His hands were ice cold and shaking, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at him.
Alec… No, Alexander, that was a better fit for the stoic, pale man standing before her, holding her hands in front of the Angel, their families, friends and the Clave representative.
His face was unmoving, frozen rather than calm, and his eyes, glued to her collarbone and avoiding looking directly at her, were hooded.
It didn’t take a genius to recognize how unhappy he was about the whole affair.
Lydia, because that’s who she was, Lydia Branwell, his… fiancée, soon to be wife actually, felt like a heel for participating in this farce, even though it was not her idea,
even though she had as much choice in this matter as he had. Still… the despair that radiated from him made her unhappy… well, unhappier that she already was.
She sneaked a look at the pews, a church-full of people, his family to the right, her to the left, the Clave members come to witness this ridiculous spectacle farther back.
She didn’t pay attention to her parents, she had already had words with them; strong, harsh words that fell on deaf ears. She looked at Alec’s family…
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