The October afternoon was perfect.
The sky stretched overhead in a brilliant, cloudless blue. The temperature hovered around sixty-five degrees—warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough that guests weren't sweating in their formal attire. A light breeze rustled through the trees surrounding the ceremony site, carrying the scent of roses and autumn leaves.
It was, by every measure, ideal wedding weather.
Damien stood at the altar inside the gazebo, Marcus beside him, and tried to control his breathing.
"You okay?" Marcus asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the string quartet playing soft classical music.
"No," Damien admitted honestly. "I'm terrified."
"Of what?" Marcus asked. "Cold feet?"
"No," Damien said immediately. "Not that. I want to marry her more than anything.
