Chapter 33
Harper
I wait outside the double doors that lead into the ceremony chamber. I have a small bouquet of flowers Briar brought for me.
I asked her to walk with me down the aisle to where the officiant will be waiting with James.
Freya is my unofficial flower girl. Or in this case, my goth girl.
She’s dressed in black from head to toe. Black lace dress, black tights, black boots that thud softly against the floor as she walks. Even the ribbon tying back her dark hair is black. The only concession to the occasion is the small basket she’s carrying.
Instead of petals, she insisted on filling it with dark red rosebuds.
“Regular flowers are boring,” she informed me earlier with the weary authority of a ten-year-old who has already judged the world and found it largely disappointing.
I had to stifle a chuckle at that. Briar tried to talk her out of the rosebuds, but I told her it added to the atmosphere.
"You look beautiful." Briar admires me.
The dress is simpler than anything I ever imagined I might wear to my own wedding. But I took one look at it and fell in love. It feels appropriate for what is not really a wedding but is also very much a wedding.
It’s blush instead of white, the soft color warming my skin rather than washing it out. The fabric falls smoothly from the fitted bodice, skimming my waist before drifting down to just below my knees.
The sleeves are delicate lace that reach my elbows, the pattern light against my skin. When I move my arms the lace shifts and catches the light, giving the dress a quiet elegance that feels surprisingly right for the moment.
I smooth my palms over the skirt, feeling the soft fabric slide beneath my fingers.
In the mirror earlier, Zoey insisted the dress was ‘criminally flattering.’ I rolled my eyes at her, but secretly, I was relieved.
Grace called me this morning to say she couldn’t make it because she has to cover a Doctors Without Borders rescue mission. I’m disappointed, but I understand. It's an opportunity she couldn’t turn down.
I tuck the errant strand of hair that never seems to stay in place behind my ear.
My hair is swept back loosely, and the fascinator perched on one side adds a touch of ceremony I love.
It’s made of blush silk petals and a whisper of fine netting that curves lightly over my temple. When I move, the tiny veil brushes my cheek.
It’s delicate. Feminine.
And somehow, it makes this whole thing feel more real than it did before.
I glance down at the ring on my finger, the emerald catching the light in a quiet flash of green.
For a moment, my chest tightens.
This might be an arrangement. But standing here in this dress, about to walk into that room… It doesn’t feel entirely like one. So what, if it’s at the Town Hall with the registrar as officiant. The man I’m going to marry…is the very man I’ve dreamed of being with since I first saw him.
It may not be a declaration of love…but the end result? I’m still here. Ready to walk down the aisle to him.
The doors open.
A quiet shift in the air tells me the room inside has fallen still.
Freya looks back at me like a small dark sentinel waiting for orders.
“Go on,” Briar murmurs.
Freya squares her shoulders and marches forward, holding the basket of rosebuds.
I step forward beside Briar.
The ceremony room is simple. Almost stark. A few neat rows of chairs. Cream walls. Tall windows letting in soft morning light.
There’s no music.
Just the quiet rustle of people turning to look at me.
For a moment, the lack of grandeur feels strange. When I was younger and imagined my wedding, there had been a long aisle, music swelling in the background, hundreds of flowers.
But when my gaze lifts and finds James standing at the front of the room, all of that fades away.
My breath leaves me in a rush.
Those piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly, it feels as if I’ve been pinned in place. My steps falter.
Briar tightens her hold on me. "You okay?" she whispers.
I have enough presence of mind to nod. But my gaze is fixed on James.
He’s watching me.
Not in a polite way.
Not even casually.
But with such intensity that the rest of the room seems to disappear.
All I can see is him. He’s wearing a dark suit which his broad shoulders fill out easily.
His pants emphasize his powerful thighs, and the blue tie brings out the color of his eyes.
With his combed back hair and freshly shaved jaw, he is devastating.
The devil incarnate. The Ice Commander who could freeze everything in sight.
Only my insides are melting. My stomach is trembling.
My heart feels like a hummingbird caught in a cage.
Freya reaches the front first and dumps the last of her rosebuds with dramatic finality before stepping aside.
When I reach James, Briar squeezes my hand and releases it.
