Page 53 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Wow, you look beautiful,” Uriel says, stepping inside. He is wearing his gilded armor, and while I know it is absolutely functional, it is a breathtaking work of art. “But it’s not too late to change your mind,” he says. His voice lilts with humor, but I can hear the serious note beneath it. I watch as I roll my eyes and look back at the mirror. The view shifts a little so I can see my reflection. My skin is glowing, my eyes sparkling with . . . life. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to look at the dress. The pristine white glows in my peripheral vision, but I refuse to look at it or acknowledge it.

“Dad,” I warn, but there’s no heat in it.

“Dad is hoping to keep his only daughter. No one will ever be good enough for you,” Connor says in my ear.

“Connor, please tell me you’re out there waiting for me . . .” I whimper, my eyes glued to the spell.

Connor kisses my head.

I take Uriel’s arm as music swells outside. He leads me out of the tent, and while I am momentarily surprised to see that we are in a beautiful forest, I quickly realize it is perfect and exactly what I would want for my wedding day. We stop at the end of the aisle formed by rows of chairs. All the seats are full, and I watch enraptured as the music changes, alerting all in attendance of my arrival. Everyone stands, and the view shifts to focus on the large archway at the top. It drips with flowers, and standing beneath it, right at the front, is the groom. He’s tall, broad, and strong, but when he lifts his head to look at me, his face is obscured.

“I don’t want to watch this,” I say, looking away.

“You have to, babe.”

“No.”

I look back at the spell and watch as I walk down the aisle on Uriel’s arm. Happiness radiates from me, but it is the steady, unwavering sense of rightness and joy I sense within myself that tightens my chest with unease. I look away again and shift to straddle Connor, my back now to the spell still playing behind me.

“It’s you I want. You. I want you forever.”

“Thank you, Connor,” a deep voice says from the spell. The near-­familiar resonance tugs at something in me, making me gasp. “For getting her to me.”

My head snaps around, and I watch as I reach out my hand for his. Standing before him, I am glowing with love, with happiness, with life. The music ebbs, and soft sobs have me looking over my shoulder. The perspective shifts again, and I see Farrah, dabbing at her eyes, her smile suffused with joy. Connor stands beside her, a ghostly form with large black wings, beaming with pride. My groom squeezes my hand, and when I turn back to face him, he pulls me close, kissing me passionately.

I shake my head and turn back to lean against Connor, feeling sick and trembling with sadness, anger, betrayal. My laughter dances across the room, filled with elation and desire. I flinch and close my eyes, trying to block out the sound, desperate to reject this future.

I look at Connor. “We were meant to get married.” I sob. “I’m yours, and I love you.”

Connor’s brows furrow, and he cups my face. “We don’t have much more time, babe. I need you to promise me two things.”

I whimper. “Con.” I tunnel my fingers in his hair, trying to hold him there, with me.

“First, I need you to take care of Rafe,” Connor says, lifting my chin.

“Rafe?” I blink, surprised by the change in topic.

Connor glances out the window, and I follow his gaze, noticing something streaking across the clouds like a comet falling from the heavens. When I look back at Connor, sadness lines his eyes.

“And second,” he says, looking back at me. “I need you to live, to love, and to not break off from the world.”

“But—”

“Summer, your mate is waiting. He needs you as much as you need him,” Connor says, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks.

“Connor . . .” Tears spill past my lashes, the pain of this moment nearly overwhelming me.

“You have so much more life to live,” Connor says, brushing his lips over mine. “I’ll be watching over you.”

“But I don’t want anyone else.”

Connor smiles. “You will, and you should.” He kisses me again. “I love you. You remember your promises?”

I nod even though I didn’t actually promise, but the pain has become ­agonizing. “I love you,” I say, brushing my tears away. “Con, could I have⁠—”

His fingers cover my lips. “Babe. Your promises.”

I nod again, the tears streaming continuously now, and wrap my fingers around his wrist. He’s about to leave, and there is no convincing him otherwise. This is truly goodbye, and I can’t waste it. I pull his hand away from my mouth. “Thank you for loving me.” I sob. “You were the best thing to ever happen to me.”