Chapter 42 Something Borrowed
Something Borrowed
The palace thrummed like a hive.
Every hallway buzzed with motion. There were florists sprinting with last-minute arrangements, military attachés double-checking medals, and staff whispering into headsets with the tension of a security briefing.
Outside, a sea of spectators and press crowded behind barricades, cameras flashing, flags waving.
Inside, the atmosphere was tighter, quieter but no less intense.
Somewhere down the corridor, someone was playing Vivaldi on a cello, and someone else was yelling about boutonnières. But in this small sunlit room tucked away in the east wing of the palace, time felt suspended.
Emilia stood in front of the mirror, resplendent in silk and lace. Her veil floated behind her like something enchanted, and the delicate pearl buttons down her back had taken two women and a crochet hook to fasten. But she barely looked at her reflection. She was watching Harper.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Emilia said gently.
Harper blinked. “What thing?”
“The thing where your face looks calm, but your brain is setting things on fire.”
“I’m fine,” Harper said, smoothing the front of her gown. “You’re the bride. You get to spiral. I’m here to pass you tissues and stop you from eloping with your florist.”
“Which I would never do,” Emilia said. “Because I’m in love with Alexander, and also because I’ve met my florist. He’d be more likely to try and run away with Alexander.’”
Harper smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Emilia turned, carefully navigating the train of her gown. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Harper hesitated. Then: “It’s Sebastian.”
Emilia didn’t flinch. “I figured.”
“We… had a moment.”
“Well that’s vague.”
Harper sat on the velvet bench beneath the window. “We slept together, just once. Then we decided to stop. Until after the wedding. Until things quiet down.”
“And you’re both going to behave like strangers until then,” Emilia said, deadpan.
“That’s the idea.”
Emilia raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that going?”
Harper gave her a look. “I’m squeezed into a dress I can’t breathe in, about to stand next to him for an hour under the eyes of the monarchy and half the internet. So, let’s say: not well.”
Emilia sat beside her, careful of the skirt. “Harper… do you love him?”
The question landed like a pin dropped in a silent chapel.
Harper opened her mouth. Closed it again. “I don’t know.”
They had been friends long enough that Emilia could read Harper like a book… a book with a sometimes unreliable narrator.
“No, you do,” Emilia said softly. “You just don’t know what to do with it.”
Harper stared at her hands. “It’s not just the feelings.
It’s what they look like from the outside.
I was investigating his father. I exposed his whole world.
If this goes public too soon, it won’t matter what the truth is.
People will think I was sleeping with my source. That I traded ethics for access.”
Emilia reached for her hand. “Then wait. But don’t lie to yourself in the meantime. Don’t pretend it didn’t matter.”
“It mattered,” Harper whispered. “It still does. But I don’t know how to be with someone who lives under a microscope. Who is a living, breathing, conflict of interest.”
“You’ve been with him through the worst of it,” Emilia said. “That means something. And for the record, he looked at you yesterday like he was holding his breath.”
Harper gave a quiet laugh. “Great. Mutual oxygen deprivation.”
Emilia squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to decide anything today. Just survive the ceremony. Don’t make out in front of the Archbishop. And maybe, maybe just let yourself feel what you feel.”
Harper exhaled slowly. “You’re supposed to be the one having a life-changing day.”
“I am.” Emilia smiled. “But so are you. Just in a slightly quieter, scandal-adjacent way.”
There was a knock at the door.
“They’re lining people up,” said one of the stylists, poking her head in. “Five minutes.”
Harper stood, smoothed her dress, and turned back to Emilia.
“Are you ready?”
Emilia nodded, then gave her a wicked grin. “Don’t trip walking down the aisle.”
“You either,” Harper shot back. Then, more softly: “I’m happy for you, Emi. Really.”
“I know.” Emilia reached for her bouquet. “Now go. And for the love of all that is sacred and politically strategic… try not to look at him like you’re already planning the honeymoon.”
Emilia’s smile was radiant as Harper stepped out of the suite and into the long hallway buzzing with ceremony staff, florists, and a nervous pageboy holding a tiara like it was radioactive.
Harper’s heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she walked, steady and composed on the outside, her pulse hammering just beneath the surface.
In a private antechamber off the royal chapel, Sebastian stared into a mirror with the weary resignation of a man being handed back the chains he just finished breaking.
He adjusted the bowtie once again. The damn thing had been professionally knotted, ironed, blessed by the gods of protocol and yet it still felt like a noose.
Alexander strolled in, annoyingly at ease in his full regalia. “If you fiddle with that one more time, it’s going to file a restraining order.”
Before Sebastian could retort, the door cracked open.
Sebastian turned toward the sound as Harper slipped in, moving quietly across the room, holding a carefully pressed program and a look of practiced calm.
Her navy maid-of-honor gown hugged her frame with elegant severity, the neckline modest but lethal, the skirt designed to whisper rather than swish.
Her hair was swept into a style that looked like it had taken hours and a team of discreet professionals.
She was every inch the picture of grace and decorum.
Except for her eyes.
Those eyes found Sebastian’s and flickered with something decidedly unprofessional.
Alexander took one look at them and sighed. “This is the part where I pretend I forgot something and vanish with dignity.”
He exited without waiting for permission.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Did you really risk scandal just to see me in this damn bowtie?”
Harper’s lips curled. “You think I haven’t already seen you in one? You’ve worn at least three this week. But I had to make sure you didn’t combust before we even reached the chapel.”
“You look like the cover of a scandalous romance,” Harper said as she crossed to him, folding her arms. “That scowl really works for you.”
Whatever stress had been in Sebastian’s expression softened instantly. “And you,” he said, taking her in with a low whistle, “look like the heroine who’s here to ruin me.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere if you’re still wearing that thing like a noose,” she said. Harper sighed and reached for the bowtie. “Hold still, I’ll loosen it a little.”
Sebastian obeyed, going very still as her fingers moved with practiced ease. Her knuckles brushed his collarbone, and she was acutely aware of the heat between them, the electric quiet.
“You know,” he murmured, “I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t your master plan to kill me with anticipation before the ceremony even starts.”
“If I wanted to kill you,” Harper said, focused on her work, “I’d have done it weeks ago. And it would’ve been subtle.”
“That’s… oddly comforting.”
She gave the fabric one last tug and stepped back. “There. Better?”
Sebastian nodded. He was looking at her the way Emilia had warned about, like he was holding his breath.
“This is going to be hell, isn’t it?” he asked.
Harper met his eyes. “Standing next to you, pretending we’re just acquaintances who barely know each other? Absolutely.”
He swallowed. “Don’t look at me during the vows.”
“Fine, don’t say anything smug to me during the reception.”
“Deal.”
Her hand lingered a beat longer than necessary on his chest before she pulled away.
“I have to go,” she said softly. “They’re almost ready for us.”
Sebastian nodded, but just before she turned, he caught her hand briefly, just enough for the contact to say: I’m still here.
She looked down at their joined hands, then up at him.
For a second, it felt like the air between them might ignite. But then someone called for final positions, and the moment was gone, tucked away like a secret vow.
“Try not to trip over your own feet,” Harper said, stepping closer with a light smile.
“I won’t, unless if I get distracted because you’re walking in front of me,” Sebastian shot back. “Which, now that I think about it, might be worth it.”
“No,” she said. “Because if you ruin Emilia’s wedding by face-planting, I’ll have to murder you.”
Sebastian grinned. “You’re very sexy when you threaten me.”
Harper turned toward the door, smoothing her dress one final time, but didn’t look back.
Then they both moved toward the ceremony. Toward the royal promises made in public and their truths still waiting quietly in private.