Chapter 7
KANE
Morgana’s hand rests in mine, but it might as well be a thousand miles away.
She’s been like this all morning. She’s present but not really here, going through the motions while carefully avoiding my eyes.
The wedding guests around us whisper and shift in their white chairs, waiting for the ceremony to begin, but all I can focus on is the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she’s angled slightly away from me.
My mind keeps flashing back to last night. The way she pulled me against the wall, desperate and demanding. How she looked spread out on the bed, calling my name. The shower, her pressed against the tiles, both of us past the point of control. It was the most intense night of my life.
And now she won’t even look at me.
My leg bounces restlessly. I need to talk to her, need to tell her that last night meant everything, that I’m not going to pull back this time. But we’re trapped here, surrounded by her family, trapped in white chairs and other people’s happiness.
“Beautiful day for a wedding,” she says quietly, the first real words she’s spoken to me in an hour.
“Yeah.” I study her profile, trying to read what’s happening behind those carefully neutral features. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The word comes out clipped. She adjusts her dress, smooths an imaginary wrinkle, does everything but look at me. “Definitely ready for this to be over.”
The wedding? The weekend? Us? The ambiguity makes my stomach drop.
I stroke my thumb across her knuckles, the same gesture that would have made her melt into me yesterday.
Today, she goes even more rigid. Panic claws at my chest. She’s bracing for impact, waiting for me to hurt her, to say it was a mistake.
Just like I did in senior year. Just like before deployment. Christ, no wonder she’s pulling away.
“Morgana.” I need to fix this now, before she builds the walls any higher.
“The music’s starting,” she cuts me off, voice bright and false.
The processional begins, trapping us in our seats.
My hand tightens on hers reflexively. Don’t pull away, please don’t pull away.
The bridesmaids float down the aisle in lavender, then a flower girl who looks miserable in her puffy dress.
Everyone stands as the wedding march begins, and Belinda appears at the end of the aisle in white lace and triumph.
I watch Morgana watch Victor at the altar. Her face is carefully blank, but I can see how she’s clenching her jaw, the white-knuckle grip on her purse. Yesterday she was mine, crying out my name, telling me how good I made her feel. Today she’s locked down tight, and I’m losing her by the second.
My chest feels too tight. I shift in my seat, fighting the urge to pull her into the aisle and make her talk to me. Make her understand that last night wasn’t a mistake or because we’d been drinking, it was everything I’ve wanted ever since we first met.
“Do you, Victor, take Belinda to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Morgana’s hand twitches in mine. Just once, barely perceptible, but I feel it. I lean closer, desperate to bridge this gap.
“We need to talk,” I whisper urgently. “Please.”
“Not now.” Her voice is barely audible.
“Then when? You’ve been avoiding me all morning.” My voice cracks slightly. “Morgana, about last night.”
She finally looks at me then, and what I see in her eyes makes my blood run cold. Fear. Regret. But underneath, pain. She’s expecting me to hurt her, to take it all back like I have before.
“I can’t do this here,” she breathes, and I can hear her voice breaking.
“I’m not pulling back,” I whisper fiercely. “Not this time. I swear to you.”
But she’s already turning back to watch Victor and Belinda exchange rings, her jaw set. The message is clear: she’s shutting me out, protecting herself from what she thinks is coming. What she expects from me based on our history.
“You may kiss the bride.”
As we file out with the other guests, Morgana extracts her hand from mine under the pretense of adjusting her purse.
My palm burns with the absence of her touch.
Last night, she couldn’t stop touching me.
I loved having her hands in my hair, holding me like I was everything. Now she’s treating me like a stranger.
“Morgana, please,” I reach for her, desperate.
“The reception’s starting soon. We should head over.” Her voice is polite, yet coldly distant.
She walks ahead of me toward the reception venue, heels clicking against the stone path, putting physical distance between us to match the emotional chasm that’s opened up.
I follow, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.
I want to grab her, spin her around, and tell her that last night was the best night of my life.
That when she was in my arms and we were making love, my whole world shifted into place.
How I understood, with blinding clarity, that it’s always been her, but I was too scared to risk everything for the one person I was most afraid of losing.
But we’re surrounded by wedding guests, her family, and she’s already so far ahead I’d have to run to catch her. My chest aches with the need to fix this, to reassure her, to make her understand that this time is different.
Because I know Morgana. When she gets scared, she runs. And right now, she’s terrified, not of what we could be, but what she thinks we won’t be. She’s protecting herself from the pain she thinks is coming.
And while we’re trapped in this wedding circus, I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.
“Oh my God, Morgana!”
