The Filthy One
Worse even, not once in my little girl dreams did I picture Kai walking me down the aisle. He was always supposed to be waiting for me at the altar.
Yet, here we are.
“This is ridiculous, Riv. Just say the word and I’ll rescue you. I’ll be the getaway driver.” I smile at that, it’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. But every time it does, it feels wrong.
We’re alone here, behind the closed doors waiting for the string quartet—yes, that’s right, a fucking foursome with violins—to begin Vivaldi’s second movement of Winter Season. Petal suggested it when she called me two days after our Yule. She said it was like sitting by the fire after a snowstorm.
In that slight window between life as I know it and life after, I turn to Kai and take advantage of the privacy we never seem to truly have.
“Why are you marrying Freya?” I’m surprised that the pang I usually get at the bottom of my stomach is lesser, almost gone.
“That’s a hell of a question, Psyche. And we need to talk about that. But now isn’t the right time. All I can say is she needs me.” His honesty is refreshing, but his evasive answer only brings on more questions.
“You can’t call me that anymore, Kai. Is she pregnant?” I mean, we are the last people to ever judge having children out of wedlock. Those ideas are purely religious. We don’t abide by those rules.
“No, River. It would be so much simpler if she were.” He bends and kisses my forehead as he whispers. “It’s her story to tell, but know this,” he holds my face with his big hands, his eyes watering from unshed tears. “In every one of my dreams, I was the one waiting for you at the altar.” I smile, the lie of this day weighing down on me.
“Mine, too. I guess the universe had other ideas.” We smile at each other and turn toward the doors as the first bow slides across the strings and prompts the doors to open onto a winter wonderland.
Petal and Lina insisted on surprising me and holy fuck, am I ever.
Our biggest problem when changing the venue was the fact that Marco and his family are Catholics, and although I’m willing to bet he hasn't been to church in years, it is expected of him to hold a traditional ceremony.
I, on the other hand, believe in no god at all.
Somehow, the scene in front of me is the marriage of both sides of the coin.
We step onto a white silk runner that matches my dress perfectly, along with the sashes at the backs of each—two rows of three chairs—all attributed to a person standing and holding a plush rolled up blanket to fight the chill. That was Everest’s idea, a way to stave off the cold while we took our vows. The path is lined by leafless trees decorated with white paper roses and silk sashes blowing in the wind. Thankfully, the heaters are strategically placed or else we’d all freeze to death.
My gaze follows the center aisle all the way to the back, the violins seem louder, somehow, like they’re goading me, telling me to concentrate on every detail. Urging me to look up and see what’s waiting for me.
No, not what.
Who.
As soon as I look up, our eyes lock and everything else around me disappears. The people, the music, the feel of Kai’s hand on mine as my fingers tighten around the crook of his elbow. I know we’re walking because Marco is getting closer and closer, his attention solely on me, his expression stoic, his jaw tense and aware of every move, every breath I take.
The only visible emotion on his face comes from the flare of his nose as he seems to reel in every ounce of control.
I almost smile at that. The idea of him being unable to dominate anything, including emotions, seems preposterous. People I don’t know whisper things in Italian, like they’re blessing our union. Or cursing it. How the hell would I know the difference?
“We’re almost there, Riv. Say the word.”
I don’t look at Kai, severing the link with Marco seems impossible. Running is impossible. Backing out feels cowardly. I give him a barely perceptible shake of my head but Marco sees it and, as if he can sense Kai’s words, his gaze abandons me to land on the man standing next to me.
Nathaniel was protective of me when it came to Kai.
Marco? He looks like he wants to rip him limb from limb. I roll my eyes and, like a bone to a dog, I get Marco’s attention right back on me.
“Four.” His whispered threat makes me instantly wet.
Fucker.
“He looks abusive, Riv. Jesus fucking Christ, how do you choose these thugs?”
This time I do turn to him and grin like he’s my favorite person.
“I don’t know, Kai? Have you looked in the mirror lately?” He snorts, and just like that, I’m turning back to Marco as Kai stops us at the altar, turns me, and kisses me on the forehead in some kind of broken-hearted goodbye.