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“Good,” I mutter under my breath. “I had no intentions of making him happy.”
Nina’s heels clip along behind me as I head for the entrance of the cathedral. We still have a few minutes, but I figure I may as well get it over with. I’m sure Azrael expects me to make an attempt at fleeing, or to show up late. But I very much doubt he expects me to be early.
It’s apparent the other Society members aren’t expecting it either, judging by the surprise on the doorman’s face as I approach.
“Miss.” He nearly chokes on the word. “It isn’t quite time—”
I offer him a reassuring smile and open the door myself. It’s huge and heavy, and it nearly takes my whole body with it. But I manage, as I always do, and when I step onto the threshold, there are collective murmurs of confusion from the witnesses already sitting in the ancient pews.
The men don their black cloaks and white and black Society masks, so I can’t see their faces, but I feel all of their gazes upon me. There must be at least twenty of them.
Flickering candles illuminate the space, casting a warmth to the ceremony that I didn’t expect. I also can’t help noticing I didn’t burst into flames upon entering, so I suppose that’s a bonus.
I draw in a staggering breath as I lift my chin and meet my groom’s gaze at the end of the aisle. He’s already there, waiting for me, his eyebrow arching in challenge before his eyes coast over me. He’s in a three-piece charcoal suit with a dark shirt and red tie. He looks… handsome, admittedly.
Before I lose my nerve, I take my first step down the aisle. The organist fumbles to catch up as the witnesses glance at each other, whispering their disapproval. Ignoring them, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other for the longest walk I’ve ever taken. I feel like I’m holding it together pretty well, considering the jitters.
I wonder if Azrael can see that fear in my eyes, the tremor in my body hiding beneath my veil of armor. I want to pretend it isn’t there, but the closer I get to him, the more it sinks in.
Tonight, I will be his wife.
I swallow as the aisle inevitably runs out, and I’m forced to stop before him. His gaze lingers on my face for a long moment before drifting down my body. He doesn’t say a word. He shows no hint of emotion one way or the other, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But I can see the way his eyes darken momentarily before returning to mine.
There isn’t time to consider what that might mean because the priest directs us to sit in the chairs on the platform as he opens up the ceremony. I hear very little of it and understand even less. I’m not Catholic, but I know enough to realize he’s reading passages from the Old Testament and the New.
It’s entirely too long, and I find that the only thing I can do is stare at Azrael. I wait with bated breath, thinking about things I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in a holy place. It isn’t just his frame that’s massive. His hands are too. I think he could crush my throat with just a few fingers, should he really want to.
But that isn’t really what’s lingering in my distracted mind. It’s the question of where I will feel those hands on my body tonight. If he’ll make me shiver with every touch, the way he did when he brushed my nipple. My gaze roams over his gold cufflinks, noting that they appear to be antiques before my attention catches on the strange ring on his finger.
I’m in the middle of trying to examine the details of it when he moves to stand, and I blink up at him in confusion when annoyance flickers across his face. It’s obvious I haven’t been paying attention, and he knows it. He extends the hand I was just hyper-focused on and escorts me to the altar, where we join both hands.
Now comes the vow ceremony, and this time, I do pay attention. Because I understand the importance of these words. The weight of them. They are promises that can’t be broken. Promises that can’t be undone. We are bound together by these words, and I feel the stranglehold of that reality with every phrase I repeat.
Unlike me, Azrael doesn’t falter in his promises. He repeats them assuredly, as if he might actually mean them. But even though his voice remains steady and calm, I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes again–something that feels like remorse, or even deception. And I can’t help the foreboding feeling that creeps over my skin as I consider what that might mean for me.
