Page 93 of Bid For Me

Aiden walks beside her like a soldier on duty, his face is carved from stone as he leads her forward. I don’t miss the tension in Elle’s hand on his arm, the slight flutter of her steps, as though they’re not as steady as they should be.

My brows pull together, suspicion prickling at the back of my mind. Elle’s always had this unshakable poise – it’s like breathing to her. But now…something’soff.

She stops at the altar and suddenly, she’s here. Close enough that I can see the faint smattering of freckles along her collarbone, the delicate line of her throat. The pendant winks at me like a secret we’re sharing.

Her brother hands her over with a scowl, the kind of look that says ‘hurt her and I’ll bury you’. He doesn’t have to say it. I meet his glare with a small nod, silently promising I won’t.

Aiden clears his throat, breaking the moment as he reluctantly places Elle’s hand in mine. I see the way he looks at me – like he wants to kill me, but he won’t, not yet. Not here.

“Take care of her,” he mutters under his breath.

I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from her, as my fingers wrap gently around hers. Her hand is warm, delicate, but I feel the faintest squeeze of warning.Don’t screw this up,it says.Don’t you dare.

I won’t, I reply silently. Not if I have any say in it.

When I take Elle’s hand in mine, my thumb brushes her knuckles on instinct. She’s warm, soft, but her grip trembles. I don’t miss it. For a split second, her fingers tighten like she’s steadying herself, and when I glance at her face, I catch it – that flicker of unease beneath the mask of her perfectly composed features.

I lower my voice, keeping my words private, for her alone. “Elle?”

Her eyes dart to mine, the faintest breath catching in her throat. “Are you okay?” I murmur.

She hesitates, the lie forming behind her lips before she speaks. “I’m fine.”

I let the words hang there, heavy with everything she’s not saying. My gut tells me something’s wrong – something beyond the dress, the flowers, the room full of people expecting a performance. She’s too pale beneath the soft flush of her cheeks, and I see the way she shifts her weight, how she draws in a slightly unsteady breath.

It’s quiet, too quiet, and her voice doesn’t match the set of her jaw or the flash of her eyes. I narrow my gaze, not buying it for a second. “Elle?—”

Her walls slam back into place before I can push any further. She shakes her head – barely a movement, but I see it.

Not here. Not now.

My chest tightens, frustration coiling low in my stomach. I don’t push her, even though every part of me wants to. Instead, I squeeze her hand gently, a silent message I hope she understands. A promise wrapped in silence.I’ll find out later. I’ll fix it. Whatever it is.

But her eyes stay forward, unblinking.

The officiant begins, his words a distant murmur compared to the noise in my head. I keep one ear on Elle, the way her breathing hitches and steadies, the way she shifts her weightalmost imperceptibly. My instincts hum, coiled and sharp. Something isn’t right.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see my father.

He’s smiling.Smiling.Not just his usual polite, public veneer, but something else. Something real. And that makes my skin crawl. My father’s happiness comes at a price, always. I know him too well to believe it’s a coincidence.

I file that away for later, adding it to the list of things I need to dig into.

“Sebastian,” the officiant says, pulling me back to the present. I blink, realising it’s my turn to speak. I turn fully to Elle. It feels like stepping into the eye of a storm. The rest of the world disappears.

I look at Elle.Reallylook at her. And for a second, I forget the words I’m supposed to say. I forget everything but the way she’s looking at me, her eyes guarded but shining. Like she’s daring me to mean what I say.

And I do.

“I take you, Elle, to be my wife,” I say, my voice low, steady. “To have and to hold, from this day forward.” My thumb brushes her knuckles as I continue. “For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. To love and to cherish, until death do us part.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but I catch the faintest shift in her eyes, like my words chipped away at something. Just a little.

“I take you, Sebastian, to be my husband…”

Her voice is soft, but there’s a steadiness to it. A strength that’s so uniquelyher. The weight on my chest lifts, replaced by something else entirely – an ache I don’t have a name for.

When it’s over – when the rings are on our fingers and the officiant finally declares us husband and wife – I don’t hesitate. I lean in, careful, deliberate, and press the gentlest kiss to her lips.It’s barely there, nothing more than a brush of contact, but I feel the way she stills. The way her breath catches, just for a second.

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