He takes my hand, turns to the crowd, and holds up our intertwined fingers. The crowd cheers. Actually, they’ve been cheering the whole time, and I just went momentarily senseless during that kiss.
I’m still half-dazed as Henry threads an arm around my waist and ushers me back down the center aisle as the crowd claps.
People offer congratulations as we pass, but my head is still spinning and I can’t offer more than a dumb smile to each of them.
When we reach the back of the ceremony room, Henry holds up our joined hands and the room erupts in cheers before he leads the way down a long hallway to a ballroom.
The tables are covered in tall candelabras and wildflower arrangements. Wax dribbles down the sides of the tapers and every single bouquet is different. I’m so used to the tidy tablescapes of Lunameade that I like the disorder for the sheer fact that it looks like the outside has come into the ballroom. Ivy vines have been woven into the chandeliers, adding a romantic wilderness feel to the space. It’s so beautiful. No one would ever look at a room like this and think this is the sham wedding of two people who hate each other.
“This is part two, lovely. Communion,” Henry whispers. “We’ll share food and wine and you’ll sit on my lap and bare your soul to me.”
“Oh, is that all?”
He ignores my snark. “Usually, just one secret is enough to complete that part of the ritual. Then we can get on to the part you’ve been waiting for.”
My stomach tumbles so suddenly, I don’t even have the focus for a comeback. This morning, I felt confident about all of this, but as Henry leads me to our place of honor at the front of the ballroom and the masked guests start pouring in, I feel completely unprepared.
There is a very real and present danger that I will ruin a sacred ritual to Kennymyra. I’m hardly a believer, but it still feels in poor form to start a marriage—however fake—with an equally fake orgasm. On the off chance the Divine really is watching this offering, I don’t want to risk her ire.
Henry sits in his chair and tugs me into the chair next to him. Servants pour us both wine, and I knock back half my glass immediately.
He piles food onto my plate. A bunch of tiny bites. Cheese wrapped in some kind of cured meat, melon slices, biscuits with berry jam and bacon. He adds food until the plate is heaping and looks at me expectantly—as if I’m going to go into the rest of this ritual with a full stomach.
I note that he chose only foods I like. I don’t like that he’s paid such close attention in our limited interactions when I have no idea of his preferences. I feel suddenly at a disadvantage and oddly uncomfortable at such public intimacy with a man I barely know.
Considering the way my stomach already feels like it’s full of a flock of messenger doves, I don’t think filling up right now is a wise idea.
I take a bite of melon to appease him. It’s delicious; somehow so ripe that the juice drips down my chin. I take a few more bites of melon and eat half of a biscuit, but that’s all my stomach can take.
“It’s time,” Henry whispers as his mother walks up to the table and places a small hourglass in front of us.
A hush comes over the crowd as Evangeline raises her hands. “We ask the Divine to witness this communion of the newlyweds.”
I take another gulp of wine, trying to steady my racing heart. I didn’t know it was timed. I thought it would just be a minute or two. The thought of everyone looking at me while I look at him and tell him my secrets makes me want to run.
I can do this. What’s a minute or two of lovingly gazing into his eyes?
Two servants step behind Henry’s chair, a scarlet veil in their hands. They look at me expectantly, but I can’t bear the thought of being trapped under that ceremonial veil with Henry. It’s just a piece of fabric, but it feels like a cage.
Evangeline waves her hands in the air. “Please eat and drink in their honor as we give the happy couple their ten minutes of communion.”
Ten minutes!My heartbeat whooshes in my ears.
I force myself to stand and place my hand in Henry’s.
Running is the first and most important survival skill I ever learned. The impulse is innate, the muscles in my legs already twitching, ready to spring into action. But just this once, I shove the impulse down and let this predator draw me into his lap and hold me in the snare of his gaze.
Then, the servants drape the veil over us and I’m alone with the man of my nightmares.
25
HENRY
Up close, Harlow doesn’t look as mean as she wants to. She studies me with rapt fascination, like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. Her bottom lip is kicked out in a pout as she concentrates on anything but my eyes.
Those full lips are distracting. I wish I hadn’t kissed her so hard after our vows. I can still taste her, and every time I look at her lower lip, I want to sink my teeth into it and hear her gasp again.
She always smells like Stellarium Blossoms, but with the flowers woven into her hair, it’s even more pronounced. If it weren’t for the intensity in her eyes, the braid and the dress and the flowers would offer a sort of sweet naivety. But there’s nothing innocent about the way she looks at me.
