’t worry. It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“That I’m going to...” He stopped. Started again. “Just trust me.”
The song ended. People clapped.
Viktor Ashbourne appeared at one point, offering congratulations that sounded like threats. Thorne and Celeste looking relieved that it was done.
Finally, Caelum stood. “It’s time.”
Guests clapped and whistled as they left the tent.
They walked to the house in silence.
Caelum stopped in front of double doors and pushed them open.
The master suite was bigger than Arwen’s entire childhood home.
“This is your room,” Caelum said, pointing left. “That’s mine.”
Arwen stared. “We have separate rooms?”
“Yes.”
“But we’re...”
“Married. I know.” He moved to stand between the two doors. Touched a third door she hadn’t noticed, it was painted to blend with the wall. “This is the connecting door.”
“What about it?”
He looked at her. “It stays locked. Until you ask me to open it.”
Arwen’s heart hammered. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m not going to force anything.” His voice was strained. “When you’re ready. If you’re ever ready. You ask.”
“Caelum...”
“Good night, Isolde.”
He turned toward his door.
“Wait.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Why give me that choice?” Arwen asked.
Silence stretched.
“Because I’ve had enough of this marriage being about what other people need,” he said finally and looked back at her. “When something happens between us, I want it to be because you chose it. Not because you had to.”
“And if I never ask?”
“Then we have separate bedrooms for however long this lasts.” He opened his door. “Good night.”
The door closed.
Arwen stood alone in the master suite, still wearing her wedding dress, still wearing that monstrous diamond ring Isolde had chosen, he'd slid onto her finger during the ceremony.
She walked to her room. It was beautiful with soft colors and a bed that could fit four people.
Arwen sat on the edge of that bed and finally let the tears come.
Not because she was trapped. Not because the wedding was over.
Because Caelum had given her a choice. Had seen her as a person.
And she was still lying to him about everything.
A soft knock on the connecting door.
Arwen froze. “Yes?”
“Are you alright?” His voice, muffled through the wood.
She walked to the door. Pressed her palm against it. “I’m fine.”
Silence.
“You’re crying.”
“How do you...”
“I can hear you.” More silence. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you crying?”
Because this was supposed to be fake, and it’s starting to feel real. Because I’m lying to you and I hate it.
“I’m just tired,” she said.
Long pause.
“Alright.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Good night, Isolde.”
“Good night.”
She heard him walk away.
Arwen pressed her forehead against the door.
On the other side, Cealum was getting ready for bed.
Her husband.
The word felt impossible.
She pulled off the wedding dress, left it in a heap on the floor and climbed into bed wearing nothing but exhaustion.
They lay there in separate rooms. Married but apart.
Both aching with a restraint that scared them more than giving in ever would.
Because giving in meant risking everything.
And they’d already risked so much.
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