Page 1 of His Bride

Chapter 1

GIANA

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

So many things could have been done differently.

Different choices.

Different actions. Differentreactions.

Like my reaction to my father’s choice of an arranged marriage. It drove every action I made up until now.

One could argue that it washischoice that started it all, causing the inevitable cascade of events that led us all here to this exact moment. A moment of pain. Heartache. Guilt. Grief. But if I hadreacteddifferently, maybe the trajectory of everyone's actions would have changed the outcome.

“Though we grieve, we find solace in knowing that death is not the end, but a passage to a life beyond. Let us find comfort in the knowledge that our loved one now rests in the arms of the Divine, where no darkness can touch them.”

Despite my resentment for the role he played in my forced marriage to Caelian, for a heathen, Father Tobias Kent is an exceptional priest.

I sit at the back, the chairs lined up outside the family mausoleum. It’s a beautiful yet ominous construction of granite slabs with four large pillars at the front. The Dark Sovereign symbol is carved into the wood of the double doors, the gold plate above reading, ‘One family. One life.’

It’s a crypt of legacies. The burial place of Caelian’s father, grandfather, and now…

I squeeze my black-gloved hands together, my knees pressing together so hard they might end up bruised. It’ll match the gravel burn that lingers on them along with my hands and underside of my chin—remnants of the day we all wish we could forget. A day we’d give anything to be able to change. But no matter how hard we want to erase the past, that day is printed into our history, carved into our bones, never to be forgotten.

Father Tobias starts pacing. There’s a sudden change in his demeanor as he rubs his palm across his jaw. Pensive. “You know, we can talk of God and Heaven. Of souls and happy places for the grieving so we can find comfort. But I think we all know the truth.” He turns to face us. “This is nothing more than a performance. A theatrical spectacle designed to ease the hearts of the living, to soothe our grief. But the reality is nothing can truly heal the gaping void death leaves behind. The reality is, with each beat of our hearts, we grieve. We ache. It's a hymn of sorrow that echoes in our chests, making us aware that our lives will never be the same again.”

I gasp as he pulls the clerical collar from around his neck, angered by the sheer amount of grief that clings to this place likea fetid odor, a sacrilegious reminder of the death we're here to commemorate.

He tosses the collar onto the mahogany casket, an act of defiance against a God he feels has failed us all. “We can’t mask this kind of pain behind platitudes and prayer. We can’t find comfort in the afterlife becauseweare still here, living and breathing our grief every day. Every step we take reminds us that a part of us is gone, torn from our marrow in the most painful way possible. We can’t find solace in a grave blessed by the church because we are all cursed to suffer through the hurt of missing someone so much it stretches far beyond pain.”

Every word he utters slices deep with an emotion I’ve never seen in any priest. It’s like he’s preaching his rawest truth from the deepest parts of his humanity as a man and not a shepherd—a man who’s soaking up every ounce of pain from this grieving family.

“Perhaps we are left to question,” he continues, “why a supposedly merciful God would allow us to experience such torment. To feel such loss that it gnaws at our very bones. If there is indeed a loving deity above us, why would He not spare us this?”

Mira lets out a gentle sob, and my eyes shift to her and Nicoli, who has his arm around her shoulders. Her tears have left streaks down her cheeks, her scar partly visible through the make-up, and Nicoli’s jaw tics, clenched so hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

Next to him is Caelian. Still, silent. The autumn sun paints his features in golden hues, casting long shadows that echo his inner turmoil, and there’s an ache of longing squeezing my insides. Hedoesn’t look back for me, just like he didn’t insist I sit with him when I said I’d like to wait for my father. Who hasn’t shown.

Since it happened, Caelian has been increasingly absent. He hasn’t spoken to me much. Hasn’t touched me. I don’t even know where he sleeps or with whom. And if he’s with another woman, I’ll cut her heart out. For all intents, he’s mine. I still wear his ring.

And I love him.

Oh, God. How did I get us into this mess?

All because I didn’t want to marry Aurelio. All because I chose to fight the protection Caelian offered me instead of welcoming it.

I caused this.

Tragedy.

Despair.

Death.

I swallow over the lump in my throat as my eyes blur and tickle. Blinking hard, I drag in a breath, desperate to keep the hollow feeling in my chest from suffocating me when the movement of Isaia’s arm steals my attention as he pulls Leandra closer. She’s shaking as she leans into him, placing her head on his shoulder. It’s clear there’s a bond between them that exists beyond mere friendship. It’s not attraction either.

It’s familial. Sacred. Unbreakable. Right now, it’s the one thing that’s getting them both through this.

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