Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Seraphina
Stand By Me – Stephen Wilson Jr.
The reflection staring back at me doesn’t look like me at all.
She looks… softer. Braver. Like a girl who might finally belong somewhere.
The dress Mac helped me choose—the white lace one—clings to my body in a way I’ve never worn anything before.
It’s slimline, elegant, with a delicate trail that brushes the floor when I walk.
The lace sleeves hug my arms, intricate, tiny floral patterns curling against my skin.
The neckline dips just enough to make me blush, not scandalous but beautifully daring—for me, at least. I’ve never been allowed to feel beautiful.
Not like this. I’m almost too scared to move in it.
The heels are small, white satin with a pearl at each ankle strap. My hair—Mac called it wild fire—is tamed into a fishtail braid over one shoulder, threaded with tiny white flowers she wove in herself. She said it made me look ethereal. Like someone who had been kissed by spring.
My face is still my own, only lighter, softer—a sweep of mascara, a touch of shimmer at my cheekbones. Mac said makeup wasn’t meant to hide me, just highlight what was already there. When she asked about lipstick, she held up two shades — a nude gloss and a deep, daring red.
She’d chosen red for herself, her pale lilac satin dress catching the morning light as she swiped the color across her lips. I wanted to be brave like her. So, I asked for red too.
When she smiled, I knew I’d made the right choice.
Mac finishes pinning the last stray curl into place and steps back, eyes glistening. “You’re not alone anymore, Seraphina,” she says quietly. “You’ve got us now. A family. And family means everything to us. I hope, one day, we can be best friends.”
My throat tightens. I nod, unable to speak, afraid that if I do, I’ll start crying and ruin everything she’s done.
“Come on,” she says, taking my hand. “The boys are waiting.”
We move together through the hallway, the faint hum of the boarding house waking up around us—soft murmurs, the clink of dishes from the kitchen, distant music from someone’s phone. My heart beats so loud I can barely hear anything else.
At the top of the staircase, I pause.
Below, sunlight spills across the marble floor, washing everything in gold. Logan stands near the door in a dark suit, his arm wrapped loosely around Mac’s waist. Just before I get lost in the sight of them, I see him—
Trey.
He’s facing the door, talking to Logan, then he turns. The air leaves my lungs.
Black dress pants sit low on his hips, a crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, and a fitted black satin vest that catches the light with every breath.
The vest looks like it was made for him—like sin tailored in silk.
The barbed wire crown tattoo curls up his throat, dark against sun-kissed skin.
His hair is slightly messy, that silver ring at his lip glinting when he smiles.
No tie. No effort to be proper. He doesn’t need it.
He’s raw and beautiful and completely unbothered by it.
When his gaze finds mine, everything stops. My heartbeat. My breath. Time.
There’s this strange rush in my chest—like my body’s caught between wanting to flee and wanting to fall.
For a second, I’m terrified I’ll blink and wake up in the loft at the old parsonage.
That this—Trey—will vanish. I dig my nails into my palm, just to feel something solid, then take the first step down.
My fingers curl around the railing for balance, but my eyes never leave him.
I feel every brush of lace, every whisper of fabric against my skin as I descend.
Each step pulls me closer to something I don’t have a name for.
Trey moves toward the foot of the stairs, his hand lifting—steady, sure—as I reach the last few steps. When my hand meets his, his thumb traces over my knuckles in a slow, reverent sweep. His voice is low, roughened by awe.
“Words,” he murmurs, then exhales a shaky laugh. “Fuck… you look…” He swallows, trying again. “Seraphina, Dove—you look absolutely fucking breathtaking.”
My cheeks burn. I want to say something back, something graceful, but the feeling rising inside me makes my stomach twist. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s everything. And the worst part? I can smell him. Cedarwood, smoke, and something darkly addictive.
Mac and Logan hover nearby, pretending not to watch, but their smiles give them away. Trey doesn’t let go of my hand as he leads me through the open doors of the Rosewood. His palm is warm, his fingers threaded with mine, and when the cool morning air brushes over my skin, I shiver.
He notices—of course he does.
Without a word, his hand slides to the small of my back, firm and protective, his thumb tracing slow circles through the lace. He shouldn’t. I shouldn’t let him. My father would call it sinful. But God help me, I don’t want him to stop.
This dress—this lace—suddenly feels too thin. Too revealing. My father’s voice echoes in my mind, all anger and scripture. Yet… these are my choices now. My life. My body. My sin to claim if that’s what it is.
So, I choose this.
I choose him.
Even if Trey Baker turns out to be the Devil himself… I think I could make peace with that. Because I’ve known those who claim to worship God, and none of them have ever been this gentle.
Outside, the world is drenched in gold. The street glows beneath the soft morning sun, the car waiting by the curb like something out of a dream.
Logan and Mac linger near the steps, whispering, giving us space.
Trey opens the passenger door, his jaw tight as if he’s holding back a thousand unspoken words.
I catch his reflection in the window—those wild green eyes, softened by something I’ve never seen before. I hesitate, caught between the shadows I’ve lived in and the light spilling across the pavement.
He reaches for me again, his voice quiet, rough around the edges. “You ready, Dove?”
I nod, my throat tight. “I think… I finally am.”
As he helps me into the car, sunlight breaks through the clouds, warm against my skin. For so long, I’ve hidden from the light—but now, as Trey closes the door and rounds to the other side, I realize something simple and terrifying and true.
