this ceremony. For Dovlano, where his memories are.”
My eyes prickle, and I blink hard to keep the tears from spilling over. “Oh, Mother.” I tuck the scrap into the bust of my gown and pull her in for a hug that’s much tighter than we’re accustomed to in the royal palace. “Thank you. This means so much to me.”
She leans into the embrace for a bit, not saying anything. Her breath ruffles the hair at the nape of my neck, and her arms feel fragile and tense around me.
When she draws back, I see the effort it takes to compose herself. “I need to say something,” she says. “I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t owe—”
“I do,” she insists, so I shut up and let my mother talk. “The presentation Bradley gave—I—I had no idea. All this time, you felt so guilty. I knew deep down it wasn’t your fault. What happened to Oliver—it was just one of those things, but I couldn’t face it. I didn’t know how to.”
“None of us did,” I respond. “We were all just flailing around in our grief.”
“But I was the parent.” Her brow furrows, a miracle against Botox. “I let you believe it was your fault, but it wasn’t. Seeing things spelled out the way they were in Bradley’s presentation—the PowerPoint slides and graphs and—”
“I know.” I laugh because it’s such a Bradley thing to do.
Some men formally ask for a daughter’s hand in marriage. My groom created a thirty-minute visual presentation spotlighting medical research to prove in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t responsible for Oliver’s death. That no one was.
Maybe deep down, we always knew that. The Duke, my mother, me. But seeing the science erased any lingering doubt.
“I’m sorry.” My mother drags her hankie out again and swipes under her eyes. “For letting you feel responsible. I wasn’t sure what to do with my own guilt, so I put it on you. I’ll never forgive myself for that as long as I live.”
“I forgive you.” I hug her tighter this time, my arms straining against the boning in her formal gown. “And I forgive myself.”
For everything, not just my brother’s death. We’re all just doing the best we can, and sometimes, we make mistakes.
But learning to unravel them, to pivot and move in a different direction—that’s the beauty of building a life filled with happiness and love.
“It’s time, My Lady.”
We turn to see my mother’s courtier ducking out of the room as quickly as she slipped in. I pivot back to the Duchess with a smile.
“Shall we do this?”
My mother nods and touches my arm. “I’m so proud of you.”
The words feel like a bright ball of sunshine I’ve swallowed whole. “Thank you.”
We walk together to the rear of the palace cathedral. Bright swaths of color puddle on the slate floors as sunlight streams through stained glass. It’s Dovlano custom for both parents to walk the bride down the aisle, and the Duke is already waiting. Lifting his chin, he crooks his elbow toward me.
“You’re stunning, my dear.”
“Thank you.” I slip my arm through his, thinking about fathers. Somewhere out there—maybe even hidden in this crowd—is the man who gave me his DNA.
But the parents walking me down the aisle, they’re the ones who raised me. They weren’t perfect—not by a long shot. Neither am I. But the way they’ve embraced my choices—embraced the man I’ve chosen to marry—speaks volumes about their love for me.
I wonder if the Duke hears my thoughts as we float toward the front of the cathedral. “I’m glad you found a man worthy of you,” he murmurs, casting a glance at Bradley up ahead. “If that changes, say the word. I’ll gladly have him killed.”
“Um, thank you?” I’m trying not to laugh as my gaze locks with Bradley’s, and my belly flips over.
It’s still like this after all these months. We’ve endured medical emergencies and family drama, big adjustments and little ones. The man still takes my breath away, and I suspect he always will.
The Dovlanese wedding march surges around us as the twelve-piece orchestra reaches its crescendo right as we reach the altar. The space is decked out in royal gold and purple, with bright bursts of orange roses and white lilies procured from my mother’s garden. The air swirls with candlelight and the scent of spring breeze wafting from the high windows above the altar. I’m sure it’s all quite lovely.
But I only have eyes for Bradley. As I release the Duke’s arm and