Do you?" the officiant prompted gently.
Noelle drew a breath.
"Yes."
The word settled into place. Final and irreversible, the way her mother had said it would be.
The rest passed in a blur she couldn't later assemble back into order. Rings. Applause. The officiant pronouncing them. The polite kiss Elias gave her that wasn't a kiss at all, more the brush of a closed mouth against the corner of hers, and over before she'd decided what to do with it.
His hand settled at the small of her back as he turned her toward the aisle.
She walked where he walked. Her face did what it had been trained to do. And somewhere underneath the trained face,somewhere underneath the dress her mother had chosen, Noelle was trying to account for the warmth of his hand, the tightening of his grip, the small pressure of his thumb against her wrist, against the closed-door face he'd been wearing.
She couldn't account for any of it.
The reception unfolded in a seamless progression of moments that someone, long before today, had decided would be beautiful.
Toasts were given. Glasses were raised. A cousin she hadn't seen since she was nineteen kissed her on both cheeks and told her she looked exactly like her grandmother. She smiled. She saidthank you. She'd been sayingthank youso long that the word had become something her mouth did without her.
Elias didn't leave her side.
He didn't take her hand again. That moment at the altar — the warmth, the small pressure at her wrist — had been folded away with everything else. The man standing beside her at the reception was the man who'd walked across the penthouse from her. Attentive when required. Courteous to a degree that felt, the longer it went on, like a distance she hadn't encountered before. She'd been prepared for coldness. Coldness, at least, was legible. What he was giving her instead was the exact performance of a new husband at a wedding reception, perfect in every detail, and Noelle could feel the perfection of it the way you could feel the edge of a knife through a silk handkerchief.
It was only when they found themselves briefly alone, near one of the tall windows overlooking the lake, that the performance thinned.
"You handled that well," he said, his gaze directed out at the water.
"Which part?"
"All of it."
She studied his profile. "You sound surprised."
"I'm not. I'm acknowledging the obvious."
"That's almost generous."
His attention shifted to her. "Don't mistake acknowledgment for approval."
"I wouldn't."
The silence that followed was brief. She let it be brief.
"We'll be leaving shortly," he said. "The car's arranged."
"Of course."
Another pause. She hadn't planned what she said next. It surprised her as much as it seemed to surprise him.
"If there are expectations you have of me, it'd be easier if you made them clear now."
He looked at her for a long moment. Long enough that she began to think he wouldn't answer.
"It'll function as intended," he said.
"And that is?"
"A mutually beneficial arrangement. You'll have everything that was agreed upon. There'll be no cause for complaint."
