Unfortunately for me and my still mostly-gangly body, he spotted me first.
A finger poked into the center of my back, and I startled before whipping around.
I scoffed and swatted his arm. “Malachi,” I hissed. “Don’t scare me like that.”
Dimples pulled deep into his cheeks as a wide, blinding-white smile stretched across his face. His typically-tousled, black-as-coal hair was combed back, but one strand hung over his glinting, pewter eyes like it always did. Wearing a black suit jacket and white shirt over black pants, he suddenly looked about eighteen years old, rather than just shy of fifteen.
“Isla, why are you standing on the edge of the room, staring at everyone like a stalker?” he teased with a light chuckle.
I swatted him again, rolling my eyes as I turned away coyly and pretended like I was trying to ignore him. It had exactly the effect I hoped for, and he slipped his hand around the crook of my elbow and moved his face near the side of my head.
“Come here,” he whispered. “I want to show you something.”
Malachi tugged my arm, and I followed him out of the ballroom and down one of the long, candle-lit corridors to the opposite end of the manor.
The music from the party drifted quietly through the crisp air of the empty spaces, and the scent of cinnamon and clove filled my lungs. The atmosphere crackled with holiday magic as Malachi led me toward the den clear on the other side of the house.
“What do you want to show me that I’ve probably already seen since this is literally my house?” I queried, full of snark, but still coy.
“I was noticing all of your mom’s decorations.” He pulled me to a stop in an archway that separated one section of the expansive den from another, and then pointed at the ceiling. “Do you know what that is?”
I didn’t even have to glance up to know it was mistletoe, and simply arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I do.”
Another captivating half-smile tugged at his mouth as he leaned toward me, looking so mischievous that I nearly burst out laughing. “Do you know what you have to do if you stand under it with someone?”
Both my heart and stomach did a wild flip, but I turned my chin up and away from him. “You dragged me away from Mamá’s party so you could make me kiss you under the mistletoe?”
“I would never make you do anything, Isla.” He reached for my hand and gently pulled me closer to him, so I turned my head back toward him. Releasing my hand, he brought his to my face, stroking my cheeks with the backs of his fingers. “But I did miss you a lot. And you look so pretty. Your hair…” As his words trailed off, his fingers traced my cheekbone to thread through the strands at my temple. His eyes shone silver in the flicker of candles and the cool glow of moonlight, and his mischievous expression faded to a look that mirrored the feeling in my heart. “I love your hair, Isla.”
I love you, the words nearly escaped, but I stopped them, even though he already knew. The thing he didn’t know was that those feelings had recently shifted to an entirely different type of love, and I was suddenly terrified to say it.
Instead, I settled for, “I missed you, too.”
Malachi took a step closer and framed my face with his hands. “Your Papá might run me out of his house if he catches me doing what I want to do right now.”
I giggled quietly as I clasped my hands around his wrists to hold him in place. “He doesn’t have to know.”
“That’s true.” His thumbs stroked my cheeks and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Can you keep a secret, my sweet Isla?”
Only a breath separated our faces, and I whispered back, “Yes.”
With that, Malachi settled his lips softly onto mine, and what felt like electricity and pure magic twirled like a tornado just below my sternum.
It was the first time I ever kissed anyone, but it only confirmed everything I’d felt for a long time.
Malachi Sterling was the only boy I ever wanted to kiss for as long as I lived.
ISLA
Present
I HAVE NEVER BEEN more grateful for anything than I am for the silk organza veil draping over my face as I stand facing Malachi at the front of the cold, stone cathedral. The translucent ivory barrier hides the fact that I’ve refused to look at him throughout the entire ceremony. We have been holding hands for twenty minutes, and because of that, I’m equally grateful for the white gloves he’s wearing that keep our skin from making contact before it absolutely has to.
The suit he’s wearing is a black, military-style dress uniform indicative of his obligatory four years of service in Corwick’s small Royal Navy. I know without even being able to see us that we look like a damn Disney movie up here like this.
Cinder-fucking-ella.
But he’s no Prince Charming.
I realized that fifteen months ago, but he underscored it when he greeted me upon my arrival at the altar with a quiet growl in my ear.
“If you run from this church, I will ruin your father, and he will disown you.”
No, Malachi, I’m not going to run from this church, but I probably will find the dungeon in your castle and willingly lock myself up in it.
The ceremony is all in ancient Gaelic, so I don’t understand any of it. Not that it matters. The vows, however, are given to us in English, and Malachi is prompted by the priest first.
“I, Malachi Tierney Sterling, Duke of Corwick, take thee, Isla Sofía Reyes, 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, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge myself to you.”
For the first eighteen years of my life, I dreamed of the day he would say those words to me. I even foolishly dreamed of it after he disappeared as I held onto naïve hope that he’d somehow turn up again, and we’d sort through whatever it was that went wrong. I never could’ve imagined the circumstances in which he actually ended up saying them.
The contrast causes my battered, scarred heart to electrify with pain, and a lump surges to the top of my throat just in time for the priest to prompt me with the vows.
Fuck.
“I, Isla Sofía Reyes, take thee, Malachi Tierney Sterling, Duke of Corwick, to be my wedded husband,” I eke out through a pinched voice that all but screams to everyone present that I’m biting back tears.
It plays perfectly into the charade that we’re hopelessly in love, and this mother fucker has the unmitigated gall to lift the back of my hand to his lips to kiss it as if comforting me.
Fuck. You.
Nevertheless, I finish the vows.
“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, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto, I pledge myself to you.”
Lies.
The priest goes on with another long monologue in Gaelic before eventually switching to English again.
“By the power vested in me by the Holy Church, the Kingdom of Corwick, and their Royal Highnesses, King Andrew IV and Queen Deirdre, I hereby pronounce you man and wife.” He raises his arms at his sides, palms facing upward. “Fellow countrymen and women, and honored guests, it is my privilege to present to you for the very first time, the Duke and Duchess of Corwick.” He takes a small step backward and gestures with one hand at Malachi. “You may now kiss your bride.”