The music softened. The guests quieted. And the world, for one suspended heartbeat, seemed to hold its breath.
The officiant's voice rang out gently over the sea breeze, but Sofia barely heard the words. Her eyes stayed on Adam—on the man who once made her feel like the stars had come down just to witness them. And now, here he stood, tall and untouchable, close enough to reach, but still too far.
Finally, the officiant turned to Adam.
"Mr. Ravenstrong, do you have vows prepared?"
Sofia tensed.
She hadn't asked. She hadn't dared to hope. But Adam nodded once, slow and sure. Then he turned to her, holding her hand.
The wind tousled a strand of hair near her cheek, and he reached forward, gently brushing it away. His fingers barely touched her skin, but it was enough to steal her breath.
"I didn't write these," he began, his voice low but steady. "Because nothing I put on paper felt right. Not when this—" his gaze locked with hers "—was never supposed to happen the way it did."
