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Our eyes lock, and I gaze deeply into those eyes as blue as the point where the sky meets the sea. I find myself slipping away into the depths as memories of how he consumed me nights ago fill my mind. Each image covers every corner of my mind and flows through my body like liquid fire, reigniting scandalous pleasure.
I have to blink to focus and compose my thoughts.
This is it.
There’s no turning back now.
“Welcome, everyone,” the priest begins and proceeds to give a speech about love, vows, and marriage.
Soon, Knight and I are taking those vows.
I speak mine, and he speaks his, repeating after the priest.
The rings are exchanged, then suddenly, we're being pronounced husband and wife, and I'm no longer Aurora Wright.
I remember being twelve and having my surname changed from my mother’s maiden name to my father’s. That was such a happy day. I felt complete in ways I couldn’t describe.
Now I’m Aurora Grayson; it doesn’t have the same feeling. It can’t because this is a broken fairy tale.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest declares.
Knight leans down to kiss me. When his lips touch mine, I expect the gloom I experienced to amplify, but it doesn’t. Then I remember our kisses have never felt fake.
This kiss is one of those, but it holds whispers of the other night hidden in every brush of his lips against mine.
When he pulls away, I have to compose myself again because the heat of his kiss is still burning my lips.
Knight moves to my ear and brushes a kiss on my cheek. “Careful, mon cherie,” he whispers. “With a kiss like that, I might think you like being married to me.”
“I’m a good actress,” I whisper back, a half lie.
“But you weren’t acting.”
Just then the press descends on us like a flock of vultures, robbing me of my chance to answer. I don’t know what I would have said anyway that wouldn’t prove him right.
Pictures of us get taken left and right. Every time I blink, there’s a flash from some camera or some journalist wishing us congratulations whilst trying to sneak in a mini-interview.
I was already aware, well in advance, that getting married to one of the most sought-after men in New York would cause a stir, but this is something else.
After what feels like an eternity of a never-ending photoshoot, Knight’s grandfather and bodyguards put a stop to it so we can continue with the planned activities for the rest of the day.
It’s only at that moment that Knight’s mother approaches us with who I presume must be her husband because his arm is around her and she’s wearing a wedding ring.
“Hello,” she greets in a rich French accent, giving me a hug.
“Hi.”
“I’m Elodie, Knight’s mother, but you probably already guessed that.” She looks from me to Knight, who seems more at ease in the presence of his mother.
“I did.”
“This is my husband, Maurice.”
Maurice dips his head and offers me a smile.
“It’s great to meet you both,” I say.
“Welcome to the family.” Elodie beams.