I’m not walking into the light alone.
I’m walking into it with him.
The car hums softly as we pull away from the Rosewood, the morning light flickering across his face — sharp jaw, green eyes that seem almost brighter now, like they’ve caught fire in the sun.
Trey glances over at me, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. “So… just a heads-up,” he says, voice low and steady, though there’s something almost cautious beneath it. “When we get there, it might be a little crazy.”
I blink, my head tilting slightly. “Crazy?”
He exhales through his nose, smirking faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I made sure the paparazzi would be outside the courthouse. It’ll be loud.
Flashing lights. Maybe a few too many questions.
” His gaze flickers to mine, searching. “I just thought—if we’re doing this, if we’re really doing it—then the world should know.
Fastest way to make it real. To make you… my wife.”
My breath catches, not because of the word itself, but the way he says it —quiet, certain, with a softness that makes my chest ache.
“I understand,” I whisper, tightening my hold on his hand. “And I’m grateful, Trey. For all of it. For you.”
Something passes between us—something unspoken and heavy and warm. His lip’s part, like he wants to say more, but before he can, a voice speaks from the front seat.
I sit there, heart pounding, my thoughts a tangled mess of hope and fear.
Is this real?
Am I truly sitting beside this man—this beautiful, ink-marked stranger—bound to marry him before the sun sets?
I keep searching for his gaze, for something familiar to hold on to, but I find nothing I recognize. Nothing except the strange comfort that seems to live in his eyes when they find me.
Why would someone like him bother to look at me like that?
Like I’m something precious. Like I’m not broken, or tainted, or lost.
Every prayer I’ve ever said whispers through my mind, clashing with the sound of my heartbeat. My father’s voice follows—stern, condemning—reminding me of all the rules I’ve lived by. Of how a woman’s worth lies in obedience. In purity.
And yet… here I am. Marrying a man I barely know.
A sinner.
My pulse races, every throb of my heart a quiet rebellion. Maybe this is sin. Maybe this is madness. But for the first time in my life, I think I’d rather face God’s wrath than return to a life without choice.
“Two minutes out,” one of the men says, clipped and professional. It’s only then I notice the security detail—dark suits, earpieces, the kind of men who seem carved from stone. They murmur into their radios, checking in with the car ahead—Mac and Logan’s, by the look of it.
I turn toward the window, and my pulse skips. The courthouse looms ahead, sunlight bouncing off the steps, and along the sidewalk—crowds. A wall of cameras, phones, flashes bursting like lightning. A thousand eyes waiting. Watching.
My chest tightens. My palms go slick.
The first flash goes off, then another, each one a white-hot burst that blurs the world into chaos. My reflection catches in the glass—wide eyes, red braid over one shoulder, a girl who doesn’t quite recognize the woman staring back.
Trey’s thumb strokes over my knuckles, drawing me back. “Hey.” His voice is soft but firm, that same grounding tone he used when everything felt like too much. “Breathe, Seraphina.”
I drag in a shaky breath, the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears. He leans a little closer, green eyes locking on mine. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
The car door opens, and the world erupts.
Flashes explode like fireworks, a storm of white light swallowing the steps of the courthouse. The noise is a blur—voices shouting, cameras clicking, names being called from every direction.
“Trey! Over here!”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Are you really getting married?”
My pulse drums in my throat, my vision hazing as the crowd presses closer behind the barriers. But Trey’s hand finds my waist, firm and sure, guiding me out of the car like I’m something precious he refuses to let the world touch.
“Who’s the girl? A childhood sweetheart?”
“Is she a model?”
“Where did you meet?”
“Are there prenuptials.”
“Is it true that you paid illegally to rush the process of getting married?”
“Is this for a music video.”
Trey straightens to his full height beside me, that familiar lazy grin curving his mouth. The shift is instant—Trey Baker, rock star. The mask slips effortlessly into place, confidence rolling off him like smoke. And yet, when he looks down at me, everything else fades.
His arm circles my waist, drawing me close until my body fits against his. “Smile for me, Seraphina,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
I lift my eyes to his, and suddenly, the cameras don’t matter.
The noise doesn’t matter. All I can see are his green eyes—bright, teasing.
He looks at me like I’m the only person in this whirlwind, like I’m the reason he’s smiling at all.
The corners of his mouth lift higher, and the crowd roars as if they’ve caught something real, something electric.
My breath catches, and for a heartbeat, I forget that any of this is pretend.
He turns us smoothly, his hand sliding down my arm until his fingers find mine, linking us together as if he’s sealing a promise. Together, we move through the chaos, up the courthouse steps.
Ahead, Logan and Mac disappear through the double doors, her laughter echoing faintly over the noise.
The flashes burst one last time, and Trey glances down at me, that soft, private look returning—the one that doesn’t belong to the cameras. “Ready?”
I nod, because my voice won’t work.
He pushes open the doors, leading me inside, away from the chaos and the noise, into the hush of cool marble and sunlight spilling through high windows. The air feels still in here, sacred almost—like the rest of the world has been left on the other side of those doors.
His hand squeezes mine, grounding me once more.
As we step forward together, the echoes of the crowd fade, replaced by the quiet rhythm of our footsteps and the steady beat of my heart whispering one undeniable truth—
This might have started as pretend, but it doesn’t feel that way anymore.