“But, E…”
“I love you, sister.” I blink away my tears. “I love that you have my back, no matter what. But right now… I need you to stand by my side, as my maid-of-honor. I need you to carry my veil, and hold my hand, and support me when I stumble.” Panic is creeping into my voice; I do my best to tamp it down. “Because if you don’t… I don’t think I’ll be able to go through with this. AndI have to go through with this, Chloe.I have to.”
Chloe holds my eyes for a long moment, then nods. “Let’s go get you hitched.”
Chapter Eighteen
It isthe longest walk of my life.
Up a set of sodden stone stairs, my once-beautiful veil trailing behind me like a translucent slug. Through a set of ornate wood doors that spill warm candlelight from the cathedral within. Across a threshold of marble and steel, the dividing line between my past and future. Down an alley of flower petals, their beauty crushed to pulp beneath my feet. Onto an altar of gold, where a beautiful man in a white suit awaits.
I’m not certain how long the procession takes. Somewhere between five minutes and five years. I feel dazed. Half-asleep. Like this is all happening to someone else, or unfolding in a dream.
I try to take in the faces of the crowd as I walk down the aisle, but there are so many of them. I see not one person I recognize in their midst. Not one person who means anything to me. Just pew after pew of aristocrats, their expressions stoic as I float past in a cloud of silk.
I feel so desperately alone — even when I reach the end of the aisle and Alden steps forward to meet me.
“My dear,” he whispers. “How beautiful you look.”
He smiles down at me, stunningly handsome in his white jacket, and offers his arm. Just as we rehearsed. I slide my hand over the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead me up three shallow steps onto the platform.
The archbishop — the same one who conducted my coronation and proceeded over my father’s funeral rites — steps forward. I’ve met him six times at least and yet, in this moment, I cannot recall so much as his first name.
His robes gleam, gold and white with splendor as he lifts his arms overhead to begin the blessing.
“Please, be seated.”
I hear the sound of five hundred guests settling into their pews, but I don’t look back. Instead, I let my eyes slide to my left, where Chloe is hovering. She gives a faint nod of encouragement and, belatedly, I pass off my bouquet of gold roses.
She steps aside, finding her spot by the far pulpit. Leaving me alone with my choices.
We should’ve run when we had the chance.
Alden and I turn to face one another on the altar, hands clasped in the space between our bodies. He looks totally calm and collected as he stares into my eyes. I wonder if my apprehension is plain to see. If he knows me well enough, by now, to read my expression.
For, now that I am up here, about to tie my life to his for all time…my numbness is swiftly fading and, in its place, a sense of utter panic is taking hold. My coping mechanism —don’t think, don’t think, don’t think— no longer seems to be working effectively.
My heart begins to pound double-time — a mad tattoo, thundering inside my veins. It’s all I can hear. All I can focus on.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Everything else is too silent, now that the cheering crowds have been shut out in the rain and the organ has stopped its droning from the balcony.
The archbishop starts speaking — saying something about commitment and partnership and the many merits of wedded bliss as he blesses our gold rings on small pillows at the ceremonial table behind us. His words barely register beneath the dread gripping me like a vise.
I am getting married.
Not in a month or a week or a day.
Now.
Right now.
This instant.