The Wedding

Chapter Twenty-One

For the first time since this nightmare began, Damien did something completely unexpected.

He stopped.

Not permanently.

Not because the danger had disappeared.

But because he was exhausted.

Three days after we escaped the old estate, he gathered everyone in the study and said four words that left the room silent.

"We're taking a break."

Victor stared at him.

"From what?"

"Everything."

"The search?"

"Paused."

"The ledger?"

"Locked away."

"The Black Circle?"

"Tomorrow."

Victor looked genuinely confused.

"Boss, tomorrow?"

Damien leaned back in his chair.

"Yes."

He looked at me.

"We've spent every waking hour chasing secrets. Every person we question gives us another name. Every name leads to another lie."

His gaze remained on mine.

"And I refuse to let this consume her."

Something warm spread through my chest.

Victor nodded slowly.

"And the wedding?"

Damien's eyes didn't leave me.

"That happens."

My heart skipped.

"The wedding?"

He nodded.

"Tomorrow."

I stared at him.

"Tomorrow?"

"Unless you've changed your mind."

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

The truth was, I'd almost forgotten.

The marriage had started as a threat.

A contract.

A way to silence the nineteen-year-old girl who had accidentally witnessed a murder.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed.

Damien had changed.

Or perhaps I'd simply started seeing the man beneath the reputation.

He was thirty-eight years old.

Eighteen years older than me.

And somehow, I was about to marry him.

Again.

Only this time, there would be no lawyers in the room.

No threats.

No contract shoved across a table.

There would be vows.

Rings.

A dress.

A ceremony.

And Damien.

I looked at him.

"Are you sure?"

His expression softened.

"About marrying you?"

I nodded.

"Yes."

"I've never been more certain."

My heart fluttered.

"But why?"

He stood.

"Because despite everything that's happened, when I imagine walking away from you..."

He paused.

"I don't want to."

I couldn't stop the smile that appeared on my face.

"That's a terrible proposal."

A small smile touched his lips.

"I'm not proposing."

I laughed.

"Good."

"You're already my wife."

"Not yet."

"Tomorrow."

I looked down.

My cheeks warmed.

"Tomorrow."

The next morning, the mansion was unrecognizable.

Flowers covered the entrance.

Candles lined the staircase.

People moved through the house carrying boxes, dresses, flowers, and decorations.

I stood in front of the mirror while my hands shook.

I couldn't believe this was happening.

I was getting married.

At nineteen.

To Damien De Luca.

A man I'd once been terrified of.

A man I'd thought incapable of feeling anything.

A man who had killed the person I'd accidentally seen him confront.

A man who had threatened me.

Protected me.

Frustrated me.

Confused me.

And kissed me.

My fingers touched my lips.

That kiss.

It had been brief.

Almost innocent.

But something had changed after it.

I couldn't explain what.

Before, whenever Damien came near me, I had been aware of his presence.

Now I was aware of everything.

The sound of his voice.

The warmth of his hand.

The way his eyes lingered on mine.

Sometimes I caught myself wondering what it would feel like if he kissed me again.

Not for a second.

Not impulsively.

Not while hiding from gunfire.

A real kiss.

Longer.

Braver.

One where neither of us pulled away too quickly.

The thought alone made my cheeks burn.

I quickly lowered my hand.

"Lena?"

I turned.

Maja stood behind me.

She smiled.

"You look terrified."

"I am."

"Good."

I frowned.

"Good?"

"It means you're taking it seriously."

She adjusted my veil.

"Are you happy?"

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Then smiled.

"Yes."

Maja's expression softened.

"Then that's all that matters."

I took a breath.

"He's thirty-eight."

"I noticed."

"And I'm nineteen."

"I noticed that too."

"That's eighteen years."

Maja laughed.

"You're very good at mathematics."

I groaned.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

She looked at me through the mirror.

"Age isn't the thing that matters here."

"Then what does?"

"How he treats you."

I thought about it.

Damien had never been gentle with the rest of the world.

But with me?

He tried.

Sometimes awkwardly.

Sometimes badly.

But he tried.

And lately, he'd started asking instead of ordering.

Listening instead of deciding.

That meant something.

"You're right."

Maja smiled.

"Now stop thinking and get married."

The ceremony was held in the garden.

The same garden from my memories.

I stood at the entrance with my father.

He had been found the previous evening.

Alive.

Exhausted.

And refusing to explain anything.

For now, I had accepted that.

One secret at a time.

He looked at me.

"You look like your mother."

My throat tightened.

"I wish she were here."

He smiled sadly.

"She is."

I frowned.

"What?"

He nodded toward the garden.

I looked.

For a second, I thought I saw a woman standing beneath the trees.

Dark hair.

White dress.

Then she disappeared.

I blinked.

"Did you see her?"

My father looked away.

"Maybe."

I didn't ask again.

The music began.

My father offered his arm.

"Ready?"

"No."

He smiled.

"Good."

We walked.

Damien stood beneath the arch.

He wore a black suit.

Simple.

Elegant.

His expression was serious.

Until he saw me.

