Harper’s heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she walked, steady and composed on the outside, her pulse hammering just beneath the surface.
In a private antechamber off the royal chapel, Sebastian stared into a mirror with the weary resignation of a man being handed back the chains he just finished breaking. He adjusted the bowtie once again. The damn thinghad been professionally knotted, ironed, blessed by the gods of protocol and yet it still felt like a noose.
Alexander strolled in, annoyingly at ease in his full regalia. “If you fiddle with that one more time, it’s going to file a restraining order.”
Before Sebastian could retort, the door cracked open.
Sebastian turned toward the sound as Harper slipped in, moving quietly across the room, holding a carefully pressed program and a look of practiced calm. Her navy maid-of-honor gown hugged her frame with elegant severity, the neckline modest but lethal, the skirt designed to whisper rather than swish. Her hair was swept into a style that looked like it had taken hours and a team of discreet professionals. She was every inch the picture of grace and decorum.
Except for her eyes.
Those eyes found Sebastian’s and flickered with something decidedly unprofessional.
Alexander took one look at them and sighed. “This is the part where I pretend I forgot something and vanish with dignity.”
He exited without waiting for permission.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Did you really risk scandal just to see me in this damn bowtie?”
Harper’s lips curled. “You think I haven’t already seen you in one? You’ve worn at least three this week. But I had to make sure you didn’t combust before we even reached the chapel.”
“You look like the cover of a scandalous romance,” Harper said as she crossed to him, folding her arms. “That scowl really works for you.”
Whatever stress had been in Sebastian’s expression softened instantly. “And you,” he said, taking her in with a low whistle, “look like the heroine who’s here to ruin me.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere if you’re still wearing that thing like a noose,” she said. Harper sighed and reached for the bowtie. “Hold still, I’ll loosen it a little.”
Sebastian obeyed, going very still as her fingers moved with practiced ease. Her knuckles brushed his collarbone, and she was acutely aware ofthe heat between them, the electric quiet.
“You know,” he murmured, “I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t your master plan to kill me with anticipation before the ceremony even starts.”
“If I wanted to kill you,” Harper said, focused on her work, “I’d have done it weeks ago. And it would’ve been subtle.”
“That’s… oddly comforting.”
She gave the fabric one last tug and stepped back. “There. Better?”
Sebastian nodded. He was looking at her the way Emilia had warned about, like he was holding his breath.
“This is going to be hell, isn’t it?” he asked.
Harper met his eyes. “Standing next to you, pretending we’re just acquaintances who barely know each other? Absolutely.”
He swallowed. “Don’t look at me during the vows.”
“Fine, don’t say anything smug to me during the reception.”
“Deal.”
Her hand lingered a beat longer than necessary on his chest before she pulled away.
“I have to go,” she said softly. “They’re almost ready for us.”
Sebastian nodded, but just before she turned, he caught her hand briefly, just enough for the contact to say: I’m still here.
She looked down at their joined hands, then up at him.
For a second, it felt like the air between them might ignite. But then someone called for final positions, and the moment was gone, tucked away like a secret vow.