//CLARA//

The chapel doors closed behind us, and the world narrowed to the sound of our footsteps on the gravel path.

"So," I said, swinging our joined hands between us like a schoolgirl. "I’m Mrs. Guggenheim, now, I supposed."

"Has a nice ring to it," he smiled. "It suits you perfectly."

"It sounds like a lot of paperwork."

He laughed. "I’ll handle the paperwork. You’re apparently very busy running away from weddings."

I shoved his shoulder. He caught my hand and kissed my knuckles.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You’ll see."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

A different carriage waited at the bottom of the lane. A plain black coach with no crest, no markings, nothing to identify its owner. Casimir opened the door.

"After you, Mrs. Guggenheim."

My stomach flipped. "That’s going to take some getting used to."

"We have time."

He climbed in after me, and the carriage jolted forward.

The ride was long. I watched the city give way to countryside, the buildings thinning, the trees thickening. The sun arced across the sky, slow and golden.

"Aunt Cornelia will tear the city apart looking for me."

"Let her."

"Bartholomew—"

"Let him." His jaw tightened at the name. "They can look all they want. They won’t find us."

I wanted to believe him. I did believe him.

"How can you be so sure?"

He took my hand again, threading his fingers through mine. "Because I’ve spent months preparing for this. Every contingency. Every possibility. Every trap they might set."

"You really planned everything."

His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "The only variable I couldn’t control was you."

I stared at him. "You planned this before the dome? Before you proposed?"

Something flickered in his eyes.

"I’ve been planning this since the moment I realized I couldn’t live without you. The dome was just... me finally working up the courage to ask."

"What if I’d said no?"

"Then I would have let you go." His voice dropped. "And I would have spent the rest of my life watching you from afar."

I squeezed his hand. "Good thing I said yes then."

"That made everything perfect."

The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon when the carriage finally stopped.

The harbor stretched out before me, dark water rippling under the fading light. And there, bobbing gently against the pier, was a yacht. And standing there in my wedding gown, watching the lanterns flicker along the deck, I felt like I was stepping into a painting.

"That’s a yacht," I said, because I had to say something.

"It is."

"A very big yacht."

"It’s called the Bird of the Sea."

I turned to stare at him. "Bird of the Sea?"

"I had her christened last month." He was trying to look casual, but I could see the color rising along his jaw. "I thought it was fitting."

"You named your yacht after your pet name for me?"

"Of course, little bird," he said quietly. "And it’s yours not mine."

My jaw dropped, my throat tightened. I looked back at the yacht, at the name painted in elegant script along her hull.

"That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Don’t sound so surprised."

"I’m always surprised when you do something romantic. You’re very good at brooding and being mysterious. Romance is a new skill."

He pulled me closer. "I’ll practice more."

"You should."

The yacht was even more beautiful up close.

Beatrice was waiting on the deck, her eyes still red from crying, a glass of champagne in her hand. Oliver stood beside her, looking slightly seasick but determined to enjoy himself. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"You’re here!" Beatrice rushed toward me, nearly spilling her champagne. "I was so worried—the carriage took forever—and Oliver kept telling me to calm down—"

"I did not," Oliver protested. "I told her to breathe."

Gary emerged from below deck, a bottle in his hand.

"They have a piano, Eleanor. On a yacht." Gary gestured with the bottle. "Also, I found the liquor cabinet. You’re welcome."

Beatrice grabbed my arm. "Come on. I want to see everything."

She pulled me toward the bow, and I let her.

Dinner was a blur of champagne and candlelight.

We ate in the main salon, the table set with fine china and fresh flowers. The yacht swayed gently beneath us, the water lapping against the hull. Through the windows, I could see the lights of the city flickering in the distance.

Beatrice sat across from me, her cheeks flushed. "I still can’t believe you did it."

"Got married?"

"To him. In a secret chapel. While the entire city was waiting for you at St. Patrick’s."

"I can’t believe it either," I admitted.

"Are you happy?"

