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Once they’re in place, the music stops, and heads swivel in our direction. I steel my spine, my father’s words on repeat in my brain as I take in the crowd of people. The aisle covered in deep red rose petals. The arbor where we’re to be married is laden with greenery and roses as well and I keep my gaze focused on that arbor, as if I can’t dare to look at the people standing beneath it.
Such as my future husband.
“Are you ready?” my father asks me.
Taking a deep breath, I nod. “Yes.”
We start forward, the music launching into the wedding march. The guests rise to their feet, their expressions curious and my father squeezes my arm in his, holding me steady as he leads me to my future.
To my husband.
My feet crush the delicate petals beneath, the pointed heels of my shoes piercing them. I hear a few indrawn gasps. Whispers and soft exclamations over the beauty of my dress. It sparkles and shines, the train dragging behind me cutting through all those petals. I’m clutching my bouquet tightly, but I can still see the way the flowers tremble.
Much like my hands.
I allow my gaze to find Perry’s and he’s watching me, his eyes big and blue and fathomless. His hands are clutched behind his back, his posture rigid, his strong form filling the tuxedo beautifully. I remember him from earlier this morning, in my bed at the hotel. Naked and warm and affectionate.
He looks nothing like that man now. Instead, he’s cold. His expression, blank.
My steps falter and my father clutches me tighter, sending me a strange look. I smile in response, not wanting him to know how rattled I am, but he can sense it.
I’m sure he can.
We stop directly in front of the pastor performing the ceremony. My father lifts my veil and folds it away from my face, as he was told to do yesterday to press a kiss to my cheek before he offers me to Perry. My fiancé steps forward, offering his arm to me and I pull away from my father, the gesture symbolic as I go to stand beside Perry.
He’s quiet. He doesn’t even smile in my direction and disappointment crashes through me, though I lift my chin, pretending I’m completely unaffected. We turn our heads to the pastor, who smiles kindly at us before he launches into his practiced speech. Something I’ve heard a hundred times already on TV shows and in movies. At other weddings I’ve attended in the past.
The words are familiar, but bring with them a gravity that I’ve not realized before. Maybe because they weren’t said directly to me. I dip my head for a moment, absorbing his words, readjusting my arm that’s wound around Perry’s. Unexpectedly, his hand settles on top of mine, his strong fingers warm and reassuring and I glance up to find him watching me.
There’s a question in his gaze, one I don’t know the answer to, because I’m not sure what he’s trying to communicate with me. Instead, all I can do is smile, and he does the same for me before he returns his attention to the pastor.
As do I, squaring my shoulders. The shaking stops. My heart rate slowly returns to normal as we each repeat the vows to the other as the pastor instructs. I hand my bouquet to Tinsley so I can slip the wedding ring onto Perry’s finger. He then slips a band onto mine, one that is covered in large diamonds all the way around. An eternity ring.
It’s stunning. Unexpected. I’m wearing the necklace he had sent over to the suite earlier this morning, along with the matching earrings he gave me last night. I am dripping in diamonds given to me by my husband, and while I know this started out as a fake wedding, I can’t hide the very real feelings that are currently swarming within me.
This is an actual marriage—real and binding and true. A claiming on Perry’s part. I am a Constantine now, I think as I study the ring on my finger. How it sparkles in the waning sunlight. That golden glow bathes Perry’s face perfectly, gilding his cheekbones and adding an unusual light to his eyes. Eyes that are now trained on me as I hear the pastor say, “You may now kiss your bride.”
Perry’s hands wrap around mine and he tugs me close, his mouth finding mine in a far too brief kiss. More like a peck. I blink up at him, startled by the lack of emotion I see on his face and I part my lips, ready to whisper a question to him when the pastor announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Perry Constantine.”
My husband steers me so we’re both facing the applauding crowd. There’s not much enthusiastic cheering. It’s more like polite clapping, but that’s all right. I can’t expect much more for a relationship that was only recently created.
The string quartet begins to play once more and Perry leads me down the aisle, a smile pasted onto his handsome face as he seemingly acknowledges everyone in attendance.
I study everyone as we walk past, smashing the rose petals into colorful bits with our shoes. The smiles on their faces as they watch us go by. Familiar family members make up some of the audience and I smile and nod in acknowledgement at my cousins. My aunts and uncles. Plenty of Lancasters turned out for this event, and I recognize a few Constantines’ faces as well.
As we near the end of the aisle, I spot the wedding planner waiting for us, an anxious expression on her face. Once we’re close enough, she starts talking.
“Photos, you two! We need lots of lots of photos and we must get started,” Miranda says firmly as she steers us back into the small room where I waited for the ceremony only minutes before. “Let the crowd trickle out and then we’ll start the session.”
She shoves us into the room and shuts the door in my face before I can even utter a word. Leaving me all alone with my groom.
My husband.
Slowly I turn to face him, my train getting twisted around my legs. He’s checking his phone—actually checking his phone rather than looking at me and telling me I’m the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, which I would really love to hear right about now.
“What are you doing? I ask, my voice soft. My emotions turbulent.
“Taking care of business,” he answers.
