“Excellent. Places, everyone.”
The processional goes smoothly. Mostly.
Tyler steps on my foot twice and apologizes so profusely that Tammy threatens to replace him with a cardboard cutout. One of the bridesmaids—Madison or Morgan, I still can’t tell them apart—trips on her hem and nearly takes out the first row of chairs. And my mother stage-whispers commentary the entire time, loud enough that everyone can hear but quiet enough that no one can officially ask her to stop.
But we get through it. Three times, just like Tammy promised. By the final run, we almost look like people who know what we’re doing.
Julian watches from the back row. He hasn’t moved—hasn’t sat down, hasn’t joined the other guests who filtered in to watch. He just stands there, tracking everything.
I catch his eye during my second walk down the aisle. He gives me the smallest nod—encouragement, reassurance, something that feels like pride.
It shouldn’t make my pulse jump. We’re at a wedding rehearsal, surrounded by my family, with a vampire assassin lurking somewhere on the property. This is not the time for that.
My pulse jumps anyway.
“Alright!” Tammy claps again. “Vows. Violet, Chris, front and center. Everyone else, take a seat. And someone get the officiant more tea—his voice is giving out.”
Violet and Chris take their places at the altar. He takes her hands, and his whole face transforms—from nervous groom to devoted partner. It’s the look I’d always wanted Preston to give me. The look that says you’re it.
I glance at Julian. He’s watching me, not the couple at the altar.
The officiant—a distinguished man with a soothing voice despite his cold—walks them through the ceremony structure. Where to stand. When to speak. The timing of the ring exchange.
“For the vows,” he says, “you can use the traditional language, or have you written your own?”
“We wrote our own. Can we save reading them for tomorrow?” Violet says. “Chris cries every time I read mine, and I don’t want to ruin the moment by having him cry twice.”
“I do not cry,” Chris protests. “I get emotional. There’s a difference.”
“Babe, you sobbed when I practiced them in our hotel room.”
“That was allergies.”
Everyone laughs. Even my mother cracks a smile.
“Sounds like we’ll do an abbreviated version for now,” the officiant says.
He begins reciting the familiar words. Love and honor. Sickness and health. All the promises people make when they’re standing at the beginning of forever, unable to see what’s coming.
I think about Julian. About the forevers he’s already lived through. About the women who promised him things and died before they could keep them.
About what it means to love someone who will outlive you by centuries.
“You may now practice kissing the bride,” the officiant says with a small smile.
Chris kisses Violet. She laughs against his mouth. Everyone applauds.
And then I see him.
Damien.
He’s standing at the edge of the venue, near a cluster of palm trees, watching with that patient smile that makes my skin crawl. Linen pants, white shirt—the picture of a wealthy resort guest enjoying the scenery.
Except his eyes aren’t on the scenery. They’re on me.
I feel Julian move before I see him. One moment he’s at the back of the venue; the next, he’s beside me, his hand on the small of my back.
“I see him,” he murmurs. “Don’t react.”
