CHAPTER 25 #2
“Where else would I be?”
“Anywhere else. Literally anywhere. You have eight hundred thousand followers who would probably watch you open mail.”
“Yes, I guess they would. But you know, unboxing content does surprisingly well.”
“See? You could be doing that.”
“I can do both. You want in on the action?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for a pic—”
“Let your little sis teach you a thing or two about taking a selfie,” I pull her in and lift the camera above us.
“Shouldn’t a selfie be one person, otherwise—”
I cut her off. “Too smart for your own good. But you’re still taking it yourself, so selfie works. Anyway, always hold the camera up higher to get that angle that hides what we don’t want shown, like that section under our chin, and showcases our best assets.”
She looks down.
“Yes, Vi, those babies. Look at the camera at the top of the phone, and smile.”
We do our own mini-photoshoot, and I show her the photos.
“Wow, Pops, those look amazing!”
“Now pick your favorite one,” I say as I scroll through the photos.
“That one!” She points at the one where we pursed our lips while whipping our heads toward the camera, doing our best “Blue Steel” impression from Zoolander.
I write a caption: Better watch out Derek, Vi and I are coming for you!
Then I hit post, and Violet throws her arms around me.
“Thank you, Poppy, I needed that so bad.” Her gaze drifts over my shoulder. “Is that Julian? Just standing there like a very attractive gargoyle?”
I turn. Sure enough, Julian hasn’t moved from his spot near the back. He’s doing his evaluating thing—where he’s making sure there is no threat and figuring out routes of attack—all while tracking everyone’s movements.
“He’s being vigilant,” I say.
“Vigilant about what? The rose-to-blush ratio?”
“He’s protective. It’s his thing.”
“He’s kind of intense, isn’t he?” Violet studies him. “Hot, but intense.”
I don’t tell her that he kind of is.
Tammy claps her hands. “Alright, everyone! Let’s run through the processional. Bridesmaids, you’re with me. Groomsmen, with Thomas. And someone please tell the mother of the bride that the flowers are staying exactly as they are.”
My mother opens her mouth. Chris’s father—a jovial man named Doug who seems perpetually confused by the chaos around him—offers her a glass of champagne. She takes it.
“Poppy, you’re walking with Tyler.” Tammy consults her clipboard. “Chris’s college roommate. He’s the tall one with the unfortunate haircut.”
I spot Tyler near the groomsmen. He waves awkwardly. The haircut is, indeed, unfortunate.
“Got it,” I say.
“We’ll practice the walk three times. Music cues, spacing, the whole thing. Then we’ll run through the vows.” Tammy’s gaze sharpens. “And if anyone has a phone out during my rehearsal, I will personally throw it into the ocean. Am I clear?”
Fifteen people nod in unison.
“Excellent. Places, everyone.”
The processional goes smoothly. Mostly.
Tyler steps on my foot twice and apologizes so profusely that Tammy threatens to replace him with a cardboard cutout.
One of the bridesmaids—Madison or Morgan, I still can’t tell them apart—trips on her hem and nearly takes out the first row of chairs.
And my mother stage-whispers commentary the entire time, loud enough that everyone can hear but quiet enough that no one can officially ask her to stop.
But we get through it. Three times, just like Tammy promised. By the final run, we almost look like people who know what we’re doing.
Julian watches from the back row. He hasn’t moved—hasn’t sat down, hasn’t joined the other guests who filtered in to watch. He just stands there, tracking everything.
I catch his eye during my second walk down the aisle. He gives me the smallest nod—encouragement, reassurance, something that feels like pride.
It shouldn’t make my pulse jump. We’re at a wedding rehearsal, surrounded by my family, with a vampire assassin lurking somewhere on the property. This is not the time for that.
My pulse jumps anyway.
“Alright!” Tammy claps again. “Vows. Violet, Chris, front and center. Everyone else, take a seat. And someone get the officiant more tea—his voice is giving out.”
Violet and Chris take their places at the altar. He takes her hands, and his whole face transforms—from nervous groom to devoted partner. It’s the look I’d always wanted Preston to give me. The look that says you’re it.
I glance at Julian. He’s watching me, not the couple at the altar.
The officiant—a distinguished man with a soothing voice despite his cold—walks them through the ceremony structure. Where to stand. When to speak. The timing of the ring exchange.
“For the vows,” he says, “you can use the traditional language, or have you written your own?”
“We wrote our own. Can we save reading them for tomorrow?” Violet says. “Chris cries every time I read mine, and I don’t want to ruin the moment by having him cry twice.”
“I do not cry,” Chris protests. “I get emotional. There’s a difference.”
“Babe, you sobbed when I practiced them in our hotel room.”
“That was allergies.”
Everyone laughs. Even my mother cracks a smile.
“Sounds like we’ll do an abbreviated version for now,” the officiant says.
He begins reciting the familiar words. Love and honor. Sickness and health. All the promises people make when they’re standing at the beginning of forever, unable to see what’s coming.
I think about Julian. About the forevers he’s already lived through. About the women who promised him things and died before they could keep them.
About what it means to love someone who will outlive you by centuries.
