Cecilia looked down at her fingers. They were bare now, but soon to wear a ring that would bound her to a man had kissed her like she was made of stars and told her he loved her like it would kill him not to. "Do you think he'll be nervous?"
"Oh, I don't think nerves have ever touched that man," Lily said with a smirk. "But I do think he'll cry when he sees you."
Cecilia's breath caught. "He won't."
"He will. He's a goner. You'll see," Lily responded with pride.
There was a knock on the door before it opened slightly and Magnus peeked his head in. "Are you decent?"
"More than decent," Lily said with a grin. "Come in, Your Grace."
Magnus stepped in, dressed in a dark green waistcoat woven in gold thread. He looked like the man of power he'd always been, but Cecilia saw the tightness in his shoulders. There was this tiny crack of vulnerability in his smile.
"You look…" he paused, the word catching in his throat. "Beautiful. Mother would've been proud."
Her throat thickened, and for a moment, all three stood in silence, as the weight of memories settled around them.
"Thank you," she whispered. It was all Cecilia could offer apart from joyful tears.
Magnus cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well. I'm only here to inform you that your groom has stopped pacing and is no longer threatening to punch anyone who looks at him wrong."
Cecilia's lips curved. "That's progress."
"I thought so." He turned toward Lily. "Would you give us a moment?"
Lily nodded knowingly and slipped from the room with a little wink.
Once the door clicked shut, Magnus took a step closer. "I know I've been… difficult."
"You were terrified," Cecilia replied softly. "And I understand that now."
"I just wanted you safe."
"I know. But safety isn't always quiet halls and untouched lips. Sometimes it's someone who walks through fire with you."
He smiled faintly. "And Theo does that."
"He does."
"Then I won't say more. Except, if he ever gives you a reason to doubt, come to me."
She nodded. "You'll duel him in the garden?"
"I'll duel him in hell if I have to."
Her laughter sounded loud, bright and full. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
He stepped closer and offered his arm. "Shall we?" It was time.
She took it without a second thought, heart fluttering not with nerves, but anticipation. As they made their way through the halls of the estate toward the private chapel where the ceremony was to take place, she couldn't help but think of how much had changed in such little time.
Cuthbert was in jail, awaiting trial for fraud, attempted extortion, and—most satisfying of all—an attempted assault against Theo that had gone very badly for him. He'd limped out of the illegal boxing ring and into a magistrate's holding cell. Hector, the coward, had fled to France, leaving only a pathetic note behind that read: "Tell Theo it wasn't personal."
Theo had laughed for ten minutes straight upon reading it.
And now, here they were. A wedding. A new life.
The chapel was soaked in golden light. Sun streamed in through the tall glass, casting bright reflections across the audience. The room had been decorated with white lilies and the air smelled of summer rain and something sweet.
