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My brother turns me to face him. He lifts the veil, then leans down to brush his cold cheek against mine. My eyes lock on my fiancé over his shoulder. His face is still in shadows, but he’s watching us. Watching me. I see the glint of hazel eyes.
Santiago De La Rosa.
The man who has chosen me for his wife.
The man to whom I will belong.
My brother straightens. With a tug, he offers my hand to Santiago.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my chest, and when Santiago takes my wrist, the flowers slip from my grasp to scatter at our feet, blood-red against the stark, cold marble.
I barely notice because I am riveted.
Because that's when the candles flicker, sending light and shadows dancing across his face, and I get my first real glimpse of him. My breath catches in my throat, the gasp drowned out by the organ, by the sound of the priest telling the witnesses to be seated, and the creaking of the ancient pews as the ceremony begins.
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