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“I am God.” I grin back at him. “Ask your sister…”
“If she ever turns up.”
“Jesus Christ,” Francis grits under his breath, taking Leila from Leo as she throws herself at him. “You realise that sound travels in this place, right?”
He’s right, because as the doors open, letting the summer sunshine in, the sound echoes around us, stunning everyone into silence as Christopher and Arabella walk in with Mercia. They look like they’ve had an eventful morning, and as they get to their seats, Christopher keeps heading our way.
“Everything all right? Is Georgina okay?” I ask him, sounding as anxious as I’m feeling even though Mercia and Arabella look happy as Larry where they’re sitting.
Christopher exchanges a look with Casper.
“What? I figured I’d make him suffer a bit…” Casper laughs.
Mother. Fucker. We’ll see who’s laughing when he’s fending arseholes left, right, and centre away from all his girls. Karma’s a bitch like that.
“Raffy had a meltdown when Arabella tried to take her dummy away,” Christopher tells me. “It took forever to stop her from snotting everywhere, and Georgie didn’t want to leave her out, so…”
With an exasperated shrug, he blows Leila a raspberry as they head back to their seats. Emily looks set to explode with glee as she catches my stare with a wide smile when Casper and I turn to face the altar. Father Byrne breathes out a sigh of relief as though he’s the one whose bride is almost an hour late.
The organ music starts, reverberating off the walls as my heart races in my chest. Whoever said anticipation is half the fun and the greatest joy is a blatant sadomasochist prick.
“Just think,” Casper rumbles, “you really are stuck with me for life now, brother.”
I’m about to snap at him when the music stops and there’s a tap on my thigh, and when I look down, Grace stares up at me with her father’s smile beaming at me.
“We’re here,” she whispers loud enough that anyone with ears will hear, and Rafaela shushes her brusquely, standing behind her with Beatrix holding her hand.
They’re carrying small white baskets with white Windermere roses that match the flowers embroidered on their dresses and tied into their hair.
“Turn around, dummy,” Grace tells me when I wink down at her—clearly a chip off the old block.
It doesn’t matter how many times I tried to imagine this moment so that I could prepare myself—the instant I turn, my heart stops. All the noise fades. Bright brown eyes greet mine with a soft flutter and the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
I’m gasping for air and breathless all at the same time, unable to get my head and body to coordinate at the sight of Georgina. The floral embroidered veil hangs down to her waist, following the deep V of the bodice of her dress that leads down to a full skirt scattered with white lace butterflies. The small appliques get slightly bigger and more crowded towards the hem of the tulle skirt. It’s not what I envisioned; in my imaginings, her dress was always a bit more fitted, like she usually wears, but this is so different, and I’m glad that it’s not what I expected because I’m speechless, completely blown away by how fucking incredible she looks. Beyond all my wildest thoughts or dreams. She’s a fucking goddess.
Benedict lifts back the veil, tangling it in Emily’s heirloom tiara, and I have to keep reminding myself not to push him aside and take charge. Technically, she’s my wife already. With this wedding being so big, we opted to do the blood pact in a small ceremony last night, with only the family present.
“Everything she needs,” he tells me, as a reminder of the conversation we once had, before taking her bouquet and placing her hand in my outstretched one.
Warm, soft, and so dainty that when I clasp it in mine, as always, it surprises me that it doesn’t disintegrate.
“My lord.” She side glances at me with a wide-eyed smile.
“Swan,” I barely manage to reply with the way my chest is squeezing tight with wonder and a giddiness I have never felt before. Something entirely new to me, and the moment, setting the tone for the rest of the traditional Catholic ceremony that we settled on with Father Byrne.
Glancing up at me from beneath thick, midnight lashes, Georgina holds her hand out to me as we turn for the part that actually matters. Everything else is all pomp and ceremony, but this…this is it. The one vow that we will never break. Three words that encapsulate a future that I never honestly thought would be mine.
“I love you,” Georgina mouths as she takes the ring from the priest and pushes it all the way down to the base of my finger.
With a deep, trembling breath, she thumbs over my knuckles, stare holding mine as she makes her vow.
“I, Georgina Leonor Gladstone, take you, Frederick Maxwell Emsworth, as my husband. To have and to hold. To love and honour with every breath and heartbeat. For better or worse, good days and bad. I will be your hope and mercy, your salvation from the darkness, and your peace in the storm. Flesh of your flesh. Blood of your blood.”
A small tear glides down her cheek as her right hand rests on her belly, and she gives me a knowing smile. We’ve taken our time the last three years. We’ve danced to our own beat and lived a dream, but nothing compares to this. Me and her…and the future we’re making together, starting with the baby growing inside her.
“I love you,” I mouth back at her as I thread her ring on her finger to the first knuckle.
There’s always a hitch to her breaths when I say those words. They never lose the strength of their meaning. For once, the cliché is right—I do love Georgina more every day. In fact, every second that ticks by, my love for her burns brighter, and as crazy as it sounds, I keep waiting for it to explode into a supernova that will obliterate the world.
And as I hold her stare, I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am to have her. To be loved by her. Making it impossible to rein in my smile as I promise her, “I, Frederick Maxwell Emsworth, take you, Georgina Leonor Gladstone, to be my wife. I vow to love you and be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will adore you and worship you all of forever and beyond. In this life and the next.”
Gliding the ring down her finger, I stroke over the simple rose-gold band. Touching the tip of my index finger to hers, I press the small scabbed-over cuts together as I finish, “Blood of my blood.”
THE END