“You may now practice kissing the bride,” the officiant says with a small smile.
Chris kisses Violet. She laughs against his mouth. Everyone applauds.
And then I see him.
Damien.
He’s standing at the edge of the venue, near a cluster of palm trees, watching with that patient smile that makes my skin crawl. Linen pants, white shirt—the picture of a wealthy resort guest enjoying the scenery.
Except his eyes aren’t on the scenery. They’re on me.
I feel Julian move before I see him. One moment he’s at the back of the venue; the next, he’s beside me, his hand on the small of my back.
“I see him,” he murmurs. “Don’t react.”
“Kind of hard not to react when the guy who wants to kill me is watching my sister’s wedding rehearsal.”
“He wants you to react. He wants you afraid.” Julian’s voice is steady, but I can still feel the tension. “Deny him that.”
Easy for him to say. He’s had two hundred and fifty-seven years to practice not reacting to threats. I’ve had less than a day.
But I take a breath. Keep my eyes on Violet and Chris, who are now posing for practice photos while Tammy adjusts their positioning.
“Is he going to do something?” I ask.
“Not here. Not now.” Julian places his hand on my back. “This is reconnaissance. He’s mapping the terrain. Learning the players.”
“For what?”
“Tomorrow. The wedding. The reception.” A pause. “Maximum impact.”
I think about what Julian told me. About how Damien doesn’t just want to hurt—he wants to destroy. Publicly. Dramatically.
“He’s going to try to ruin my sister’s wedding,” I whisper.
“Not if I can help it.”
“How?”
“Everyone is in place—watching. Marcus is running surveillance. If Damien makes a move, we’ll be ready.”
“And if you’re not?”
Julian doesn’t answer.
I glance back toward the palm trees. Damien is gone—vanished as quietly as he appeared.
“Poppy!” Violet calls. “Come take a picture with me! Sister shot!”
I paste on a smile. The professional one. The one that says everything is fine.
“Go,” Julian says. “I’ll be watching.”
“You’re always watching.”
“Yes.” His eyes harden. “And I’m not going to stop.”
I walk toward my sister. Toward the photos and the laughter and the normal things that normal people do at wedding rehearsals.
And I pretend—like I’ve always pretended—that everything is exactly as it should be.
The rehearsal ends with Tammy pronouncing us “adequate”—which, from her, seems like high praise.
People drift toward the resort bar while waiting for the rehearsal dinner. Violet and Chris disappear for what Chris calls a “quick debrief” and Violet calls “hiding from my mother for fifteen minutes.”
I’m looking for Julian when Preston finds me.
“Poppy.”
I stop. Turn. There he is—my ex-fiancé, looking exactly the same as he did eight months ago when he told me he’d found his “true path” and that path apparently didn’t include me.
“Preston.” My voice is neutral. The voice I use for brand deals I don’t want to do.
“You look good.” He says it like he’s surprised. Like he expected me to fall apart without him.
“Thanks.”
“The guy you’re with—Julian?” He glances toward where Julian is standing, talking to Chris’s father. “Seems intense.”
“He is.”
“How long have you two been...?”
“A few months.” I don’t elaborate. He doesn’t deserve elaboration.
Preston shifts his weight. Does that thing where he runs his hand through his hair—the gesture I used to find charming and now just find annoying.
“Serenity and I are engaged,” he says.
“I heard. Congratulations.”
“She’s... she gets me, you know? In a way that—” He stops. Has the decency to look uncomfortable. “In a way I didn’t know was possible.”
Translation: In a way you never did.
Six months ago, that would have gutted me. I would have smiled through the pain, gone back to my hotel room, and cried into a pillow while hate-scrolling his Glowstagram.
Now?
“I’m happy for you,” I say. And the weird thing is, I almost mean it. Not because I’m over him—though I am—but because I finally understand what I was missing. What I was settling for.
Preston didn’t see me for who I truly was.
Julian sees all of me. The mess and the magic and the terrified woman underneath the influencer smile.
And he chose to stay anyway.
“You seem different,” Preston says. “More... I don’t know. Settled.”
“I am different.” I spot Julian making his way toward us. “Turns out being with someone who actually sees you does that.”
Preston flinches.
Julian arrives at my side. His hand finds my lower back. “Preston. Good to see you again.”
His voice is polite. His eyes are not.
“Yeah.” Preston clears his throat. “You too. I should go find Serenity. She wanted to do some sunset meditation before dinner.”
“Of course she did,” I mutter.
Preston retreats. Julian watches him go.
“You could have been meaner,” he says.
“I could have. But what’s the point?” I lean into him. “He’s not worth the energy.”
“No. He is not.” Julian’s arm wraps around me. “You handled that well.”
“I’ve had practice.”
“Not with him. With performing calm when you’re anything but.” He looks down at me. “Your heart rate was elevated the entire conversation.”
“Stop monitoring my vitals. It’s creepy.”
“I can’t help it. They’re very loud.”
“My vitals are loud?”
“To me, yes.” His expression warms. “You’re very alive, Poppy. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I just lean into him and watch the sunset.