Chapter 23 #2
Dilly, red curls as untameable as ever in a yellow dress that didn’t suit her in the least, grinned up at me.
Beside her, Inu pressed her lips together and fiddled with the bodice of her grey dress, and I could practically hear her swearing in her mind.
Emille stood beside her in a sharp suit, and it was easy to see how he fit into this world more than the other.
His wide smile slowed the frantic beating of my heart.
It was the woman next to him who reminded me who I was more than the others.
Val, scar down her eye, mouthed three words that felt like home, “I knew it.”
I might have been standing in a beautiful dress, in a church full of people I barely knew, but I was still Rosamund Bailey, and these were more than just my friends, my crewmates; they were my family.
I wondered if I would ever take a normal breath again. I fought the urge to go to them and instead reached out my hand to Dilly, who squeezed it tightly, holding it till she couldn’t reach any longer. My first friend on the Wraith. My chosen family.
The steps became like a dream, this long aisle unforgiving. Doubt was creeping in once more until I lifted my eyes, and there he caught them. Blue eyes latching onto mine like a lifeline on rough seas.
Dressed in a black suit with a white lily tucked into his pocket, stood my pirate.
The man I’d chosen over and over. He drank me in as he always did, hungry, possessive.
If anyone here doubted the nature of this wedding, there was no denying it now.
It was written into the fist clenched at his side and the way he tracked my every movement.
If I ran now, I had no doubt in my mind he would chase me down. It sent a thrill through me, and I realized the terror knotting my chest was gone. With just a glance, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.
The world narrowed down to just us, and as he came to meet us at the front, I was lost in the void around us.
Vaguely aware of exchanging words and my father giving my hand to Bash.
Lost to time and space as he led me to where the priest stood.
He smelled of sea salt air and fresh air, his face freshly shaved. Jawline is as unforgiving as ever.
Leaning forward, Bash lowered his head to my ear.
“Breathe, Rosamund,” he said.
His breath coasted over my skin, and I fought back a shiver. Swallowing hard, I nodded.
He gave a small chuckle, and god, the smile he wore was worth more than any of the treasure I’d dug up so far.
“I’d prefer not to force you to take a breath in front of all these people, but you are going to force my hand,” he whispered.
Right. Breathing.
A past from the front row drew my attention, and Oscar patted Oliver on the back, a signal.
Breathing. I could do that.
I sucked in air, and Bash’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
“There you are,” he purred, practically indecent in a church.
The priest was speaking around them, but my world was here.
“You came,” I whispered.
It was an echo of the words he’d spoken the night I returned to the inn. Except where there had been surprise in his, there was none in mine. I knew Edward Smith, and he was always going to be here.
A muscle flickered in Bash’s jaw, and I squeezed his hand in both of mine. From the gallows to the church, our destinies were wrapped into one, forever intertwined.
The priest cleared his throat, and I was briefly aware of a chuckling that sounded an awful lot like Oscar before it was covered with a cough. I turned my head and found the priest glaring at me.
“I said, repeat after me, Miss Bailey,” he said.
And so I did.
“I, Rosamund Bailey, take thee, Edward Sebastion Smith, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…”
I might have mumbled over the part about obeying, but my husband didn’t seem to mind much and instead, the corner of his mouth pulled up. He knew better than to expect it of me.
He held my gaze as the priest gave him his words, but before he could offer the next verse, Bash spoke without his coaching, the words ingrained into his mind.
“I, Edward Sebastian Smith, take thee, Rosamund Beatrice Bailey, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.”
If I were to be owned, let it be the man holding me as if we were the only two people there. The words are an unbreakable vow between us. Till death do us part.
Oliver stood and stepped towards us, handing Bash a small gold band.
I chanced a glance to the other side of the aisle, where Lord Smith sat with a scowl across his face.
Traditionally, the next of kin would have been in charge of the ring, but Bash had chosen Oscar for that honor.
It sent a thrill of satisfaction in my chest, and I made sure to give the lord a small smile for his troubles.
My gloating was short-lived as Ruby followed suit, handing me a larger gold band. It was hard to care, though, as Bash held out his hand for mine. Without a second thought, I slid mine into his and held my breath.
He hovered the ring over my finger before raising a single eyebrow.
Right, breathing.
Probably because I would have done anything he asked, I forced the air into my lungs, and my pirate rewarded me with words that felt more like worship than a promise.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship,” the way his eyes held mine, the words were practically indecent, sending a shiver up my spine. “and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
The ring fit perfectly on my finger, and though I wasn’t used to its presence, it felt right. I repaid him by placing his ring on him and loved the way he flexed his hand as if adjusting to this new world.
With the exchange of rings, it wasn’t just him and me any longer. It was a we now, and I was prepared to hold him to it.
“You may kiss your bride.”
The words were barely out of the priest’s mouth before I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me.
I loved the way his light laugh felt against my lips, so I pressed against his.
Soft and far too chaste. I slipped my tongue against the seam of his lips, and he made a sound low in his throat that shouldn’t have been made in a church lest we go to hell for it.
He pulled away, and god, the way his eyes dug into mine, accusatory and hungry, had my toes curling.
Cheers and applause rang in my ears, but I only saw him, only felt the pull of him.
His chest lifted with a long breath as he offered me his arm. I gladly took it and was grateful when he whispered an admonishment that sounded like telling me to behave, but it was hard to hear with the roaring in my ears.
We walked through the eager eyes that catalogued our every movement. The air outside was like freedom against my too-hot skin.
Of all the impulsive things I’d done in my life, this was one I struggled to wrap my mind around. Even when Bash helped me into the carriage that would take us back to Fairview, all I knew was that the world was moving.
I’d married Sebastian Flynn, Captain of the Sea Wraith. He was my husband.
I settled into the carriage much like a board of wood stood stock straight. Vaguely aware that Bash followed and tapped the side for the driver to go on.
“Rose,” he said, voice raspy and delicious in the best way.
I turned my head to face him, hands clutching the bouquet tight enough to cause pain. God, I loved the way he was watching me. Always the predator, except that the rules of this game were changed.
“Yes?” I asked.
The corner of his lip pulled up.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
In those three words was a vulnerability not one other person on earth was privy to. A pirate captain, heir to London society, is my husband.
So I did the only thing left to do.
I kissed my husband.