A blonde woman appears out of nowhere during the reception, throwing her arms around Morgana in an enthusiastic hug. For a second, I tense, but then Morgana’s laughing with the first genuine laugh I’ve heard from her all day, and hugging back just as hard.
“Sophie! I didn’t know you were coming!”
“Last-minute addition. Belinda’s mom insisted, since I’m technically family.” The woman, who Morgana introduces as her cousin Sophie, pulls back, grinning. “Cousin by marriage, twice removed, or something equally complicated. But forget that. How are you? It’s been years!”
Morgana’s whole demeanor shifts. Her shoulders relax, her smile reaches her eyes. It’s like watching the sun come out after a storm, and it kills me that she can be this open with Sophie but not with me right now.
“I’m good,” Morgana says, and for Sophie, she means it. “Really good. Sophie, this is Kane. Kane, this is Sophie. She is the one and the only sane member of my extended family.”
“Honestly, that’s a low bar,” Sophie says dryly and laughs, extending her hand to shake mine. “Nice to meet the famous Kane finally. Morgana talked about you constantly in college.”
“Did she now?” I slide my arm around Morgana’s waist, but she stiffens at the contact and subtly pulls away.
“Oh, constantly. Kane did this, Kane said that.” Sophie’s eyes dance between us, assessing. “I kept telling her to jump your bones already, but she insisted you were just friends.”
“Sophie!” Morgana’s face flushes.
“What? Look at him.” Sophie gestures at me, then her eyes narrow slightly, picking up on something in our body language. “Wait, are you two finally together?”
The question hangs in the air. I feel Morgana go completely rigid beside me, her breathing shallow. The silence stretches a beat too long.
“I’m going to get fresh drinks,” Morgana says abruptly, grabbing our barely touched champagne flutes. “These are warm. Be right back.”
She escapes before either of us can protest, practically fleeing across the reception hall. Sophie watches her go, then turns those sharp eyes on me.
“Okay, what’s going on?” she asks, voice lower now, more serious. “That’s not how someone acts when they’re finally with the person they’ve wanted for years.”
I rub the back of my neck, watching Morgana at the bar. Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders. “We...something happened. Last night.”
Sophie’s eyebrows rise. “And now she’s running scared?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me guess. If memory serves, you two almost crossed this line before, and you pulled back? Told her you were better as friends?”
My silence is answer enough.
“Oh, Kane.” Her voice softens. “No wonder she’s terrified. She thinks you’re going to do it again.”
“I’m not. Not this time.” The words come out fierce, desperate. “Last night was everything. I need her to believe that.”
“You slept together.” It’s not a question.
“Sophie.”
“Oh, please, I’m not blind. The way you two are touching, the looks, the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. So you finally hooked up and now you’re freaking out?”
“She’s my best friend,” I say quietly, watching Morgana across the room at the bar. Even from here, I can see the graceful line of her neck, the way she laughs at something the bartender says. “I’m scared of losing her.”
Sophie’s expression softens. “Honey, you’re going to lose her if you don’t admit your feelings to her.”
“But what if…”
“What if nothing.” She holds up a hand. “I’ve watched Morgana pine for you since we were in college.
Every boyfriend was compared to you and found wanting.
Every major decision included the question ‘What would Kane think?’ She cares about you, but she won’t wait forever.
If you don’t get up off your ass, she’ll eventually find someone who will. ”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re about to do that thing where you tell her last night was a mistake and you’re better as friends.”
“I’ve done that before,” I admit. “Twice.”
Sophie’s eyes widen. “You absolute idiot.”
“I know.”
The weight of that lands hard. I know she’s right. This is my last shot.
Morgana returns with fresh champagne, her walls firmly back in place. She hands us our glasses with a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I should go check in with Belinda’s mom,” Sophie says, making a face. “Family obligations and all that. But Morgana?” She pulls her into another quick hug, whispering something I can’t hear. Morgana nods against her shoulder.
When Sophie leaves, the silence between us feels deafening despite the reception noise around us. Morgana’s studying her champagne like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“She seems nice,” I say carefully.
“She is. One of the few good ones. The dinner service is starting,” she interrupts, already moving toward our assigned table. “We should sit.”
She’s three steps ahead before I can respond, maintaining that careful distance. My hands clench at my sides. We’re running out of time. This reception will end, we’ll drive home tomorrow, and if I don’t fix this now, I know surer than anything that Morgana is going to disappear from my life.
Sophie’s right. Morgana deserves someone who won’t pull back, won’t choose fear over love.
She deserves to know that someone is me. That it’s always been me.
I need to get her to let me talk to her.