Then everything changed.

His eyes softened.

I suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that I was walking toward the man who was about to become my husband.

Not because of a contract.

Not because someone had forced me.

Because I had chosen to.

When I reached him, he took my hand.

His thumb brushed over my fingers.

"You're beautiful."

My cheeks warmed.

"Thank you."

He leaned slightly closer.

"You look nervous."

"I am."

"So am I."

I stared at him.

"You?"

He smiled.

"Don't look so surprised."

"I've never seen you nervous."

"That's because I've never had to marry you before."

I laughed softly.

The ceremony began.

The words blurred around me.

I kept looking at Damien.

When it was time for the vows, he turned fully toward me.

"I don't know what our future looks like."

His voice was low.

"There are still things I haven't told you. There are things I haven't discovered about myself."

He took my hand.

"But I promise you this."

His eyes held mine.

"I will never make you face any of it alone."

My throat tightened.

"I promise to listen to you."

His thumb brushed my knuckles.

"Even when I don't like what you have to say."

A few people laughed softly.

"And I promise that whatever this family has planned for us..."

He paused.

"We'll decide our future ourselves."

Tears filled my eyes.

When it was my turn, I took a shaky breath.

"I don't know how I ended up here."

I smiled.

"Six weeks ago, I thought my biggest problem was paying my father's hospital bills."

Damien's mouth twitched.

"Then I witnessed a murder."

A few nervous laughs.

"I was followed."

I looked at him.

"I was threatened."

My voice softened.

"And somehow, through all of it, I found someone who made me feel safe."

His eyes became intense.

"Someone I never expected."

I squeezed his hand.

"I choose you."

The officiant smiled.

"Then I now pronounce you husband and wife."

My heart stopped.

Husband.

Wife.

Damien leaned toward me.

For one second, I remembered the first kiss.

My cheeks warmed.

Then his lips touched mine.

This time, there was no gunfire.

No fear.

No urgency.

Just us.

His kiss was gentle.

Careful.

Almost questioning.

I closed my eyes.

And for a moment, I allowed myself to wonder what it would feel like if he stopped being careful.

If he kissed me the way my imagination sometimes dared to imagine.

Longer.

Deeper.

More daring.

My fingers curled around his.

Then he pulled away.

Our foreheads nearly touched.

His eyes searched mine.

"You okay?"

I nodded.

"Yes."

He smiled.

"Good."

I smiled back.

"That was better."

His eyebrow lifted.

"Better than the first?"

I blushed.

"Maybe."

He leaned closer.

"Maybe?"

I whispered:

"Don't make me say it."

His smile widened.

"I'll remember that."

The guests applauded.

But I barely heard them.

Because for the first time, I wasn't thinking about the Black Circle.

Or the ledger.

Or my mother.

Or Adrian.

Or the secrets waiting for us.

I was thinking about the man standing in front of me.

My husband.

Thirty-eight years old.

Dangerous.

Complicated.

Impossible.

And somehow mine.

Later that night, I stood alone on the balcony.

The garden was quiet.

The wedding dress had been replaced by a simple white robe.

I looked at the ring on my finger.

It felt strange.

Beautiful.

Permanent.

The door behind me opened.

I didn't need to turn around.

I knew him by the sound of his footsteps.

"Can't sleep?"

I smiled.

"Not really."

Damien came to stand beside me.

"Me neither."

We stared at the garden.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Then he looked at me.

"Regrets?"

I turned toward him.

"None."

His eyes softened.

"Good."

I hesitated.

"Damien?"

"Yes?"

"About the kiss."

He became still.

I looked down.

"I've been thinking about it."

"So have I."

My cheeks burned.

"I know."

He smiled faintly.

"You do?"

"Sometimes I can tell."

He looked at me.

"What have you been thinking?"

I took a breath.

"The first one was..."

I searched for the words.

"Unexpected."

"Very."

"And short."

His eyebrow lifted.

"Are you complaining?"

I laughed.

"Maybe."

He stepped closer.

My heart began pounding.

"Lena."

"Yes?"

"If you want another kiss..."

He stopped.

"I need you to tell me."

I looked into his eyes.

For once, there was no command.

No pressure.

Just a question.

I smiled.

"I think I do."

His gaze dropped briefly to my lips.

Then returned to my eyes.

He leaned closer.

But before our lips touched, a phone rang inside the bedroom.

We both stopped.

Damien sighed.

"Of course."

I laughed.

He walked inside and answered.

"Yes?"

His expression changed.

The warmth disappeared.

"What?"

I watched him.

He listened silently.

Then looked at me.

"Where?"

A pause.

"Send me the photograph."

He hung up.

My smile faded.

"What happened?"

He looked at the phone.

Then at me.

"Your mother."

My heart stopped.

"What about her?"

He turned the screen toward me.

A photograph.

My mother was standing outside a building.

Alive.

And beside her was Adrian.

But that wasn't the worst part.

Behind them stood another person.

My father.

And beneath the photograph was a message.

Congratulations on your wedding.

Then another message appeared.

Now the real marriage begins.