//CLARA//

The morning of my wedding felt like an execution.

I didn’t move from my bed until the door was practically kicked in.

"Eleanor! Good heavens, child, the sun has been up for hours! Do you intend to enter the cathedral in your nightgown? Have you no sense of occasion?"

Her voice was a sharp crack in the quiet room. She yanked the heavy velvet curtains back, blinding me. I sat up, my body feeling like it was made of lead.

"I’m awake, Aunt Cornelia."

"You are vertical, which is a start," she snapped, gesturing to the maids. "Hattie, the corset. Now! And someone tell the cook that if the bridal breakfast isn’t ready in ten minutes, he can find employment at a boarding house."

I was a passenger in my own skin. I stood where they told me to stand, held my breath when the laces bit into my ribs, and let them powder my face until I looked like a porcelain doll destined for a shelf.

Aunt Cornelia circled me like a vulture evaluating a carcass, her eyes narrowing at every fold of silk.

"Look at you," she hissed, reaching out to yank at the bodice of the gown with enough force to nearly pull me off my feet. "Slumped like a common shopgirl. Lift your chin, Eleanor. You’re marrying into a prominent family in the state, not heading to the gallows."

I kept my mouth shut. I watched her in the mirror, her face a mask of powdered rage and social ambition.

I could strangle her with this veil, I thought, my mind drifting into a dark, cold place as she tightened the pearls around my neck.

A few loops of the heavy cord from the train, a quick tug, and the silence would be glorious. I imagined her eyes bulging, the purple silk of her own dress finally matching the shade of her face. The Wedding of the Century would certainly have a different headline then.

"Are you even listening?" She barked, snapping her fan under my nose. "I am talking about the seating chart for the reception. The Astors must be kept away from the Fish family, or we’ll have a riot before the soup course. And for heaven’s sake, try to look less like a ghost. You’re pale enough to be transparent."

"I’m listening."

"You’re brooding," she corrected, her voice dripping with disdain. "It’s an unattractive trait in a bride. You should be weeping with gratitude that Bartholomew is willing to overlook your... recent eccentricities. If it were up to me, I’d have pinned you to the bed weeks ago to ensure you didn’t wander off into another gutter."

She stepped behind me, her reflection looming over mine. She began to adjust the long, heavy veil, her fingers digging into my scalp as she positioned the comb.

"There," she whispered, and for a second, the grip of her hands felt like a threat. "The perfect Guggenheim bride. If you embarrass me today, Eleanor—if you so much as trip on that altar or give that boy a reason to doubt this union—I will make sure you never see the sun from anything but a barred window. Do you understand me?"

I looked at her through the mirror. I thought of the matchbook under my mattress. I thought of Gary. And mostly, I thought of Casimir. Do you trust me?

"Perfectly," I replied.

"Good." She straightened her own spine, giving herself a self-satisfied nod. "Hattie! Finish the hair. I’m leaving now to ensure the ushers haven’t turned the vestibule into a smoking lounge. Higgins will see you to the coach."

She vanished in a rustle of expensive silk.

"Miss Eleanor?" Hattie’s voice was small, fearful. "Shall I... shall I finish the pins?"

"Yes, Hattie," I said, staring at the door the dusty bitch had just walked through. "Finish the pins. We have a show to get to."

"The carriage is here, Miss Eleanor," Higgins announced, his voice sounding like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel.

I let Hattie gather the heavy, miles-long train of my veil, helping me into the white carriage with the gold trim. The door clicked shut, the world went quiet, and the carriage jolted forward. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

I waited for the turn toward Fifth Avenue. I waited for the sounds of the city’s heart, the carriage-clogged streets, and the bells of St. Patrick’s. But as the minutes ticked by, the familiar landmarks never appeared. The cobblestone chatter grew rhythmic and strange. I pulled back the silk curtain, my heart thumping against my ribs.

We weren’t in the city center. We were heading away from the noise, toward the quiet, leafy outskirts where the air smelled of salt and spring.

"Excuse me?" I tapped on the wood to get the coachman’s attention. "This isn’t the way. Where are we going?"

Silence. The carriage didn’t slow.

A cold dread started to seep into my chest. Another abduction? Has the syndicate finally found me? I gripped the pearls around my neck, ready to rip them off and use the string as a garrote if I had to.

But then I remembered Casimir’s words. I’ll meet you at the altar.

Thirty minutes later, we pulled to a stop.

The coachman—a man I didn’t recognize, opened the door and offered a gloved hand. I stepped out.

I wasn’t at a cathedral. I was standing in front of a small, unsuspecting chapel. It was tucked away in a grove of trees, smelling of fresh-cut cedar and stone. It was new, pristine, and completely hidden from the prying eyes.

The doors opened as I approached. And there, standing in the vestibule with a grin that looked like a million bucks, was Gary.

"Gary?" I gasped, the air rushing back into my lungs. "What is this? What are you doing here?"

"Walking you down the aisle," he said, stepping forward. He looked cleaned up—actually decent in a suit that I suspected cost more than my first car back home.

"W-what?" I stammered, looking around. "How? I thought—"

Gary leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper as he offered his arm.

"I almost lost my head suggesting this. Literally. The big guy had me up against the wall—I saw my life flash before my eyes, Clara."

He wiped his brow.

"Anyway, I told him you needed a piece of home to walk with you. Didn’t mention the future. Just said you were homesick."

He gave me a weak smile. "My life expectancy depends on this wedding going smoothly. So if you could just... you know... go through with it... that’d be great."

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, half-hysterical and half-relieved. I hooked my arm around his elbow, my fingers digging into his sleeve.

"You’re a madman, Gary."

"Yeah, well, I’m a madman with a front-row seat to the scandal of the century," he whispered.

The small organ inside started a soft, haunting hymn. It wasn’t the roar of St. Patrick’s, it was intimate, melodic, and private. The doors swung wide, and I took my first step onto the red carpet.

The breath left my body.

Casimir was waiting at the end of the aisle.

He was dressed impeccably, his charcoal suit tailored. He’d trimmed his beard, the sharp lines of his jaw now fully visible, and his hair was freshly cut, swept back from his forehead.

But it was his eyes that destroyed me.

There was no cold calculation in his gaze. He was watching me with pining intensity that made my skin flush beneath the lace. He looked at me like he’d been waiting a hundred years just for me to walk those thirty feet.

I was surprised to see Beatrice in the front pew, clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers, her face glowing. Did Oliver told her? Speaking of the devil, Oliver sat beside her, his chest puffed out with pride, both of them beaming at me like I was their own sister.

No judgement in them.

The tears hit then. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep my vision clear as we reached the end of the aisle. Gary stopped, his grip on my arm tightening for a split second in a silent good luck, before he handed me over.

Casimir stepped down from the altar. He took my hand, the rough texture of his skin a grounding wire for my racing heart.

"Is this your plan?" I whispered. I carefully dabbed at a tear before it could ruin the powder.

Casimir leaned in, his intoxicating scent of sandalwood enveloping me. "You don’t like it?"

I looked at the small, sun-drenched chapel, at our friends, and then back into the dark depths of his eyes.

"It’s more perfect than I ever could have imagined."

"Good," he murmured, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Though, I regret the lack of spectacle. But I promised you an escape, not a cathedral. When the smoke clears, I will give you a wedding worthy of the woman you are. Until then..."

He lifted my hand to his lips. "This will have to suffice."

"I would still marry you in my ragged dress, Casimir. In this chapel. In a field. It doesn’t matter where." I held his gaze. "As long as it’s you at the altar."