LOGINLeander and Caspian are watching when I return to the dance floor, their attention shifted into something quieter and more focused, the kind of watching that comes from people who notice when something has changed even if they cannot name the specific thing. Unusually for me, I do not mind it. I find it steadying. I lean into it instead of resisting it, and I let the music and Amara's laughter fill the space where the hurt was sitting.
We are dancing when it happens.
Amara spins beside me with her arms up, fully in her main character era, and then she is simply not there anymore. Gone from beside me, replaced by empty space, and I stumble sideways in my heels and round on whoever just pulled her away.
"What the hell," I say, to the broad back of a man who has just pulled Amara against his side like something he is in the process of reclaiming.
He begins to turn toward me.
I see Caspian and Leander move before I finish the thought. Simply there, flanking me, Leander a half step in front with his hands loose at his sides and an expression I have seen maybe three times in my life. The one that is very calm, very quiet, and very specifically dangerous.
"Finish that sentence," Leander says to the man, in a voice that is almost pleasant, "and see where the rest of your night goes."
The man stills. He and Leander lock eyes, and something passes between them in the air that has no name but is legible to anyone who grew up around people like us. A recognition of what each of them is capable of.
Then Leander's face changes.
The dangerous calm dissolves into recognition and genuine warmth, and Leander exhales a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, and the man mirrors the exact same exhale, and the tension in the air simply vanishes.
"Knox," Leander says.
"Leander," the man says. They embrace the way men who share real history do, and Amara is watching this reversal with the expression of someone who cannot decide whether to be relieved or exasperated, and I am watching it completely shook because this man who materialised from nowhere and grabbed my new best friend is apparently someone my brother genuinely likes.
Caspian wraps his arms around me from behind because I am listing slightly to the left and he clocks it without being asked, and rests his chin on top of my head while Leander and Knox catch up with the ease of two people who can skip every formality entirely.
"Your sister?" Knox says, nodding at me.
"Unfortunately," Leander says, which earns him a look he does not see.
"I panicked," Knox says, and when he glances at Amara the look he gives her is the most completely whipped thing I have ever witnessed in person. He is so down bad for her it radiates like heat. She is not his situationship. She is the main character of his entire story and it is written plainly across his face. "I saw how much she'd had and I just."
"It's fine," Leander says, almost amused. "Let's get these two some water and sit down."
We end up in a booth, the five of us, which is not the birthday plan I had in mind but which is probably better than the alternative given the current state of my legs. The booth is deep and red-cushioned and someone puts water on the table and I look at it with the resigned acceptance of someone who knew this was coming.
Knox has not personally apologised to me. I notice this. I file it. It is slightly petty of me to care, but I do care, and I am holding this for future reference.
"You're at my birthday party," I say to him across the table. "You owe me a present."
He looks at me for a moment. Then he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and what he produces and tosses across the table with zero ceremony is not what I am expecting.
A single piece of strawberry bubblegum, individually wrapped.
I look at it. For a long moment. Then something happens to my face that I do not plan, and I reach for it with both hands, and my heart is fuller than it has any right to be over one piece of bubblegum, because strawberry is the best flavour and this is the most unexpectedly perfect gift and I am not going to examine why simple things sometimes hit harder than expensive ones.
Caspian arrives with a full glass of water and sets it in front of me. Then he picks up the bubblegum.
"Drink the full glass," he says, holding it just out of my reach with the satisfaction of someone who knows exactly what leverage they are holding. "All of it. Then you get this."
"Caspian."
"Every drop, Serafina."
"My name," I say, with all the dignity I have remaining, which is not a generous quantity, "is Sera."
I begin drinking at the deliberate pace of someone who has accepted their situation but wants it noted for the record that they are not happy about it. Leander, apparently deciding this is too slow, reaches across and tips the bottom of the glass upward, and I pull back and water goes down my chin and across the front of my dress.
My black Prada dress.
The silence that follows belongs to me alone because everyone else at the table is making sounds indicating they find this funny, which they are categorically not permitted to find.
"This is Prada," I say, staring down at the wet fabric spreading across my lap. "Leander. This is my Prada dress."
"You always said you wanted a water park for your birthday," he says, deeply pleased with himself.
"That is not." I stare at him. "That is not funny. At all."
"It's a little funny," Caspian says quietly, from my left.
I turn the stare on Caspian. He does not look sorry. Amara is pressing her lips together. I accept this as a draw.
"My name," I say, to the table, to the universe at large, "is Sera. Not Serafina, not Seraphina, not Serpentina, not Seraphew. Sera. I have said this approximately one hundred times today and I will continue saying it for as long as necessary."
I take my bubblegum back from Caspian. I settle into the booth and listen to the others catch up while the music plays on without me. My dress is damp. My heels are off under the table. The weight of tomorrow is pressing closer than I managed to keep it all night, and I am too wasted and too tired to hold it at arm's length anymore.
I let it be there. Then I unwrap the bubblegum and put it in my mouth and the strawberry flavour is so bright and simple and good that I close my eyes for a moment and just taste it.
