CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sunlight spilled across the marble steps as we emerged from the cathedral’s shadow.
Heat radiated from the stone, mingling with the electricity in the air.
A wave of sound crashed over us—applause breaking against our bodies, voices calling blessings, violin notes threading through it all like silver wire.
Alaric’s fingers remained locked with mine.
Outside the waiting cars, he pulled me to him once more.
This kiss belonged to no one else—unhurried and certain, as if sealing a vow deeper than the one we’d just spoken.
A promise that even if everything fell to ash, he would still recognize me by touch alone.
He opened the door for me himself, brushing aside the white-gloved attendants with a subtle flick of his wrist, and I caught the small, private smirk that played at the corner of his mouth when I gathered the billowing silk of my gown and settled into the butter-soft leather of the passenger seat.
A fleet of vintage Rolls Royces trailed behind as we drove—gleaming chrome and champagne-colored chassis catching the late afternoon light like liquid metal, carrying our bridal party in staggered formation.
The cobblestone streets blurred by in honey-gold sunlit streaks, while cream-colored rose petals tossed by well-wishers still floated in our wake, dancing on invisible currents.
We stopped for photographs in the Markian courtyard garden—where blood-red roses and pale pink peonies climbed the ancient white limestone walls that had witnessed a hundred Dominion weddings before ours.
Cassian cracked jokes that made even the stone-faced photographer break his concentration, Derrick maneuvered through the bridal party, ensuring he posed with everyone at least twice, his diamond cufflinks catching the light with each gesture.
Penelope hovered nearby, her trembling fingers constantly adjusting my cathedral-length veil as though I might shatter like fine porcelain if left unattended for more than a heartbeat.
Alaric, though, remained a constant shadow at my side, his hand never leaving the small of my back, warm through the layers of lace.
By the time our motorcade reached the reception hall, the world had softened into the amber glow of early evening, the sky painted in watercolor strokes of lavender and gold.
The twenty-foot mahogany doors swung open to reveal a space utterly transformed from when Alaric and I had come to tour it months ago—gilded light spilled through cascading layers of orchids and jasmine suspended from invisible wires, illuminating tables draped in champagne silk and adorned with centerpieces of ivory roses and crystal candelabras.
At the center stood a seven-tiered cake that resembled a baroque palace more than dessert, each layer hand-painted with gold leaf and topped with sugar flowers so realistic they seemed to bloom before our eyes.
When they announced us—Mr. and Mrs. Kostas—the room rose to its feet. Applause echoed under the vaulted ceilings. He led me in, fingers laced with mine, his gaze never leaving my face as if memorizing the proof that we’d actually done it.
Our first dance began before I could catch my breath.
The opening notes of “Until I Found You” by Stephen Sanchez filled the room, delicate and haunting. The song drifted around us like smoke, soft and low, our steps barely a whisper against the floor.
Alaric’s eyes didn’t leave mine.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured, and it wasn’t the kind of compliment meant to be heard by anyone else.
“Wait till you see what’s under this dress.”
His grip firmed at my waist, fingers pressing through silk to skin. The vibration of his laugh traveled from his chest to mine before I heard it.
"Careful with those promises, Mrs. Kostas," he breathed, lips brushing my earlobe. "Or we'll find out how quickly I can empty a ballroom."
I smiled up at him.
Seven months ago, I never would’ve said something like that, never would’ve teased him in front of a room full of our world’s most dangerous people.
A lot had changed since then. I’d learned how to shoot a gun, how to read a man’s silence, how the Kostas territory moved like a living thing, pulsing with control and consequence.
I still didn't know who I might become when I finally let myself be free without hesitation or years of my father’s ingrained discipline.
There were still days when I kept that woman carefully locked away, but standing here, belonging to the Kostas name and to this beautifully dangerous man who was now mine forever, I felt safe enough to find out.
The music faded into cheers as the final note of our dance fell away. The women I now considered family, my sister included of course, all appeared grinning like they’d been waiting for this moment all night.
“Come on. Time to give the people a wardrobe change,” Amara teased, looping her arm through mine and tugging me away from my husband, who did not immediately let go.
