Page 20

CHLOE

I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. Two years ago, I'd have sooner wrestled a basilisk than wear white lace and a veil.

"Hold still or I'll accidentally stab you with this pin," Marigold warned, her mouth full of pearl-headed fasteners as she knelt at the hem of my dress. "And I refuse to explain to Lincoln why his bride has blood on her wedding gown."

"At least it would make this whole affair less... conventional," I muttered, trying not to fidget.

The bridal suite at Carpe Diem was almost unrecognizable from the quaint bed and breakfast room it had once been.

Lincoln and I had funded the renovations last year, expanding the entire east wing into an event space that blended magical and mortal architectural elements.

The enchanted stained glass windows shifted colors with my mood—currently a nervous swirl of blues and purples.

"Two years," I whispered, more to myself than Marigold. "I still can't believe we waited two years."

"Best decision you ever made," Marigold said, rising to adjust my bodice. "Besides saying yes in the first place."

She wasn't wrong. Those years had given me time to grow into the idea of forever without panicking.

They'd allowed us to build the publishing company's dual headquarters—the mortal-facing office in New York and our magical imprint based right here in Assjacket.

Our supernatural literature division had become the go-to publisher for authentic magical voices, with manuscripts arriving daily via everything from enchanted scrolls to messenger bats.

"You're doing that thing again," Marigold said, waving her hand in front of my face.

"What thing?"

"That 'I'm mentally reviewing quarterly sales figures on my wedding day' thing."

I rolled my eyes. "I was not. I was thinking about how far we've come."

A knock at the door interrupted us, followed by Zelda's distinctive voice. "Is the bride decent or is she trying to escape through the window?"

"Door's unlocked, and all escape routes have been magically sealed," Marigold called back.

Zelda swept in wearing a dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and slightly chaotic—much like her personality. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

"Jezfucnuboobles," I muttered, using one of my made-up curse words. "Is it that bad?"

"Bad? Chloe Woolsworth, you're absolutely radiant," Zelda said, her voice unusually soft. She approached with her hands cupped around something that emitted a gentle glow. "I've brought you something borrowed."

She opened her palms to reveal an ancient amulet, its surface etched with symbols I recognized from my research into protective enchantments.

"This has been in my family for seven generations," Zelda explained. "It brings protection and happiness to any union blessed with its presence."

I clutched the amulet in my palm, feeling its gentle warmth pulsing against my skin. "Zelda, I?—"

"Don't you dare cry yet," Marigold warned, brandishing a makeup brush like a weapon. "I spent forty-five minutes on those eyes."

A sharp rap at the door saved me from an emotional meltdown. Frosty strutted in wearing a miniature tuxedo with a bowtie that somehow matched the exact shade of Lincoln's cummerbund. My familiar had taken his role as "bird of honor" with characteristic seriousness.

"Package delivery for the bride who's definitely not having second thoughts," he announced, struggling to balance a white gift box between his wings.

"I'm not having second thoughts," I protested, accepting the box. "Third and fourth thoughts, maybe, but those are just standard Chloe anxiety."

Frosty snorted. "Open it already. The suspense is killing me, and I've been sworn to secrecy under pain of no kitchen privileges for a month."

I carefully lifted the lid to reveal a necklace nestled on black velvet. A perfect teardrop moonstone set in delicate silver filigree caught the light, sending prism rainbows dancing across my dress.

"There's a note," Marigold whispered, already tearing up.

I unfolded the heavy cream stationery, recognizing Lincoln's elegant handwriting immediately:

My dearest Chloe,

This belonged to my grandmother, who wore it every day of her 53-year marriage. She told me to give it only to the woman who made me feel both completely myself and somehow better than I ever thought I could be. That's you, in case there was any doubt.

I'll be the one at the altar looking terrified and overjoyed simultaneously.

All my love,

Lincoln

"Well, shit," I whispered, feeling the careful wall of composure I'd built crumbling. "This is..."

"Beautiful," Zelda finished, gently taking the necklace. "Let's put it on you."

Marigold dabbed at her eyes. "It's perfect with your dress—like it was made for you."

I stood still as they fastened it around my neck, the moonstone settling perfectly at the hollow of my throat.

