19. CHAPTER 17 #3
“Orion,” he continued, turning his gaze toward me.
“From the first moment we sat across a table together, I saw in you the same qualities I respect in Henrik. Same vision, discipline, and loyalty to legacy. It gives me great comfort to place my daughter’s future in hands that understand responsibility. ”
I lifted my glass in acknowledgement. My face did the thing I’d trained it to do—be polite, act neutral, and unbothered. Inside, his comparison sank with a dull, complicated heaviness I couldn’t shake.
“Léonie,” he said, shifting his attention to her now, and his voice softened in that way fathers’ voices always softened in public.
“You are the heart of this house. Today you leave our name behind, but you do not leave our blood. May your marriage be strong, your days prosperous, and may you grow to love the path we have chosen together.”
The path we have chosen together.
Interesting definition of togetherness. Like she had any say in this.
Her smile was forced. I didn't need to see the corners of her mouth to know it was a lie, and she was already bracing.
His eyes found hers then, and his expression held affection in a way that irritated me for no rational reason.
“I’m trusting you with her,” he said.
Trusting. As if Léonie were something you handed over and hoped to be returned intact. Raw, visceral irritation flared through me.
One thing was certain, I would protect what was mine. I’d make sure she lacked for nothing, not because of his trust, but because I didn't allow my investments to fail. And she was the most significant investment I'd ever made. One that I intended to guard with every resource at my disposal.
“To the Kades and the Fernándezes,” he concluded, raising his glass higher. “To a future built on unity, strength, and shared purpose.”
Glasses lifted around the room. A murmur of cheers rolled through the air.
I clinked mine lightly against Léonie's, and for the briefest second, her eyes flicked to mine. The electric impulse from that glance intrigued me.
Was it from displeasure, probably from us sitting so closely, or was it from her father's words?
As the toast blurred back into conversation, I placed my hand under the table. I didn’t touch her... well, not yet. But I positioned myself close enough that she would feel the proximity without being able to accuse me of anything specific.
Her hands were still clasped in her lap, and I moved my fingers an inch closer until my little finger brushed the back of her hand.
Her fingers went rigid instantly, then relaxed. She didn’t yank her hand away, neither did she lean into the contact. She simply adjusted, repositioning her fingers so our smallest fingers stayed touching, no more, no less.
An agreement neither of us had consented to. It felt almost worse than outright rejection.
“You’re doing so well,” I said under my breath, my eyes still on the room.
She didn’t look at me. “How reassuring coming from you,” she replied, her tone so polite that anyone overhearing would think I’d complimented her dress.
Our fingers remained exactly where they were, but the contact didn’t last long. Céleste appeared at her side first, vibrant and as bold as ever, her laugh pulling over the hum of conversation around us. Isolde was a half-step behind, her sharp eyes assessing, taking in everything like a plotter.
“Can I steal the bride for a moment?” Céleste asked, already half-reaching for Léonie’s hand.
“Briefly,” I said.
I felt Léonie’s hand slip from under my fingertip as Céleste pulled her to her feet.
She had to brace against the chair to stand, and my first instinct was to steady her. I caught myself before I attempted it. She found her balance herself, as I knew she would, and moved with her friends towards a small cluster of space near the window.
The photographer trailed behind them.
I watched as Céleste looped an arm around her waist, Isolde angled in on the other side. They framed her perfectly, as though they’d been doing this all their lives; shielding and supporting her at the same time.
From here I noticed every small detail.
Léonie’s shoulders dropping half an inch when she was cocooned between them. Her smile, which for a few frames, actually reached her eyes. How she leaned into Isolde the second the flash went off, the weight she’d been carrying visibly loosening in their presence.
For the first time today, she looked happy. It stirred a strange feeling in my chest. I shook it off.
I watched her laugh at something Céleste said, and the sound of it almost startled me, throwing my equilibrium off balance.
Julian appeared at my side, his hands in his pockets, as his gaze followed mine. “She looks less like she’s being marched to execution now,” he observed.
“Maybe its because she’s not standing next to me.”
He hummed. “And that bothers you.”
It wasn’t a question, so there was no need answering.
And no, it didn’t bother me.
I blamed the tightness in my chest on the sudden heat in the air-conditioned room, not on her looking relieved to be away from me.
The girls finished their photos. The planner tried to herd them toward another setup; Céleste ignored her, pulling Léonie away to the drinks table instead. Isolde said something low in her ear that made her smile genuinely.