They didn’t give me the chance to argue. Within minutes, I was swept through a maze of corridors and into the dressing suite, the sound of the party trailing behind us.
The gown waiting for me was smaller, softer—lace and silk that caught the light with every shift. The corset hugged my waist, the skirt brushing just above my knees. It wasn’t meant for ceremony; it was meant for movement.
When I stepped back into the reception, the atmosphere had changed. The formality had melted into celebration. The open bar and champagne flowed, laughter filled the air, and for the first time in weeks, Alaric looked more relaxed. The mask he wore for the Dominion had slipped, if only slightly.
He caught my gaze across the room, the faintest smile curving his mouth before a group of men pulled him into a conversation. I watched the tension ease from his shoulders, the rare spark of something almost boyish in his expression.
It made me happy to see him like that. Even if I knew it wouldn’t last. Not with the Citadel, a rival to the Dominion, lingering in the shadows, and the quiet rift between some of the lower-branched families that even tonight’s peace couldn’t quite disguise.
After the cake cutting, an extravagant tower of sugar and gold that looked too regal to eat, but we managed to feed each other, but after that, a few dances, and another round of toasts, I felt the walls closing in.
My lungs constricted beneath my corset as the crowd pressed closer, their perfumes and colognes mixing into a suffocating cloud.
I looked for my new husband and saw he’d been sequestered by a few other men.
Santos noticed before I said a word, reading my need for escape with the quiet vigilance that had made him indispensable these past months. He moved toward me with that subtle protective stance—not quite a bodyguard, something warmer—his eyes crinkling at the corners in silent understanding.
His six-foot-four frame created an immediate barrier between me and the crushing attention. “Need an escape?” he murmured, eyes already scanning for the quickest exit.
“Just for a minute.”
He nodded and guided me through the crowd, silent but steady, a wall of calm I’d learned to lean on more than I ever expected.
We stepped out onto the terrace, the night air cool against my skin, the sound of the party softening to a hum behind us.
Santos leaned against the stone balustrade beside me, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.
“So,” he began, his voice gruff but gentle, “Mrs. Kostas. How’s it feel wearing that name now?”
I smoothed a hand over my reception dress, feeling the delicate lace beneath my fingertips. “Strange. Powerful. Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.”
“But is it a life you want?” His eyes, kind but searching, found mine. “Been watching over you these months. Started as a duty, but...” He cleared his throat. “You know I care what happens to you, right?”
The admission hung in the air between us, simple but profound.
“I know,” I said softly. “You’ve been more than just security, Santos.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Your father—“ he started, then seemed to reconsider his words. “Well, let’s just say I’ve seen what happens when someone treats their child like property. Makes me wonder if you ever had anyone looking out just for you before.”
I turned to face the garden below, moonlight bathing the manicured hedges in silver. “I had myself.”
“Not the same as having a parent who puts you first.” His voice carried no judgment, only understanding. “These past months, watching you navigate this world—this life with Alaric—I’ve worried. Not because of him, necessarily, but because of what this society does to people.”
A cool breeze lifted the edges of my dress, and I shivered slightly. Without hesitation, Santos shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, the weight and warmth immediately comforting.
“Thank you,” I whispered, not just for the jacket.
He nodded, understanding passing between us. “You know, my Molly never had children.” His gaze drifted toward the stars. “Watching you find your footing these past months—seeing you grow stronger, more confident—it’s been, well, it’s been a privilege.”
Emotion tightened my throat. “Even when I was difficult?”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Especially then. Shows you’ve got spirit.
Need that in this world.” We stood in silence for a moment before he continued.
“Are you happy, Selene?” The question was direct, his gaze steady.
“Not just tonight with all this—“ he gestured toward the reception hall, “—but with the path you’ve chosen? With him?”
I considered his question, appreciating that he asked when so many others simply assumed.
“I’m finding my way to happiness. Alaric isn’t what I expected.
” The words tumbled out before I could organize them.
“Sometimes I still wake up wondering if this is real, or if I’m living someone else’s dream. ”