Chapter Forty-Nine
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
M ANHATTAN, THE CITY OF SPECTACLE, HAD NEVER SEEN ANYTHING quite like the opening of the Empire.
If only Thomas could have enjoyed it.
As Constance’s wedding march filled the acoustically perfect hall, Julia Moreau stepped to center stage, cheekily positioning herself directly in front of the bishop, who looked none too pleased at suddenly receiving a face full of feathers from Julia’s extravagant plumage.
Thomas might have laughed if it weren’t taking all his strength to keep from crying.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Loyal denizens of the Empire!” Julia called, settling the audience down. “Today, you will see wonders beyond your wildest imaginations! You will worship at the temple of Bacchus and Thomas Gallier! You will marvel at the modern world and peek through the curtain that separates fantasy and reality.”
Wild applause. At least Evelyn had been right about one thing—the audience truly loved the spectacular she’d put together.
“But first, you will witness that most sacred of human rites— marriage!”
Applause, applause, applause . They might as well have been applauding Thomas stepping up to the hanging block. Julia continued:
“Now, this is not a normal marriage. This is the marriage of two of this city’s most famous children! Thomas Gallier, the Emperor himself, and Miss Constance Alban—the Princess of Manhattan! All rise for the procession of the wedding party!”
The doors at the rear of the theater opened. Six identical, slender women in softly colored gowns marched up either of the aisles. Thomas wanted to scream. Alban must have been so certain of their nuptials that he’d prepared all of this in advance—such coordination would have taken weeks.
Control your breathing, Thomas. Don’t let them see you suffer.
Once the bridal party was in position, the trumpets wailed. The doors opened again, and Julia’s voice chimed out to the back of the house. “Remain standing for the arrival of the bride.”
There she was. The soon-to-be Mrs. Thomas Gallier, sweeping down the aisle to adoring sighs and cheers. Constance—with her perfect hair and willowy body and gown that must have cost more than most in this theater would see in their lifetime—should have radiated sunshine on her father’s arm. However, when she arrived at Thomas’s side and was handed over, he pulled back her veil to greet someone very gray indeed.
Once the audience settled, the bishop began the ceremony.
“Dearly beloved …”
As the bishop spoke of marriage and sacrifice, Thomas focused on his gold crucifix—a distraction from his present circumstance. Sacrifice indeed.
He didn’t even acknowledge his future wife again until she whispered his name.
“Thomas?”
“Yes, my dear?” he asked, the words catching on his tongue like tender fingers on sandpaper.
“On the night when we danced, you said that I made you realize something. What was it?”
“That doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me.”
“… the holy bonds of Christian matrimony …”
He glanced down at her, only to realize she wasn’t looking at him at all. Constance was staring out at someone in the audience.
Edward Langmore. Hat in his hands. Stuck in the middle of a long row of people, trapped as he watched her marry someone else.
“Thomas, I don’t think I want to marry someone I don’t love,” she said, her voice barely carrying above the roar of his hammering heart, but her hazy eyes possessing a surprising confidence. “A lifetime is such a long time to be alone in a marriage, don’t you think?”
“… vouchsafed by the state …”
“You … you don’t want to marry me?” he asked.
Her ringlets bounced as she shook her head. Tears leaked onto her cheeks, leaving tracks in her white powder, but she was smiling all the same—a real smile. “No,” she said. “And I don’t think you want to marry me either.”
“… and made sacred by the watchful blessing of the Lord our God …”
It was both the best and worst thing Thomas had ever heard. Best because he might now be free—if he hadn’t lost the one woman he’d wanted the freedom to choose.
He didn’t have time to make a decision.
“Mr. Gallier. Miss Alban,” the bishop said. “Will you two turn and face each other?”
They did so. Neither of them with any certainty.
“Please repeat after me,” the bishop intoned. “I, Thomas Gallier—”
“I, Thomas Gallier …”
If Thomas hadn’t been so attuned to the noises of The Empire, he might not have heard it. The slight, echoing pop in the back of the house—the sound of the doors opening when they weren’t meant to be. Against his better judgment, his attention swiveled to that one noise—
Evelyn .
Watching him marry someone else.
The great doors framed her and even the dim theater lights didn’t dull her shine. Her bottom lip trembled. Her hair had come loose from her simple bun. Her hat sat askew on her head.
Still. The most perfect woman he’d ever seen.
And when their eyes met, he discovered the gods and poets were right. They were two halves of a single whole, and their combining was the only thing that mattered in this universe. The only thing that could right all the wrongs they’d suffered.
Thomas found himself smiling at her. Lost in the magic.
The bishop continued. “… do take Miss Constance Alban to be my lawfully wedded wife.”
The reply came quickly, thoughtless, natural.
“… do take Miss Evelyn Cross to be my lawfully wedded wife.”