Page 129 of Cold Mercy

When she reaches the front, she stands across from me. Our eyes lock for the briefest second, and something tugs hard in my chest. Then Elizabeth steps forward, and the moment shifts, carrying us all with it. James looks like he’s about to pass out, but in the best way.

Elizabeth speaks first, her words spilling out the way she does when she’s nervous and happy at the same time.

“James, from the very first day I met you, I knew in my soul that I would never have to be truly sad again. It's because you carry so much light that simply doesn't leave any room for shadows to hide. I knew right then that we would never be the kind of couple that goes to bed angry, because your heart is far too patient and far too kind to ever let resentment live between us. Thank you for the way you handle every single part of our life and take care of me with a devotion that never wavers or without a moment of hesitation. You're my best friend, my guardian, my soulmate, and the love of my life. I promise to love you until the day I die and at least one day longer.”

James barely makes it through her vows without choking up. For the first time I've known him, the easy, sunny facade he wears to keep the world laughing, finally shatters, leaving a man who fights a losing battle against his tears.

“Elizabeth, you are my ray of sunshine, the light that breaks through every dark day I face. You're the only reason why I have the strength to keep moving forward or to be the man I am standing here today,” he chokes out, trying to find the breath to continue.

“I have loved you for so long that I've forgotten what a life without you feels like anymore, and the truth is that I never want to remember a single second of a world where you aren't there to light my way back home.”

When they finally laugh through their tears, the officiant wraps it all neatly, and they kiss when the crowd explodes with cheers. I clap along with everyone else, but my attention keeps drifting back to Sophia.

She’s smiling, fully and without armor, genuinely happy for them. For a second, I forget where I am, forget why this is complicated, and all I can think is how rare it is to see her like this.

During the reception, I find my place card. Elizabeth and James, in their infinite matchmaking wisdom, have seated Sophia directly between me and Charles.

Charles is playing his part, leaning in, whispering in her ear, trying to capture the attention of a woman who isn't really there. She's nodding, smiling at whatever bullshit he's spewing, a perfect picture of polite engagement. He’s a fool. He doesn't see what I see.

He doesn't see that under the table, her leg is pressed firmly against mine, from her knee to her ankle. She put it there minutes ago and hasn't moved it. It’s a silent, searing brand against my skin.

He doesn't see that while he’s stroking the back of her right hand, her left hand is resting on the table just inches from mine. Then, so subtly it's almost invisible, her little finger extends and brushes against mine. It's not an accident, It's a deliberate, feather-light stroke that lasts for a single, charged second before she pulls back.

Charles says something else, trying to pull her focus back, and for a moment, she turns to look at me. Her public smile is gone, replaced by a quick, secret, and devastatingly intimate look meant only for me. It's a silent confirmation, a shared conspiracy, a promise. Then, just as quickly, it's gone. She turns back to Charles, her polite mask sliding perfectly back into place.

And I understand. Every touch, every second her leg stays pressed against mine, is a message sent directly to me, right under his nose.

It's not a flirtation but a fucking claim. She’s telling him one story, and she's telling me another.

And the story she's telling me says, I'm yours.

When the bouquet toss comes, she ends up pushed toward the front by Elizabeth. She twists around, shooting me a warning look over her shoulder that clearly says, ‘Don't you fucking dare.’ I raise my hands in surrender, but my mouth betrays me with the hint of a smile.

Elizabeth throws, and it sails high, spinning under the lights.

Sophia doesn’t even lift her arms; she just stands there, stiff and uncooperative, already planning her escape, when the bouquet drops straight into her chest. She fumbles it out of reflex, instinct taking over before pride can catch up, and somehow ends up holding it anyway. Now she stares at the flowers like they’ve personally betrayed her.

I can’t stop the grin that breaks across my face. She sees it and groans, yelling, “Don’t even—” but she’s drowned out by cheers.

“Take the hint, love,” I whisper under my breath. I adore her, I really fucking do.

Later, I spot her on the dance floor with Charles. Too much proximity for my sanity. His hand rests at her waist, drifting lower than it has any right to be.

My jaw tightens, and before my brain catches up, I cross the floor anyway and tap him on the shoulder.

“May I?”

Charles turns, clearly ready to say something clever or territorial, but Sophia cuts in before he gets the chance.

“It’s fine, Charles. I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t like it. Too fucking bad. He should’ve figured out sooner that she was never his to touch.

Her hand slips into mine and instantly sets every nerve in my arm on fire. I swear I can feel her pulse through her fingertips. She rolls her eyes like she’s annoyed, but she doesn’t pull away.

We dance in silence for a few seconds, her chest inches from mine, the floral scent of her dress making it impossible to think clearly.

“Must you always complicate everything?” she finally mutters.