I reach for his hand across the table before I remember it’s forbidden and pull back.
“Oh Logan. You should’ve talked to me first.”
He just shrugs and I know that if he had to do it over, he wouldn’t have changed a thing about what he did if there was even the smallest chance it might’ve worked. Logan will never see any other way. Like my father, he’ll fight this until my dying day.
But unlike a month ago, that doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t make me want to run away.
For the first time, maybe ever in my whole life, I’m looking the truth in the face.
I might die.
Maybe this year. Maybe next. Maybe I survived this relapse and it comes again for me in three years, or five.
This was always my destiny.
Maybe my problem is that I’ve been fighting it.
But what if I stop fighting? What if I stop worrying about tomorrow, something I obviously have zero control over?
What if I decide to just live the fuck out of today, come what may?
I look at the man across the table from me, and so much emotion and love wells up in my chest. “Ask me again.”
Logan’s so dejected, I’m not sure he hears me at first. “What?”
“Ask me again,” I whisper, excitement brimming in my voice.
Logan gulps, understanding finally coming into his confused eyes. He doesn’t look like he believes what I’m saying, but he’s a smart man. “Will you marry—”
“Yes!”
He leaps out of his chair, much to the consternation of the two guards standing at the door. It doesn’t stop Logan, though. He comes and throws his arms around me, kissing me hard.
I laugh, tears pouring from my eyes even as I push on his chest, urging him back. “The guards,” I laugh through his kisses.
Logan pulls back and holds his hands up right as they are about to grab him. “We just got engaged,” he says. “Give a guy a break.”
The guard just glares at him. “You know this means you have to get another full cavity search.”
Logan just grins at him. “I won’t enjoy it too much if you don’t.”
I laugh out loud and Logan winks at me, the entire atmosphere of the room turned on its head from five minutes ago.
The guards make Logan put his hands on his head before cuffing him again, but he’s grinning the whole time.
“Armand’s working to get you out on bail,” I call.
“Perfect,” Logan says over his shoulder, struggling to see me while being dragged away by the guards. “Because I’m marrying your gorgeous ass as soon as physically possible. You can plan it while they do the paperwork.”
I laugh again, a gut laugh from deep in my stomach, because I doubt that Logan is kidding or exaggerating at all.
Looks like I’m getting married. Soon.
Fifteen
Daphne
I stare at the mirror image of a woman in white. She has a bloom on her cheeks and roses in her hair. Yes, she’s in a wheelchair, but she looks healthy, strong. There’s a glow about her, along with a restless energy that comes from nervousness. But underneath it all, there’s strength.
The woman is me. And today is my wedding day. My real one.
Outside, the staff Armand hired is putting the final touches on the bridal walkway. When I asked for a simple ceremony, Armand gave me a big grin.
“Simple and classic,” he promised, and then added, “For the ages.”
His statement didn’t reassure me at all.
“I’m getting married,” I whisper to the woman in the mirror, and her lips curve in a Mona Lisa smile. My hair and make up are done, and I’m in the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever worn. The frothy skirt is tailored to look good whether I stand or sit in a wheelchair. The beaded bodice hugs my curves.
“Darling! You look fabulous,” Armand breezes in and air kisses me as if he’s been gone an age instead of a half hour. He personally oversaw my hair and makeup, keeping me smiling with his quips and antics. Then he gave me a moment of quiet, while he checked on everything else.
“Thanks,” I grin up at him. “I know an excellent hairdresser.”
“Don’t you just?” The way he fusses over my hair for another minute tells me he’s stalling.
“Armand, it’s already perfect.” I bat his hand away. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Well… there’s good news and bad news.”
“Of course there is.” I blow out a breath. The fact that this wedding is happening at all defies the gods. As soon as I think it, I shove the thought away and give Armand a little smile. “Bad news first.”
“It’s raining. Not hard. Just a light rain. We’re keeping the guests in the reception tent until it passes—which should be soon. And you know what they say!” Armand holds up a finger and recites. “A wet knot is not easily untied.”
I realize I’m fiddling with a bead on my dress’s bodice and fold my hands in my lap. “Do they really say that?”
“Oh yes, honey.” He raises his hand as if he’s being sworn in to testify.
“Okay,” I can’t help but smile at his sincerity. “And the good news?”
“The good news is we covered the area for the ceremony with a hanging garden, and it’s keeping that area mostly dry.”
My jaw drifts to the floor. “I’m sorry...did you say ‘hanging garden’?”
“Mmmhmmm. I wanted them over the dance floor, but we’d already done the floor. And a garden above and below is just overkill.”
“Overkill,” I repeat. “What do you mean? What did you do to the floor?”
“Oh, you will love it. It’s a see through platform—a glass case, actually—and inside is a bed of flowers—roses of course—and ferns. You’ll be dancing over a garden all night.”
“Oh, wow,” is all I can say.
“Yes, wow.” He kneels and fusses with my hem. “Don’t you worry. We’re going to get this party started as soon as the rain leaves. Which it should, soon. I have virgins on standby to sacrifice to the gods, in case we need extra insurance to be sure this wedding goes off without a hitch. Anal virgins. It was too hard to find the other kind.”
“Haha,” I say weakly.
Armand stands and dusts off his hand, straightening his own tux jacket. He looks incredible, but I’m suddenly too nervous to speak. A young man in his own tuxedo ducks in and signals Armand before rushing out again.
“That’s our cue.” Before I can protest, Armand pushes my wheelchair to the front door.
A sense of readiness cloaks me as I look out onto the lawn. Armand’s staff has performed a miracle, transforming Thornhill into a wonderland.
The reception tent is a vast white bird poised in flight. Beside it is a canopied area for the main ceremony covered by a sort of lattice work dripping with wisteria. Guests are making their way to the chairs, escorted by men in tuxes.
“We toweled off the entire ceremony area,” Armand tells me.
“It looks perfect.” I motion him to push me forward onto the wheelchair ramp so I can see how they decorated the front of the house. There’s a green ivy canopy that wasn’t there when I rolled in last night.