Page 238 of The Delta's Rogue
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Sebastian shrugs. “Everyone keeps telling me that, yet somehow I’m still here.”
My dad doesn’t react. No laugh, no smile, not even a blink. He just says “We’re starting in five minutes.”
“I’ll see myself out then.” Sebastian kisses my knuckles one more time, then leaves the room.
“I like him,” my dad says as soon as Sebastian’s gone, a smile finally forming on his face.
I smile back at him. “I do too.”
He strolls towards me. The deep red velvet coronation robe with ermine trim and gold embroidery drapes over his arm, and the smile he had for Sebastian now turns into a smile for me—full of pride and affection.
I warm beneath it.
“I’d hug you, but your mother will kill me if I wrinkle your gown,” he teases.
“She already yelled at Micah and Sebastian for that.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He chuckles and offers me his other arm. “It’s almost time.”
I link arms with him, and we leave the holding room and walk to the greenhouse’s front door in silence. The murmur of the crowd from inside filters through the glass windows and the open skylights on the roof, adding to my fluttering nerves.
When we reach the door, he unfurls the robe and rests it on my shoulders, keeping his hands there as tears spill over his bottom eyelids. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you in this,” he admits. “I feared we’d lost you forever.”
“That wouldn’t have happened. Sebastian promised me we’d see each other again. He promised he’d find me.”
“I am forever in his debt for fulfilling those promises.”
The murmuring stops, and the orchestra plays.
Dad squeezes my shoulders, then backs away, slipping through the doors to the greenhouse so he can take his place in front of the crowd.
I peek through a crack between the double doors, watching him as he turns to everyone. His expression becomes solemn and kingly, but the shimmering in his eyes gives away everything he’s truly feeling.
The greenhouse is packed. Within the crowd, I spot my mom and Micah, my friends, and Sebastian’s friends and family.
Everyone is here. Everyone is here to watch me take the throne.
And yet, I’m no longer nervous. The butterflies calm in my stomach, my heart ends its race with itself, and I stand tall as I wait for the doors to open for me.
Sarina holds her chinhigh as she walks down the aisle in the center of the greenhouse. She doesn’t turn her head or flick her eyes towards me as she passes. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, on her dad.
As she should. This is her day more than it is mine. All eyes are on her, and she deserves to revel in their attention.
I’ll get her all to myself later.
If I thought she looked stunning before, it’s nothing compared to how she looks now. The deep wine red of the cloak contrasts gorgeously with the royal blue of her gown. The gold embroidery on both glitters in the sunlight, outshining the beauty of every flower in the greenhouse, even the honeysuckle. The white fur speckled with black at the neck of the robe and along the edges adds to the grandeur of her ensemble. Her gold and ruby necklace—a family heirloom, not the choker I gave her—and matching earrings add luster to her already glowing skin.
She looks every bit the queen she is.
“Today,” Malachi begins as the music fades, addressing the crowd with his voice but staring at Sarina, “is an important day. It is a day of celebration for us all as I pass the crown to my firstborn. I have enjoyed my years as your king, but my time is over, and I am honored to hand my title over to my daughter.
“Before I crown her, however,” he continues, “my daughter would like to honor those who are no longer with us. She asks that we remember those who could not be here today. She asks that we honor their sacrifices with a moment of silence.”
The guests lower their heads.
I fold my hands, clenching my jaw and blinking to keep tears from entering my eyes. We held a memorial for Dominic a few weeks ago, and my dad’s funeral was months before that, but it hasn’t gotten easier. There are so many times I reach for my phone to call and ask him for advice. So many days where I wish I could make him laugh one more time, or hear him yell at us for breaking the packhouse furniture like he did when we were kids. But I can’t. He’s gone.
