“Couldn’t sleep?” Ledger’s voice is low and smooth, breaking the silence but not intruding on it.
I look up, surprised to see him standing there. His tie hangs loose around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone. He looks like he stepped straight out of an old Hollywood movie. The crisp white shirt clings just enough to hint at the strength beneath, and the perfectly tailored tuxedo trousers sit low on his hips, as if even formal wear can’t quite tame him.
His hair is a little mussed, like he’s run his hand through it one too many times tonight, and the edges of his calm composure have softened now that the night is over. The faint stubble along his jaw catches the low kitchen light, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Of course he looks good in a tuxedo—too good. Like the kind of man you’d see in a magazine, the photo captioned with some insufferable line about timeless elegance. Except this isn’t a magazine. He’s here, in my kitchen, looking at me with those flirty eyes that have a way of pulling you in and making you shiver without a touch.
I glance at my dress. “I haven’t even been upstairs. It’s leftover time,” I say.
“Leftover time?” he asks, confused.
“It’s a tradition I had with Mom,” I say with a small shrug, as if that explains everything.
He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can’t quite place—somewhere between amusement and something gentler, softer. “Adorable.”
“Adorable?” I scoff, even as my cheeks warm. “I’m sitting here eating cold steak and leftover cake in a wrinkled wedding dress. I’m not sure that’s the word you’re looking for.”
Ledger pushes away from the doorway and crosses the kitchen. When he sits on the stool across from me, he’s so close I can see the faint shadows under his eyes—like the exhaustion of the day is finally settling in, softening the edges of his usual composure.
“I think it is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “It’s—” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Real.”
I look at him for a beat, surprised by the sincerity in his tone, before picking up my fork and offering him a bite of cake. He hesitates only a second before leaning in and taking it, his lips curving into a faint smile as he sits back.
“This is what I used to do with my mom,” I admit softly, not looking at him as I swirl my fork through the frosting. “When she came back from her dates. She’d always bring the leftovers home. Especially dessert. We’d split it and talk about everything—whether the guy was worth a second chance or not.”
Ledger says nothing, just watches me, his gaze steady and unhurried.
“And tonight,” I continue, “this wedding . . . it was beautiful. Perfect, even.” I pause, the words catching somewhere deep inside me as I try to push them out. “But it wasn’t mine. It didn’t feel like me. It felt like I was playing a part—like someone else was wearing this dress and walking down the aisle.”
I meet his gaze then, my voice soft but certain. “When I get married for real—when I fall in love—I want something different. Something small. Just the two of us, maybe by the ocean, during the sunset.” I smile faintly at the thought. “Something quiet, but mine.”
Ledger is silent for a moment, his eyes holding mine like he’s memorizing every word. Then, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the counter as his voice drops low. “You’ll have it.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“You’ll have exactly that,” he says, his tone steady and sure. “When it’s real. When it’s yours.”
I search his face, my heart giving an unsteady lurch at the way he looks at me—like he’s already picturing it.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The kitchen is quiet again, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the distant creak of the old house settling.
Then Ledger reaches for the fork still in my hand and scoops up a bite of frosting, smirking as he pops it into his mouth. “You’re right about leftovers, by the way. This cake’s better the second time around.”
I laugh, the tension easing as I swipe the fork back from him. “Told you.”
And just like that, the moment settles—soft and fleeting, but something I know I’ll remember. Because for all the pretending we’ve done today, this, right here, feels real.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Ledger
One second,I’m sitting across from Galeana at the marble island, a fork halfway to my mouth and leftover wedding cake teasing my taste buds. The next—boom.
The sound roars through the kitchen, deafening and primal, like a bomb detonating nearby. The cabinets groan violently, jars tumbling and crashing to the floor. The windows crack under the pressure, a few shattering with a sharp, piercing sound. My chair jolts back as the floor shudders beneath us, dishes rattling and falling off the counter. Dust rains down from the ceiling, and the air fills with a strange, metallic tang.
“What the hell—” I’m on my feet instantly, the deep, echoing crack of something splitting—wood, plaster, glass, I don’t even know—swallowing my voice. All I know is the house isn’t right.
Beside me, Galeana freezes. Her fork clatters to the plate, the sound sharp against the chaos. Her face goes pale, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock as she grips the counter like it’s the only thing holding her upright. “What—what’s happening?”
