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“Elain,” Vassa hissed from behind a heavy velvet curtain. “If Ianthe sees you—”
“I know, I know,” Elain whispered back, letting Vassa use her body like a shield. “I just need to see Lucien.”
Vassa smoothed out the skirt of her hunter green dress. “Jurien is back there…I could send him a text?”
Elain nodded, her eyes sweeping through the room. She’d picked the worst possible moment to lay her feelings on the line. She’d had years to do it, to just come clean and tell Lucien she was in love with him, but every time she tried, she got tripped up. The words got lost in her throat. Elain had hoped Lucien might tell her, but he never had. She’d thought, for a time, that he might love her back, might want to be with her the way she wanted to be with him.
They’d kissed one summer right before Tamlin introduced Lucien to Ianthe. Elain couldn’t see Ianthe, hidden behind the curtain at the very back of the massive church, but she didn’t need to. Ianthe was everything Elain was not; tall, a society woman, and someone who could move through the same circles as the Vanserra’s. Elain was the girl who’d accidentally met Lucien at school while on scholarship. Her family didn’t have money; no one was impressed by the last name Archeron.
Elain assumed Ianthe and Lucien would burn out but Lucien proposed and now Elain was skulking through a church so she might beg him to reconsider. She was terrified he’d tell Elain it was too late, and he loved Ianthe now, the simpering, stupid blonde that didn’t love Lucien in return. She loved his money, his family name, and the thought of someday raising future Senators. If Ianthe found out Elain was here, she’d probably kill her.
The people sitting in pews were a veritable who’s who not just of the state but of the country itself. Elain slid out of the church back into the vestibule where Vassa was waiting. Vassa shouldn’t have been allowed either despite also having money and status. Vassa and Ianthe hated each other. Vassa was loyal to a fault and Elain would forever be grateful for her friendship. Vassa was also dating one of Lucien’s best men, Jurien.
“I texted Jurian but he’s not responding,” Vassa muttered, grabbing Elain by the arm and pulling her through the vestibule and up the stairs. “You should hide up here in the balcony until I can figure out how to sneak you past Ianthe and her bridesmaids.”
Elain nodded, her shoes clacking loudly on the marble steps. Vassa took one last look at Elain with pity in her wide, blue eyes.
“You just text him too, you know,” Vassa offered but Elain shook her head no. What if he didn’t see it until after he said his vows? It had to be now, and it had to be in person.
Vassa vanished through an archway, leaving Elain a phantom overlooking the ceremony. She caught sight of her sister Feyre, mulling about and talking to people Elain only vaguely recognized, her husband Rhysand by her side. She spotted who she assumed must be Ianthe’s family, judging by their pale skin and blonde hair, dressed in shades of pastel that washed them out. Lucien’s family, on the other side, easy to see with all that red hair. Beron seemed pleased enough in his tux, but Lucien’s mother’s face was unreadable. Elain imagined she didn’t approve, though it was possible she was just bored of waiting.
Elain was, too. As quietly as she could, Elain slipped back down the stairs into the vestibule and then down a hall where the bridal party was finishing up. Elain could hear Ianthe, her voice raised.
“We agreed to heeled Manolo Blahniks so why are you in flats that look like they came from Target?!”
“Ianthe, I’m pregnant, my feet are swollen—”
“How is that my problem? You look disgusting and I’d make you leave if it wouldn’t throw off the balance of the ceremony—”
Elain slid past the half open door, catching sight of Ianthe as she did so. Ianthe was in a huge tulle grown that Elain supposed Ianthe thought made her look like a princess. It made her look like a cream puff. The thought gave Elain some small measure of joy, knowing that for all the money Ianthe had spent on this monstrosity of a wedding, Ianthe still couldn’t buy herself any taste.
Elain slipped into the room that should have belonged to Lucien only to find it empty. His regular clothes were sitting on a chair, marking that he’d been here at some point. Elain slid into the hard piece of furniture, pulling off the jacket hanging off the back and pressing it into her face. This was her fault. She’d been a coward, too afraid to tell the man she loved how she felt and now he was waiting on another woman. She took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of chestnuts and warm apples. Lucien somehow always smelled like a crisp, fall day. Elain took a breath and looked up in the mirror. She looked plain compared to Ianthe, even if Ianthe was more pastry than woman. Brown hair cascaded down bare shoulders and her dress, while long, was hardly the right dress for begging a man to reconsider his whole life. Off shoulder and dusty rose, it was the dress he’d kissed her in the summer before everything went to shit. One drunk kiss, a kiss he’d hastily told her the next morning meant nothing.
It meant everything to her.
Elain stood and replaced his jacket so she could make her way back to the curtain she’d been hiding behind. She wanted to see him, at least. Just one last time before he was lost to her forever. She’d leave, then and let him have happiness.
It was surprisingly easy to slip back behind the curtain and take one last look around. Lucien looked magnificent in his tux. He stood just off center, broad hands clasped in front of him, his russet eyes far away. He hadn’t cut his long, ruby hair though he had tied it off his face. He was every inch the prince she’d always imagined him to be, even as a gangly, awkward fourteen-year-old girl moving through the same private school as him. Lucien had always seen her, even when she couldn’t see herself.
Elain turned to leave when the music began. She froze, equal parts horrified and terrified as people began to stream down the red carpeted aisle one at a time. His parents and then Ianthe’s, followed by a long stream of groomsmen and bridesmaids, all in ugly, unflattering pale blue gowns. Elain caught sight of the pregnant one, her eyes red and face puffy, arms linked with Jurien. If that’s how Ianthe treated her maid of honor, how would she treat Lucien?
