THE ALTAR

He's taller than I expected.

That's my first coherent thought as I reach the altar. Dominic Laurent stands there like he was carved from marble, all sharp angles and cold perfection. His hair is dark, styled back from his face. His eyes are gray, the color of winter storms, and they're fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

He doesn't smile when I reach him. Doesn't offer any reassurance. Just studies my face like he's trying to solve an equation that doesn't add up.

The priest begins speaking. I don't hear most of it. My pulse is too loud in my ears, drowning out everything except the feeling of Dominic's stare boring into me.

"Do you, Felicity Ann Hartley, take this man..."

The name sits wrong in my mouth. I've practiced it a dozen times in the last hour, but actually saying it out loud, in front of two hundred witnesses, feels like stepping off a cliff.

"I do."

My voice doesn't shake. Small mercy.

Dominic's turn. His voice is deep, controlled, each word measured. "I do."

Then the priest says the words I've been dreading. "You may kiss the bride."

Dominic's hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and for a second, I see something flicker in those gray eyes. Confusion. Maybe suspicion.

Then his lips touch mine.

It's brief. Impersonal. The kind of kiss you'd give a distant relative. But it's also my first real kiss, and my brain short-circuits trying to process the warmth of his mouth, the faint scent of cedar and something sharper, the way my heart hammers against my ribs.

He pulls back. His eyes search mine again, and I force myself to hold his gaze even though every instinct screams at me to look away.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the priest announces, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Dominic Laurent."

The applause is deafening.

The car ride to the hotel is silent.

Dominic sits on his side of the Town Car, staring out the window. I sit on mine, trying not to think about how the wedding ring feels on my finger. Too tight. Too permanent.

"You were late this morning," he says suddenly.

My stomach drops. "What?"

"Your mother said you had a headache. That you were resting." He still doesn't look at me. "Delayed the hair and makeup team by forty minutes."

"I'm sorry." The apology tastes bitter. "I wasn't feeling well."

"Hmm."

That's it. Just that low sound that could mean anything or nothing. I dig my nails into my palm and count the blocks until we reach the hotel. Twelve. Twelve blocks of excruciating silence.

The ballroom looks like something from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers catch the afternoon light and scatter it into rainbows across white tablecloths. Roses everywhere, their sweet smell so thick it makes me queasy. Our names in gold script on a board near the entrance: Dominic & Felicity.

The lie gets bigger every minute.

We sit at the head table. Dominic's hand rests on the arm of his chair, inches from mine but never touching. He nods at people who approach to congratulate us, accepts handshakes and well-wishes with practiced ease.

I smile until my face hurts.

"So you're the woman who finally caught Dominic's attention."

The voice comes from my left. I turn to find a man about Dominic's age, maybe thirty, with kind eyes and an easy smile. He's handsome in a softer way than Dominic, with sandy hair and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

"James Rothwell," he introduces himself, extending a hand. "Best man and oldest friend to your husband."

I shake his hand, grateful for the warmth in his grip. "It's nice to meet you."

"Tell me," James says, settling into the chair beside me, "how did you two meet? Dominic's been annoyingly vague about the whole courtship."

My mind races. Mother didn't prepare me for this. She assumed I'd know Felicity's story, but my sister and I stopped sharing confidences years ago.

"Through family," I say carefully. "Our fathers know each other."

"Ah, business." James's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "How romantic."

"It became romantic," I add, though I have no idea if that's true. "Eventually."

"Dominic's not exactly the flowers and poetry type," James observes. He glances at Dominic, who's deep in conversation with an older man I don't recognize. "But he's loyal. Once he commits to something, he sees it through."

There's a warning in those words. I can't tell if it's meant for me or about Dominic.

"You've known him a long time?"

"Since boarding school. Watched him build his empire from nothing after his mother died." James takes a sip of champagne. "He doesn't trust easily. Doesn't let people in. But when he does..." He shrugs. "You might surprise each other."

Before I can respond, the band starts playing. Couples move toward the dance floor.

"That's our cue," Dominic says, appearing beside me so suddenly I jump.

His hand finds mine, and even through my gloves, I feel the heat of his palm. He leads me to the center of the floor, and everyone else steps back, forming a circle around us.

The first dance. Of course.

Dominic's hand settles on my waist, burning through the silk of my dress. His other hand engulfs mine. We're close enough that I can see the exact color of his eyes, steel gray with flecks of darker charcoal.

"Relax," he murmurs. "You're stiff as a board."

"Sorry." I force my shoulders to drop, trying to follow his lead. He moves with surprising grace for someone so tall, guiding me through the steps with confidence.

"You're different than I expected," he says after a moment.

My heart stutters. "What do you mean?"

"Quieter. More self-contained." His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. "The times we met before, you were more... animated."

Times they met before. Felicity met him before. How many times? When? What did they talk about?

"Perhaps I'm nervous," I manage. "It's my wedding day."

"Is it?" The question hangs between us, sharp as a blade.

I meet his eyes, forcing myself not to flinch. "What else would it be?"

"I don't know yet." His thumb traces a small circle on my waist, an absent gesture that sends electricity up my spine. "But something feels off."

"You're imagining things."

"I never imagine things." His voice drops lower, meant only for me. "I deal in facts, numbers, concrete evidence. And the facts tell me you're not quite who you're pretending to be."

The room tilts. He knows. He has to know.

But then he adds, "Did you actually want this?"

The question catches me off guard. "What?"

"This marriage. Or did your parents push you into it the way mine pushed me?"

I blink, recalibrating. He's not talking about the switch. He's talking about choice.

"I wanted to do what was right for my family," I say carefully.

Something shifts in his expression. Not quite warmth, but maybe understanding. "People like us don't get the luxury of wanting, do we? We get duty. Obligation. The greater good of the empire."

"Is that what this is to you? An obligation?"

"What else would it be?" But there's something bitter in his tone, something that sounds almost like regret.

The song ends. Dominic releases me immediately, stepping back like my touch burns. Around us, other couples join the floor, filling the space between us.

"I need to speak with some investors," he says. "Mingle. Play the happy bride. We'll leave in an hour."

Leave. Right. Because married people go on honeymoons. Or at least go home together.

The thought makes my chest tight.

I watch Dominic disappear into the crowd, his broad shoulders cutting through the sea of guests. James catches my eye from across the room and raises his glass in a small salute.

I need air. I need to think. I need to figure out how to survive the next three years married to a man who already suspects I'm lying.

Dominic materializes beside me, his hand finding the small of my back again. That same burning touch through silk.

"Ready?" he asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice.