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‘I can’t possibly wear it.’ Lucinda was stricken.
‘Nonsense.’
Lucinda moved closer to the dress, running her fingers over the bodice. ‘So many diamantés,’ she said with appreciation for how they were stitched into the fabric.
‘They’re not diamantés.’
Leaning closer, Lucinda, heart pounding, realised that Evie was right. The bodice was covered in tiny diamonds—and some not so tiny. ‘Evie, this dress is...’
‘Please.’ Evie waved a hand through the air. ‘It will be perfect on you. Let me help you get ready.’
‘I—’
‘You asked me if I needed anything earlier? It’s this. I want to pass the time. Would you oblige me?’
How could Lucinda say no? As she stepped into the dress, then sat while Evie styled her hair into a crown of braids, Lucinda felt as thoughshewere the princess, going to the ball, and Evie her fairy godmother. Thirio was right, though. He wasn’t Prince Charming. But did it follow that they couldn’t have their own Happily Ever After?
Thirio—along with every red-blooded male in the marquee—saw her enter and watched as she moved gracefully towards an empty seat and slid into it, eyes forward. Not looking around. Not looking for him.
But he couldn’t look away.
Lucinda was always stunning. He’d seen her in many guises now, and he found her beautiful no matter what she was wearing. But in this dress, she was some kind of untouchable fantasy, her swan-like neck on display courtesy of the hairstyle.
‘She looks lovely, doesn’t she?’
He turned as his sister joined him, and a lump formed in his throat. Because Evie was so beautiful, so like their parents, and he loved her so damned much. He put his arms around her, aching for the fact they weren’t here, aching for what he’d taken from Evie, but also feeling gladness that he could give her this day, this wedding, at thecastile.Lucinda had been right about how much this would mean and he was glad he’d listened.
‘You look lovely,’ he corrected.
‘Thank you.’ She pulled away, blinking back tears. ‘Don’t make me cry.’
‘What did I say?’
‘You didn’t say anything. It’s the expression on your face.’ She pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘I love you, Thirio.’
He squeezed her hand rather than saying it back. The words jammed inside him.
‘Are you ready?’
‘I was ready three years ago.’
‘You met Erik three years ago,’ he pointed out.
‘And I’ve known ever since then.’ She smiled up at him, the certainty in her features shifting something in his chest. She loved her fiancé. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. He didn’t analyse that thought any further.
The ceremony was long, repeated in Nalvanian after the English vows, but he focused on the bride and groom the entire time, standing with them, only letting his eyes stray twice to where Lucinda sat, her eyes fixed on Evie, a soft, contemplative smile on her face.
He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.
‘Would you dance with me?’
It was late into the night. Everything had gone perfectly. Lucinda was glowing. And when Thirio approached her, asking her to dance, she spun, her heart thumping, certainty forming a shield of courage.
‘Absolutely.’
His eyes held hers as he took her hand, then turned and led her onto the dance floor, drawing her close to his chest, holding her against him as they began to move, slowly.
‘Everything went well,’ he said after a moment, the compliment weaving through her.