An adorable copper haired flower girl began tossing red petals on the floor to general awws, while a stoic, blonde boy marched to the front of the room with a little pillow.
Walk away. Don’t watch this, her brain screamed at her, but Elain couldn’t stop herself. Everyone stood, all eyes on Ianthe when Ianthe appeared, her arm linked with her father. She was floating somehow, like she was some sort of pageant queen. Elain turned her head to see Lucien. She didn’t know what she thought she’d find when she looked in his face. A smile, certainly. Tears, even. Some show of emotion that would let her finally leave.
His face was unmoved, stone in the face of his soon to be wife. Lucien looked miserable. She was tempted to try and convince herself that was how he expressed himself, how he showed emotion, but she knew better. If he’d been overcome, she would be able to see it. She knew him better than that.
At least Ianthe’s face was hidden beneath a veil that trailed for miles behind her. Her pregnant maid of honor crouched to rearrange it when Ianthe made it to Lucien, her face a grimace. Elain took a look around at the ornate church, her eyes lingering on the stained glass and the marble arches. Had Lucien wanted this? Had he picked any aspect of it out? Lucien, the man who spent days camping with nothing but a pop-up tent and the same blue sleeping bag he’d been using since he was sixteen?
The preacher began speaking words of love, commitment, and forever. Elain kept her eyes on Lucien’s face, begging him for even a hint of emotion. Her hands shook violently, her throat dry. She had never meant to watch him get married. She’d just wanted to tell him how she felt. Lucien’s face didn’t move, betrayed nothing. He didn’t shift his weight from one foot to the other, didn’t itch, didn’t do anything. It was as if he’d grown roots right there on the dais.
“If anyone has any reason these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Elain willed herself to stay put. To say nothing. Silence filled the church and a few people looked around as though they expected an outburst.
Elain stepped out of the curtain, a ghost to the room. No one was looking at her except the preacher, who hesitated when he saw her quietly begin to walk forward. Vassa turned first, her red curls easy to spot in the middle of the crowd.
Lucien turned next. Their eyes met though his face was exactly as it had been a moment earlier.
“I object,” Elain said, her voice wavering.
“Oh thank God,” Rhysand muttered from somewhere close by.
“I uh…I’m not the girl who just…objects to a wedding, but they said speak now…Lucien, if you marry her, you’ll be marrying the wrong girl. It should be us. I love you, Lucien. I’ll…I’ll wait outside for you if you want to change your mind.”
“Get her out of here!” Ianthe screamed. Elain took one last look at Lucien’s face. His eyes shifted, the ice vanishing into something warm. Soft, even. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it; perhaps she only wanted to see emotion.
Vassa rushed forward, her dress swishing around her softly. She looped her arm through Elain’s and walked her out. Neither of them said a word until the warm sun hit their skin. Elain nearly collapsed onto the pavement in the parking lot.
“That took guts,” Vassa told her, walking her quickly towards the back of the church where Elain had come in.
Elain couldn’t speak. She sat on the edge of a concrete step and shook out her hands. “I shouldn’t have done that; I should have just let him marry her.”
Vassa shook her head. “Don’t torture yourself. You made a grand gesture and even if it didn’t work out, at least you tried.”
Elain exhaled. “I should go. I am going to go. I…I don’t want to see them walk out together.”
Vassa nodded. Elain stood, steadier this time and let Vassa hug her tightly. “I’m proud you tried. Plus, you made that wedding fun for the first time.”
Elain nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. She took off, walking through the parking lot quickly until she hit the sidewalk. She’d walked seven blocks from her apartment to get here; it wasn’t far. Elain tried to think of what she thought he’d say. She hadn’t planned it out, had never gotten that far. She supposed she always knew, deep down, that Lucien would never walk away. He’d proposed, hadn’t he?
Elain pushed the button at the streetlight, wondering absently if those buttons made the walk sign come faster or if they were a placebo when she heard a voice scream her name.
“Elain!”
Elain turned, expecting to see Vassa again. It was Lucien, in jeans and the jacket that had been hanging from the chair, running towards her. Elain took two stumbling steps, half certain she’d had a mental break, and this was all a very vivid hallucination.
On the third, Lucien caught her, arms around her body as he lifted her off her feet. His mouth crashed against hers before she could say a single word, warm and inviting just like she remembered.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling the hair tie from his hair. Lucien broke the kiss, eyes shining setting her back to her feet. He looked perfect, his hair framing his beautiful face, his eyes sparkling, and lips swollen from the bruising kiss he’d just given her. He reached for her face, holding it between his broad hands. “I didn’t say my vows,” he told her breathlessly, as if he felt as dazed as she did. “I…I love you too. I never thought you cared, I…thank God you said something.”
He kissed her again, softer this time. Elain was shaking. This wasn’t real, couldn’t be real.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he repeated as though she’d asked something as simple as his name. “Since the first time we met and if I’d been smart, I would have told you that day. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to lose you. It was better to be your friend than to not have you at all but Elain, God, I love you. I love you so much it makes me feel crazy, and right before you came out of that curtain, I was standing up there pretending it was you. Wishing it was you.”
Elain swallowed and then she laughed, unable to stop herself. Lucien grinned.
“Come on, let’s run away before Ianthe comes looking for us.”
“Where will we go?” She asked, taking his hand, and jogging back towards the intersection.
“Anywhere we want.”