Chapter Seventeen-Cecilia
The ramp to the yacht is lined with flickering lanterns, their flames barely dancing in the sea breeze.
Everything smells like salt and lemon blossoms.
Somewhere below deck, the engine hums—a reminder that this floating palace is ready to whisk us away the second Atlas gives the word.
And I’m walking onto it like I’m not about to make the most reckless, surreal decision of my life.
I’m wearing a dress my mother would love—did love, actually, when I tried it on when we went shopping.
To think that was just days ago.
Anyway, it’s really stunning, and it flatters my tall-ish, fuller figure.
Layers of gauzy silk in a shade she called dusty rose. It clings in places I don’t mind and flows in others, giving me the illusion of effortlessness I most definitely do not feel.
It’s beautiful.
It’s soft.
But it’s not a wedding dress.
Not the one I imagined as a girl, anyway.
No train. No veil. No aisle to walk down with a tearful father at my side and a bouquet clenched in my shaking hands.
Just this dress, this yacht, and a man who looks at me like I’m something he wants to own or consume, maybe.
This isn’t a real wedding, Cece.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Over and over, like a prayer.
It’s just business.
A deal.
An alliance.
A transaction sealed with a ceremony and some very expensive paperwork.
And yet, it doesn’t feel fake when Atlas reaches for my hand and curls his fingers around mine like he’s anchoring me or himself or both.
It doesn’t feel fake when his eyes catch mine and everything else—this yacht, this sea, this impossible sky—fades away.
Oh no.
I don’t want to want him.
But I do.
God help me, I do.
Because the heart doesn’t care about logistics.
Or prenups.
Or plots whispered in the dead of night.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
And mine?
It’s already tangled up in him.
In this real-life prince of a man with ice in his veins and lightning in his eyes. Who touches me like I’m sacred and looks at me like I’m already his.
Maybe I’m a fool.
Maybe I’m being used.
I know this whole marriage is just one more strategic move in a chess game I don’t understand. But maybe—just maybe—I don’t care.
Because as much as I hate the idea of being someone's pawn, the truth is, I’ve never felt more seen than I do with him.
And right now, standing barefoot on this dock, in a dress too soft for war and too pretty for regret, I realize something terrifying.
I’m not just falling for him.
I already have.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever climb back out.
Too late to run now, Cece.
I barely feel the waves beneath my feet as Atlas leads me down the main deck, his hand warm and firm on the small of my back.
We pass crew members and guards as we make our way toward the open-air aft deck where the ceremony is already prepared.
No one meets my eyes.
Not one person.
In fact, I think one of the guards shuddered as we walked past. Whether it was out of fear or reverence, I honestly can’t say.
But it only adds to the surreal quality of everything.
This is happening.
I’m getting married.
To a man I’ve known for barely more than a blink.
To a man who burns when he touches me.
Who scares me just as much as he makes me feel seen.
The sea glitters behind us, blue as a dream. The moon is rising, turning the sky to silver.
It should be the most romantic moment of my life—but my hands are cold, and my stomach is twisted up in a knot I can’t undo.
Captain Nikolaus Kostas stands at attention beneath a small white arch flanked by two large vases filled with white lilies.
He’s weathered and dignified, his beard trimmed, his uniform sharp.
He nods respectfully to Atlas, then glances at me with just enough sympathy to make my throat tighten.
There are no flowers in my hair.
No family.
No first dance playlist.
No cake tasting, no champagne toasts, no “Something borrowed, something blue.”
Just this.
Just him.
Atlas takes my hand and holds it between both of his. His eyes never leave mine.
When the Captain begins the vows, his deep Greek-accented voice formal and calm, Atlas doesn’t hesitate.
Not once.
“I do.”
He says it like a vow and a warning.
And when it’s my turn, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I don’t even realize I’m speaking until the words have already fallen out of me like a whisper.
“I do.”
The Captain confirms we are now husband and wife, but I barely hear him.
I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
Then Atlas cups my face with both hands and kisses me.
Hard.
Possessive.
Claiming.
Like I’ve just been marked in front of the whole damn world.
The crew claps.
Someone whistles.
The guards murmur their congratulations, and Captain Kostas gives us a formal nod before retreating.
The sound of celebration feels distant. Muted. Like it’s happening underwater.
Because this isn’t the wedding I imagined as a girl.
There’s no slow dance under fairy lights.
No preparation.
No mother and father giving me away.
No bouquet.
There’s just a kiss that stole my breath and a new last name I’m still wrapping my head around.
I feel a sudden, inexplicable ache. Like I’ve just lost something I’ll never be able to name.
And I think maybe it’s the illusion of control.
Maybe it’s the version of me that thought I’d always get to choose.
Maybe it’s because I already care too much.
Atlas leans close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “I promise to keep you safe.”
I nod slowly, because I believe him.
It’s not the meeting in Turkey that scares me.
It’s this marriage.
This man.
This connection between us that feels too powerful, too consuming to be anything but real.
Because I already know—I’ve done the unthinkable.
I’ve fallen for him.
Completely.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
Because when this sham ends, and the papers are signed, and the world moves on? I don’t know how I’ll walk away. I don’t know if I’ll survive what’s left of me without him.
Not when he’s already holding every piece of my heart.