Page 165 of The Cannibal

“Just like keeping track of my pawns,” I assured him. I took his hand, squeezing it.

He glanced down, rubbing his thumb over my knuckle. “You did all right, Dorogaya.”

“You were awful, every step of the way,” I said fondly. I leaned in, kissing his cheek. But we couldn’t help it. He wrapped his arms around me tightly. I squeezed him around the neck. “Safe travels, until we meet again.”

“That sounds like a threat when you say it,” he mumbled into my shoulder.

“Ready?” John’s throat cleared.

He pulled his bow tie, fussing with his hair as he mumbled his grievances. He pretended nothing was fitting right, but it was perfectly tailored. He looked so handsome when he wasn’t adhering to a strict blue-collar uniform. It was only for today, at least.

We stood in the grand foyer, the entire home smelled of the strongest florals. I was quite happy with them, as most would be atypical for a wedding. The main flower was the white Aconitum, also known as queen of poison.

Luka let go and retreated, back to join the others.

If you listened closely, you could hear the anxious mumbling of the intimate crowd.

I helped John with his tie, tucking and pulling it tight.

There was a glassy sheen over his eyes, even though he was trying to appear strong.

“I don’t know, maybe Luka should do it,” he mumbled, with his chin tipped up, trying to urge the tears back into his head.

“It’s customary for it to be the father,” I laughed, taking his arm in mine. I turned him to the mirror in the hallway.

He stood tall, tailored, and strong.

My dress was crimson, a pearl demi parure in my ears and on my neck. The veil had yet to be pulled over my face for ease of fixing myself if I cried again. The silk of the dress looked nearly liquid as it moved, sweeping and gathering ornately around my body until it spilled into a train behind me.

“Are you ready?” I squeezed his arm.

“No,” he admitted, “but I can be.”

“That’s it, Pops.” I smiled, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “I wouldn’t have chosen anyone else for the honor,” I said, pecking his cheek.

“We should make our way to the parlor before my face gets any wetter,” he grumbled.

I tipped my head to his as we began the walk. We stood outside the doors, waiting for the music to reach a particular trill as all quieted down.

John adjusted the red veil over my face, a coronet of wolfsbane and pearl pins keeping it in place.

Amelia handed me the bouquet, a dazzling collection of white larkspur, lily of the valley, hemlock, and calla lilies.

The doors cracked open, and the music swelled in our ears.

The yearning of a violin welcomed us among turning heads. The morning light laid a halo over the middle of the floor. Luka stood in the center with Silas to his side.

John walked me down the middle of the seats, eyes following as I crossed the floor. Soon I was stopped before the Fixer, John’s hand replaced by Silas’s.

The red veil filtered the light in my view, everything painted a lovely vermillion.

Bright blue eyes met mine, a twitch in the corner of his lips the moment he saw me through lowered lashes.

There were three rings on my hand this day.

One for my first friend, one for my first love, and one once belonging to our mothers.

Luka held a chalice between us, his mouth moving as he recited a homily.