Chapter 54 (Sera)"You are acting like a child," he says."I am twenty-five years old.""Then conduct yourself like it."I look out the window at the Sicilian coastline moving past and decide that the view deserves my attention considerably more than he does. I am not, I will note privately, entirely unaware that my own internal running commentary on various aspects of this situation is not exactly the most mature contribution either. But I am keeping that to myself.He is still looking at his phone."During the ceremony," he says, without looking up, "you were distracted for the first four minutes, you were visibly shaking throughout, and you spent the vows looking everywhere except where you were supposed to be looking."I absorb each item on his list with the private acknowledgment that all three are accurate."Being married to you," I say pleasantly, "is somewhat equivalent to a death sentence. So the shaking was proportionate."He shakes his head once, returns his eyes to the scr
"I am going to kill him," I tell Caspian, coming down the altar steps. Quietly. With complete conviction."Not right now," he says."Specifically today.""Sera —""He planned it." I say it through my teeth, keeping my voice below the ambient noise of two hundred guests filing out around me. "He knew the dress would slow me down. He calculated the exit. He anticipated every variable and executed it in front of both families and a full photography team and then had the nerve to smirk at me on his way out." I pause. "He is dying today.""That is a very murdery energy for someone who has been married for four minutes."Leander appears at my other side. He surveys my expression and apparently decides to try a different approach."At least he showed up," he offers.I stare at him."Some people get stood up entirely," he continues. "He was there. He said the words. Technically —""I would have preferred to be stood up," I say. "I would have taken being stood up. Standing at that altar alone
"Seraphina."My name in his voice brings me back.The priest has his book open and his eyes on me with the expression of a man who has repeated himself at least once already. Dorian is looking at me with the specific flatness of someone who has just been required to summon another person's attention at their own wedding, which I suspect is not a sentence that appears in many ceremony memory books.I missed the instruction to take his hands.I look at my hands. Then at his. Then, with a private plummet in composure that I will not be narrating to anyone, I wipe both my clammy palms on the side of my dress before extending them.This is the lowest I have ever sunk. I want the record to reflect that.His grip closes around my hands, gentle and firm and steady in a way I did not expect, and the shaking that had been working its way toward something resembling full panic in front of two hundred people slows in response to the simple fact of being held. My heart is still pounding. My palms
"I love you," Leander whispers, the moment before we take the first step."I love you both," I say, and I mean it for both of them equally, linked on either side of me, their arms solid under my hands. Then the violins begin, and the aisle opens in front of us, and we move.The church is full. Two hundred faces turn toward us in the particular way of people who have been waiting and are now watching, and I look straight ahead and I walk.I think, as I walk, about what the two of them have actually been. Not in the abstract, not in the way you think of family when someone asks you to describe them, but in the specific accumulated weight of twenty-five years. Every school difficulty navigated in the back of a car. Every family tension managed between the three of us with the shorthand of people who do not need full sentences. Every milestone, every argument, every ordinary evening that did not feel significant at the time and now, on this particular walk down this particular aisle, feel
"If I step on this train even once," I say, lifting the hem with one hand and navigating the excessive number of sun-baked stone steps that apparently every Sicilian church considers a reasonable entrance, "I am holding you personally responsible. Regardless of where in the world you are at the time.""You no longer have anyone to do your threatening for you," Caspian says from beside me, barely helping. "That era is behind you.""I have always done my own threatening," I say. "That was never outsourced."From the shaded top of the steps, Leander is watching both of us with his arms crossed and the particular expression of a man who has decided that commentary is more interesting than assistance."Seraphicent," he calls down pleasantly."You are thirty years old," I call back, still climbing, "and you are still calling your sister a villain name.""A very accurate villain name.""Bring up the spiders and I will name you specifically in my first interview as a married woman."He grins.
"It is time," Leander says, and presses a kiss to my temple before stepping back.The word lands differently than I expected. Not like a scheduling note. Like a door closing.I turn back to the mirror one final time.The bun is deliberately undone, loose curls pulled out around the face, the rest gathered and pinned with the specific imprecision that takes considerably more effort than anything actually neat. Minimal makeup, glowing rather than heavy. And the lipstick, matte, specifically matte, chosen over every gloss option in the case for a reason I have not said aloud to anyone in this room.There will be a kiss. In front of hundreds of people, at some point during the ceremony, there will be a brief and public and entirely performative kiss, and I am, in every meaningful romantic sense, still entirely a virgin in that department, and the thought of leaving a gloss print on Dorian Valenti's mouth in front of two hundred witnesses is the specific form of mortification that kept me
Six weeks later…"You look extraordinary," Caspian says from the doorway.I look at myself in the hotel mirror and say nothing for a moment.Six weeks. That is all it took. One moment I was watching Dorian walk away from me down a marble hallway in Sicily, the fake ring warm in my palm, and the nex
The photographer lowers his camera and the families begin moving off the stage, and Dorian and his brothers start making their exit with the coordinated efficiency of people who agreed on this plan before they arrived.Massimo stops them."You are not returning before the wedding," he says to Doria
"Do you have a problem with the mistress clause?" he asks, with a smirk that tells me he expects a specific reaction.I look around the office instead of back toward the party. I have no desire to go and perform happiness with him any sooner than necessary."No," I say.The smirk shifts slightly. H
He is an hour and a half late to his own engagement party.I sit with this fact through the appetiser course and most of the main and by the time he arrives I have assembled a fairly complete internal catalogue. Arrogant. Deeply unpleasant. Disappeared the moment the marriage was announced and left







