//CLARA//
Casimir’s eyes hadn’t left my face since Gary handed over. Like he was afraid I’d disappear if he looked away.
I probably would have done the sa.
"You’re staring," I whispered.
"You’re worth staring at."
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks beneath the powder. "Smooth."
The priest cleared his throat gently, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He looked like the kind of man who had perford a hundred weddings in small chapels like this one, an intimate affairs with no society pages.
"We should begin soon," he said softly. "Before anyone thinks to look for you here."
I nodded. My heart was already racing, and we hadn’t even said the vows yet.
Before I could take a breath, Beatrice appeared at my elbow.
She was holding a small bouquet, tied with a simple cream ribbon. They looked like soone had picked them from a field that morning.
"I’m so sorry," Beatrice whispered, her eyes glistening. "I was supposed to give this to you before you walked down the aisle, but I—I couldn’t move. I was too—"
She pressed a hand to her chest. "I’m sorry."
I stared at the bouquet. Then at her.
"Beatrice, how did you—"
"I figured it out." She sniffled, shoving the flowers into my hands. "Oliver didn’t tell , if that’s what you’re asking. He’s terrible at keeping secrets, but he tried."
I glanced over her shoulder at Oliver. He shrugged helplessly, his ears red.
"When Casimir sent word," Beatrice continued, "asking us to co here instead of the cathedral... well. It didn’t take a genius to put it together."
She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "The way he looks at you. The way you look at him."
"Beatrice, I—"
"You don’t have to explain." She grabbed my free hand and squeezed. "I’m not blind, Eleanor. And I’m not stupid. I know what love looks like when it’s real."
I blinked rapidly, the tears threatening again.
"Besides," Beatrice continued, her smile wobbly, "You turned down a prince. A literal prince. You wouldn’t do that unless you were already in love with soone else."
I threw Oliver a look over her shoulder. He held up his hands in defense.
"I didn’t tell her that part," he said. "She guessed."
"I’m very intuitive," Beatrice said primly.
I laughed. It ca out wet and trembling.
"I support you," Beatrice said with no judgnt. "I’m happy for you, Eleanor. Truly. You deserve soone who looks at you like..."
She glanced back at Casimir, then lowered her voice. "Like you hung the moon. And he does."
I squeezed her hand back. "Thank you, Beatrice."
She nodded, stepped back, and took her place in the front pew. Oliver put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief he produced from sowhere.
I looked at Casimir. He was watching the exchange with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
"Your friends," he said quietly. "They’re loyal."
"The best kind."
Sothing in his eyes softened, then turned to face the priest.
"We’re ready," he said.
The priest smiled. He opened his book, his voice warm, ant only for the small gathering in front of him.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony."
The words washed over . I’d heard them before at other weddings, in movies, in books. But they’d never sounded like this. They’d never felt like they were ant for .
Casimir’s thumb kept moving across my knuckles. Slow. Steady. Grounding.
"If any person here present knows of any impedint why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony—"
"Please don’t," Oliver muttered from the pew. "No one knows anything. Just keep going."
The priest chuckled. "I’ve learned to move quickly through that part."
Beatrice let out a wet laugh.
The priest continued. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"
Gary stepped forward from sowhere behind . "I do."
He placed my hand in Casimir’s, properly this ti, not just hooking my arm through his. Casimir’s fingers closed around mine.
Gary stepped back. But before he retreated to the pew, he leaned in close.
"Don’t screw it up," he whispered to Casimir.
Casimir’s lips twitched. "I don’t intend to."
Gary nodded, satisfied, and took his seat next to Oliver.
The priest turned to Casimir. "Repeat after . I, Casimir Guggenheim—"
"I, Casimir Guggenheim," he said, his voice low and steady, "take thee, Eleanor—"
He paused. His eyes found mine.
"Eleanor Clara Thorne," he corrected.
I blinked. "What?"
"Clara," he said again. "That’s your na. That’s who you are to ."
The priest looked between us, confused, but didn’t interrupt.
"Take thee, Eleanor Clara Thorne," Casimir continued, "to be 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 do us part."
His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
The priest turned to .
My throat was tight. My eyes were burning. I could feel Beatrice sobbing quietly in the front pew, could hear Oliver shushing her, could feel Gary’s nervous energy radiating from sowhere behind .
But most of all, I could feel Casimir’s hands holding mine.
"I, Eleanor Clara Thorne," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, "take thee, Casimir Guggenheim to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold. For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health."
His eyes glistened. Just barely. Just enough for to see.
"To love and to cherish," I continued, my voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Till death do us part."
The chapel was silent.
Then Beatrice burst into tears.
"I’m fine," she wailed, dabbing furiously at her face. "I’m perfectly fine. I’m just—it’s fine."
Oliver patted her shoulder. "You’re not fine."
"I’m fine," she insisted. "I’m just emotionally compromised."
I laughed. Casimir laughed. Even the priest chuckled.
The priest cleared his throat. "Do you have rings?"
Casimir reached into his pocket. He pulled out a simple gold band, plain, unadorned, nothing like the jade ring already on my finger.
"I had this made," he said quietly. "For today."
He slid it onto my finger, next to the jade.
"With this ring," he said, "I thee wed."
I stared at the two bands side by side. The heavy jade of his mother. The simple gold he’d chosen just for .
My hands were shaking.
"I don’t have one for you," I whispered. "I didn’t know—I didn’t have ti to—"
Casimir shook his head. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second band. Identical to the one he’d just placed on my finger.
"The tradition is that the bride wears a ring. Not the groom." He pressed it into my palm. "But I don’t care about tradition. I want everyone to know."
I looked at the gold band in my hand. Then at him.
"You want to wear a ring."
"I want to be yours," he said simply. "The sa way you’re mine."
I slid the band onto his finger. It fit perfectly.
"With this ring," I said, my voice barely audible, "I thee wed."
The priest smiled. "By the power vested in by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
He paused, looking between us.
"You may kiss the bride."
Casimir didn’t hesitate.
He cupped my face in his hands, reverent, his thumbs brushing the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. His eyes searched mine for a mont, sothing raw and unguarded in his expression.
Then he kissed .
Not the desperate, hungry kisses of before. Not the stolen monts in dark corridors or the frantic passion we always had.
It was sothing softer. Sothing slower. Sothing that felt like a promise.
His lips moved against mine, and I felt the last of the tension drain from my shoulders.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"Hello, wife," he murmured.
My lips curved. "Hello, husband."
Behind us, Beatrice was openly sobbing. Oliver had given up on pretending not to be emotional and was blinking rapidly at the ceiling.
Gary was grinning like an idiot, his imaginary phone cara pointed at us.
"Don’t mind ," Gary said. "Just docunting this for posterity with my nonexistent cellphone."
Casimir looked at him. "What’s a cellphone?"
"Nothing," Gary said quickly. "Forget I said anything."
Casimir kept my hand in his, his fingers interlaced with mine.
"There’s one more thing," the priest added. "Sign the register before you go. To make it official."
We signed our nas on the faded pages. My na next to Casimir’s sharp, dark scrawl.
Beatrice signed as a witness. Oliver signed next.
Gary hesitated, leaning close to my ears. "Do I use my real signature or—"
"Just sign sothing," I hissed.
He scribbled sothing illegible and stepped back.
The peace shattered as reality crept back in. I turned to Casimir, the dread I’d briefly forgotten resurfacing like a wave.
"Now what?"
He cupped my face in his hands, kissed again softly.
"Now," he murmured against my lips, "we disappear."
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