Page 136 of Unholy Union
We’re still teasing each other as we walk out of the kitchen and make our way back toward the formal dining room where the sound of raucous laughter grows louder with every step. The clink of wine glasses and silverware fills the space like background music.
Cassian’s holding court at the far end of the long mahogany table, speaking like he’s narrating a blockbuster.
“So there I am in Stockholm, backstage at this music festival—don’t look at me like that, Lazaro, it was a legitimate festival—and she grabs me by the belt and says, ‘I write my best songs after I come.’” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Naturally, I did what any true music lover would do. I offered my services.”
Everybody laughs—Celeste with an eye roll, even Sabrina’s friend Jasmine lets out a stunned giggle.
EverybodyexceptLazaro, who sits stiffly at the opposite end with his arms crossed and his expression tight and unreadable.
Celeste lifts her wine glass and takes a long sip before interjecting, “You seriously need to be studied in a lab. How are you not sick of sleeping with anything that has a pulse?”
“You’re one to judge, little sister. I saw that photo you posted of your last boyfriend. He looked like he was two years late for a haircut and probably named Dax or River or some other tragic abomination.”
She scoffs, her pale cheeks deepening like the wine in her glass. “His name wasBear, you troglodyte.”
“Worse,” Cassian says with a grin, “that’s like naming a dog Bob.”
The two of them start bickering in rapid-fire succession like when they were kids, trading insults like old times while poor Jasmine sits between them. Her shoulders tense up with each volley, her expression screaming for help. Her eyes flick to Sabrina with a silent plea.
Sabrina clears her throat loudly. “Honestly, I just wish Tessa were here. She’d back Celeste up and hold Cassian accountable.”
Cassian stammers mid-sip, almost choking on his wine. “Lucchesi… what about her?”
“What do you mean, what about her?” Sabrina asks. “I meant she’s not feeling well. And she’d back Celeste up if she were here.”
“Right,” he says quickly. “Yeah. Got it.”
But the shift in Cassian’s demeanor is too distinct to ignore. His grin has faded and his tone has changed. He suddenly falls silent as the topic of conversation switches to Celeste’s studies.
No one else seems to notice. They’re too engrossed in listening to Celeste talk about how she’s thinking of moving backto the States after her school year ends. The table breaks into a chorus of encouraging comments and questions. Jasmine is already asking what cities she’s considering. Lazaro offers a rare, approving nod as if impressed.
But I keep my focus on Cassian.
He’s gone quiet, allowing the conversation to happen without interference. It’s unlike him, someone who prefers to be in the mix of every moment.
My hand grips Sabrina’s thigh under the table. I lean closer toward her so only she can hear. “There’s something I want to ask you later,” I murmur. “After dinner.”
She nods, remaining as silent and discreet as necessary.
The staff emerge from the kitchen to serve dinner, and I rise to give an official toast.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” I say. “Sabrina and I... we don’t take your presence for granted. These past six months haven’t been easy. But they’ve been ours. And we’ve made it this far in part because of the people in this room. Your support, your loyalty—it means more than you know.”
Sabrina’s smiles lovingly from her place beside me. Her hazel eyes glow a dark emerald shade in the low candlelight, the rest of her olive skin equally as radiant.
I focus on her for a second, struck by my beautiful and brilliant wife, and then peer around the table at everyone else.
“Tonight isn’t just a celebration of our marriage,” I continue, raising my glass. “It’s a celebration of all of you. Those who stood beside us as we stepped into this next chapter of our lives. And to many, many more chapters to come. Salute.”
The table echoes with raised glasses and the clink of crystal on crystal, voices lifting in unison to repeat the word—salute.
Then the conversation resumes, laughter flowing as easily as the wine we drink. The meal officially begins and we spend our time indulging in excess.
Hours pass in a blur of good food and better wine. Laughter, stories, plates scraped clean with contented sighs. And finally, one by one, our guests begin to drift out into the night, coats gathered, cheeks kissed, promises to do it again soon murmured at the door.
The house settles into silence.
Staff move through the dining room, clearing away the plates and glasses from the table.