I step up to stand close to him. I can’t resist another sideways glance. Up close, he looks formidable. And slightly stunned.
Damn, I’m enjoying that look. He hasn't taken his gaze off me. Not once.
The faint aroma of his dark male scent reaches me immediately. It’s familiar, infuriatingly comforting, and very arousing. A stutter of heat tightens my lower belly. I let it flow through me, warming me further, feeling very secure in my femininity.
I face forward. For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then his hand finds mine.
My breath catches.
His fingers close around mine with a firmness that feels almost protective.
The emerald ring presses lightly against my skin as our hands settle together.
His thumb brushes the side of my hand. His touch is possessive. Confident in a way that turns that heat in my belly into sparks of electric delight. I move my thighs gently, trying to squeeze that hunger which has erupted in my core.
As if he senses it, he squeezes my hand firmly. His touch bleeds into my skin, warms my blood, and calms me. It also sends another ripple of awareness through me.
I glance up.
His expression is controlled again. Composed.
As if that small moment never happened.
The registrar begins speaking.
Words about commitment. Partnership. The legal solemnity of the ceremony.
I hear them but they float around the edges of my awareness. Because James’ hand is still holding mine. And because I can feel the faint warmth of his thumb where it rests against my skin.
“James Hamilton.” The registrar’s voice cuts cleanly through the room.
“Do you take Harper Richie to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
My pulse jumps.
James doesn’t hesitate.
“I do.”
The words land in the room with quiet certainty.
Something inside my chest tightens.
The registrar turns to me.
“Harper Richie, do you take James Hamilton to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Husband.
The word echoes strangely in my head.
Like it belongs to someone else’s life. I swallow.
“I do.”
James reaches into his pocket and places the simple band we chose for him into my palm.
For a brief moment, his fingers close over mine. Warm. Steady. Controlled. Intentional.
Then, he releases me and pulls my ring from his jacket pocket.
I hold out my left hand, my fingers trembling. He gently circles his fingers around my wrist to steady it, then slides the wedding ring next to my engagement ring.
Sensations stream out from the point of contact. Goosebumps pepper my skin. The hair on the back of my neck rises. This…feels very real. Too real. I swallow.
As if he feels my nervousness, he brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the ring.
A sigh runs around the room.
The registrar beams. “By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
It feels like I’m playing a role. And yet…it feels very, very real. Is that fanciful thinking? Or are my instincts telling me something I need to pay more attention to?
For a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet.
“You may kiss the bride."
My breath catches.
James turns toward me slowly.
Time stretches.
I’m suddenly aware of everything. The soft brush of my fascinator against my temple, the warmth of his hand around mine, the drift of perfume in the air.
He steps closer.
My heart pounds.
His hand lifts to my cheek.
He bends his head. I wait for his mouth to meet mine. For that familiar melting sensation. The heat that floods my veins every time he kisses me. The way the world narrows down to just his lips and mine and nothing else mattering.
And then…his lips touch mine. Soft, brief, over before I can lean into it. The perfect public kiss. Restrained. Respectable.
No one can complain about it. Except me.
Disappointment is a rock on my chest. Hurt and embarrassment squeeze my throat. It feels like a loss.
I wanted a kiss which made my scalp tingle, one that made heat burn through my veins, and made my toes to curl. I wanted it to make me forget where I was.
The way it was the last two times our lips met.
I was hoping it would feel devastatingly real, even though I know this marriage is only on paper.
I have no right to be upset about that. But I am.
The restraint of it stings more than I expect.
When he pulls back, his expression is composed again. Professional. As if we’ve just completed a business transaction.
And not the moment that made us husband and wife.
Still holding my hand, he turns, and I turn with him to face our friends and family.
James
"Do I have to call you Uncle James?" Freya wrinkles up her nose.
I answer with a serious expression, "James is good.”
"Thanks." She takes a sip from the glass of sparkling apple juice I ordered for her.
She’s seated on one side and my wife on the other.
My wife. A thrill runs up my spine. My. Wife.
This gorgeous creature sitting next to me is my wife. When the registrar declared us man and wife, a strange sensation gripped my chest. Happiness. Pride. And an overwhelming possessiveness.
She's mine. All mine.