The question caught me off guard. Happy? I’d spent so long surviving.

"Very," I smiled, widely.

Beatrice’s eyes glistened. "Good. That’s all I wanted for you."

Oliver raised his glass.

"A toast. To the bride and groom, may your secrets stay secret—or not and your champagne stay cold."

"To Mr. and Mrs. Guggenheim," Gary added, "and to the unknowable future."

I forced a smile and raised my glass, but the words landed somewhere deep in my chest.

Gary caught my eye across the table and gave me a small, knowing nod. We were both thinking it. The unknowable future. He wasn’t wrong. I had rewritten it. And I had no idea if I had just saved it or doomed our entire existence.

We drank and pushed those thoughts at the back of my mind.

"So," I said, turning to Casimir. "How did you manage to find a priest willing to marry us without asking too many questions?"

"You assume I found one."

"I assume you bribed one."

His lips curved.

"I have friends. The same way you have friends." He nodded toward Beatrice and Oliver. "The priest owed me a debt. I called it in."

"And the chapel?"

"I had it built."

I nearly choked on my champagne. "You had a chapel built?"

"Six months ago. I purchased the land. But it wasn’t until three months ago that I decided to build something on it."

He said it like it was nothing. Like constructing a secret chapel for a wedding that might never happen was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

"Three months ago," I repeated.

He reached for his wine. "After our wedding, I deeded it to the local parish. It’s theirs now. A gift."

Gary snorted into his champagne.

"He built her a chapel. A whole chapel. And we’re just supposed to act like that’s normal."

"It’s not normal," Oliver said.

"It’s definitely not normal," Beatrice agreed.

"I’m sitting right here," Casimir said.

"We know," I told him. "We’re talking about you."

The hours slipped away.

We laughed. We talked. Beatrice told stories about growing up in New York. Oliver explained the latest improvements to the Linotype. Gary made everyone uncomfortable by asking what people in the Gilded Age did for fun.

"I’m not explaining that," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because I don’t want to."

"It’s a simple question—"

"Elias."

The name made him stop.

"Fine. Keep your secrets."

Around eleven, Beatrice glanced at the clock and sighed.

"We should go," she said reluctantly.

"Must you?"

"The carriage is waiting. And if I’m not home by midnight, my mother will send out a search party." She smiled, but her eyes were sad. "This was beautiful. Truly."

She hugged me tightly.

"Thank you for being here," I whispered.

Oliver shook Casimir’s hand. "Take care of her."

"I intend to."

They disappeared down the gangplank. A moment later, I heard the wheels of their carriage rolling away.

Gary passed out around midnight. Casimir found him sprawled on a settee in the library, snoring loudly.

"Should we wake him?" I asked.

"No." Casimir hauled him over his shoulder. "He won’t wake until morning. I made sure of it."

"You drugged him?"

"I encouraged him to finish the champagne." His lips curved. "There’s a difference."

He winked and disappeared down the corridor. When he returned, his sleeves were rolled up, his collar was loose, and his hair was falling across his forehead.

The engines hummed to life beneath us.

The yacht began to move—slowly at first, then faster. The dock receded. The city lights grew smaller. The water darkened.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

Casimir came to stand beside me at the railing. "Out. Into the open sea."

The stars emerged, scattered across the sky like diamonds.

"Come."

He took my hand and led me below deck.

The master cabin was at the stern of the yacht, windows curving along the wall, giving us a view of the water on three sides. Moonlight spilled through the glass, silver and soft.

Casimir closed the door.

"Now, where were we?" He pulled me closer, his hands settling on my waist. "Didn’t I tell you, Mrs. Guggenheim, that I would have you in that dress one way or another?"

I looped my arms around his neck. "I didn’t think you’d take the threat this far."

"It’s not a threat, my love. It’s a promise."

"My love?" I raised an eyebrow. "That’s new."

His nose brushed against mine. "You don’t like it?"

I pulled him down by his collar. "Stop talking, husband. Make love to your wife."