Two years ago, I'd been hiding in my cottage with only Frosty for company, convinced that isolation was the only way to protect myself.

Now I stood surrounded by friends who had become family, about to marry a man who had seen through every defense I'd constructed.

"Look at you," Frosty said softly, his usual snark absent. "Our little misanthrope, all grown up and willingly participating in a public ceremony."

I stared at my reflection one final time, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. The vintage lace dress hugged my figure before flowing into a modest train, and Lincoln's grandmother's moonstone seemed to glow against my skin.

"Ready?" Augustus asked, appearing in the doorway. Lincoln's grandfather had insisted on escorting me down the aisle when I'd mentioned my parents wouldn't be attending. Over the years, he'd become more father to me than my actual father ever was.

"As I'll ever be," I replied, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from my dress. "Is it too late to elope?"

Augustus chuckled. "Lincoln would follow you to Vegas if that's what you wanted. But I think you'd miss out on quite the spectacle." He offered his arm, his eyes twinkling with mischief that reminded me so much of his grandson.

When the chapel doors opened, I gasped. What had once been a simple town gathering place had transformed into a magical wonderland.

Books floated gently near the ceiling, their pages fluttering like butterfly wings.

Fairy lights twinkled between ancient leather-bound tomes and modern paperbacks—titles I recognized from both our collections.

Magical symbols glowed softly along the aisle runner, shifting and changing as if alive.

Frosty strutted ahead of us, his rooster tuxedo complete with tails that dragged slightly behind him. The custom-made ring pillow balanced precariously between his wings as he shot me a look that clearly said, "Don't you dare trip and make me drop these."

As Augustus and I began our walk, the assembled townspeople turned to watch. Marigold dabbed at her eyes while Zelda stood tall and proud beside her. Roger gave me a subtle thumbs-up, his therapy office's inappropriate artwork thankfully absent from this venue.

And then I saw Lincoln.

He stood waiting at the altar, his expression shifting from nervous anticipation to pure, unfiltered adoration. The look hit me like a physical force, and I nearly stumbled. Augustus squeezed my arm gently.

"He's looked at you that way since the first day he brought you to meet me," he whispered. "Some things never change."

When we reached the altar, Frosty cleared his throat dramatically. "Who gives this witch to be married to this warlock?" he asked in his most official voice.

"I do," Augustus replied, placing my hand in Lincoln's before stepping back.

Lincoln's fingers trembled slightly against mine. "You look..." he started, then shook his head. "There aren't words."

"Speechless? That's a first for an editor," I whispered, my sarcasm a familiar shield against overwhelming emotion.

Lincoln's smile widened. "I saved all my words for my vows."

Lincoln's hand held mine like a lifeline as the ceremony began.

Behind him, the wall of magical books continued to flutter, their pages ruffling in an invisible breeze.

I caught sight of one particular romance novel—one I'd edited for our supernatural imprint—with its pages forming what looked suspiciously like a heart shape.

"Is that...?" I whispered, nodding toward the book.

Lincoln glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "Marigold's idea. She insisted our love story deserved to be surrounded by other love stories."

"Sweet Jezfucnuboobles," I muttered. "Next she'll be writing our biography."

"Already pitched it to marketing," he whispered back. "Working title: 'The Witch, The Warlock, and The Wardrobe-Sized Rooster.'"

From his position beside Lincoln, Frosty made an indignant clucking sound. "I heard that. And I'm svelte, thank you very much. It's all muscle from martial arts."

The officiant—a venerable witch from three towns over—cleared her throat pointedly.

"Sorry," I whispered, not sorry at all.

As the ceremony continued, I caught sight of Zelda in the front row, her fingers subtly weaving a protection spell around the venue.

Ever since Jenny's attack, she'd been extra vigilant about security at town gatherings.

Beside her sat Roger, who gave me an exaggerated wink when our eyes met.

My therapist had insisted that attending my wedding was "essential to witness the culmination of our therapeutic journey," which I suspected was code for "free cake and booze. "

When it came time for vows, Lincoln pulled a small, worn notebook from his pocket. My heart clenched—I recognized it as the journal he'd kept since our first meeting.

"Chloe Woolsworth," he began, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "Two years ago, you told me relationships were overrated and you'd rather be left alone with your books and your rooster."