Page 61 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

When I look in the mirror, I see a stranger.

White lace clings to curves that have grown fuller these past eight months.

The Italian sunlight is streaming through ancient windows and it catches on the intricate beadwork of my dress.

My hand drifts to my large, round stomach beneath silk and tulle.

We created this tiny life together, me and Adrian, after surviving hell itself.

Little Juliana.

“Stop fidgeting,” Eleanora bites out, adjusting the emerald necklace at my throat. “You’re going to wrinkle the dress. Even a single wrinkle would be an injustice to this work of art.”

“I’m not fidgeting.” But my fingers are, smoothing fabric that doesn’t need smoothing. “Just… God, I can’t believe we’re here. That, you know, I’m getting married .”

She steps back, studying me with those sharp eyes. Her hands rest on my shoulders as she tries to keep me still. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. ”

“Even with this?” I gesture at my belly. It’s so round there’s absolutely no way to hide it.

“Especially with that.” Her voice catches in a way that makes me look closer. Eleanora doesn’t do vulnerable. But today, I think I see tears gathering.

“Hey.” I reach for her hand, squeezing tight. “What’s wrong?”

She turns away, busying herself with my veil. The gossamer fabric trembles in her grip. “Nothing. Just… allergies. Not used to this place yet.”

“Bullshit. Talk to me.”

Eleanora’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. When she faces me again, the tears are glittering, actual tears from a woman I almost never see cry.

“I need to tell you something,” she says. “After the ceremony. There are… fuck, there are things I’ve kept from you. Big things. Things that might change how you see me. And I think it’s finally time you know, now that life is more settled.”

My heart thumps unsteady, but I don’t let go of her hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it.”

“You don’t get it?—”

“No, you don’t get it.” I pull her into a hug as a lump forms in my throat.

What is it about wedding days that gets everyone so damn emotional?

“We survived the Consortium. We survived Julian’s obsession and Lady Harrow’s torture.

We survived betrayal and bullets and every nightmare they threw at us.

Whatever secrets you’re carrying, they can’t be worse than what we’ve already faced together. ”

A tear escapes, flowing down her cheek. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re my sister. Not by birth, but by choice. By fire. By every moment you stood beside me when you could have run. I don’t care what you’ve done or what you’ve hidden. You’re mine, Eleanora. My family. And soon, that’ll be official. You’re marrying my cousin, remember?”

She laughs, wet and broken. “Maybe. I’m still undecided about that. I mean, I don’t even like the guy.”

Liar.

“Well, you’ve helped save my life more times than I can count. So I’m so thankful for you.”

“I feel the same,” she whispers, pulling me into a fierce embrace. Her arms shake around me. “About you. About… all of it. You’re my family too. The only real family I’ve ever had.”

We stay like that, holding each other while my baby kicks between us. Finally, Eleanora decides she’s done with feelings and her amused smirk returns. “Anyway. Your makeup’s going to run, so stop it.”

I laugh. “That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be a mess at the altar.”

As Eleanora carefully dabs at my eyes, her walls rebuild themselves brick by brick. But I’ve seen behind them now. Whatever she’s hiding, whatever weight she carries, we’ll face it. After everything, what’s one more secret between sisters?

“There.” She steps back. “Perfect. Now go get your man.”

The door opens before I can respond. Lorenzo appears, looking devastating in his tuxedo. Roby is bouncing beside him like a mini doppelganger. My cousin’s eyes soften when he sees me.

“ Dio mio ,” he breathes. “Adrian’s going to lose his mind.”

“Cugina!” Roby launches himself at me, stopping just short when Lorenzo catches his shoulder.

“Careful, piccolo. Your cousin is carrying precious cargo.”

Roby’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Can I feel the baby again?”

I take his small hand, pressing it to where the baby kicks. The wonder on Roby’s face makes my throat tight. “Soon you’ll have someone new to play with.”

“I’ll teach her everything!” He bounces on his toes. “Football and lots of stuff!”

Lorenzo’s gaze shifts to Eleanora, something soft and private passing between them. My breath catches at the naked adoration there. Whatever my friend fears about their future, she hasn’t woken up to how this man looks at her.

“Ready?” Lorenzo offers me his arm.

I take it, letting him steady me. We make our way through the villa, my family’s ancestral home. Sunlight turns ancient stone walls golden. Voices drift from the garden, a mix of Italian and English.

“He’s nervous,” Lorenzo says as we pause at the garden doors. “Keeps adjusting his tie. Someone had to confiscate his phone before he wore out the screen checking the time.”

My Adrian. Nervous? It’s so hard to imagine .

The doors open. A string quartet starts playing something sweet and timeless. Three hundred roses line the aisle, their perfume mixing with orange blossoms. But I don’t see any of it.

I only see Adrian.

He stands at the altar in a black tuxedo. He’s so devilishly handsome that I swoon a little. Then Adrian turns. Our eyes meet.

He drops to his knees.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Adrian’s hands shake as he presses them to the ancient stones. Tears stream down his face, unguarded and unashamed.

I move forward quickly, Lorenzo keeping pace as I rush down the aisle. The music falters. People start whispering. But nothing matters except reaching him.

“Adrian—” I sink down awkwardly, my dress pooling around us and my belly making everything awkward.

His hands find my face, thumbs tracing my cheeks with reverence. “You’re here,” he breathes. “You’re real. You’re mine.”

“Always was. Always will be.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to my stomach with tenderness. The baby kicks in response, and Adrian’s sob echoes through the garden. When he looks up, those blue eyes hold eternity.

“Both of you,” he whispers. “My everything.”

Lorenzo clears his throat above us. “The ceremony?”

Adrian laughs and helps me stand. His hands never leave me—steadying, supporting, claiming. We turn to face the priest together, still tangled in each other .

“Should we… start over?” The elderly man looks bemused.

“No.” Adrian says. “Right here. Right now. Just like this.”

So we move through the ceremony, hands clasped between us, my dress dirt-stained and his knees dusty. The priest’s words wash over us, ancient promises in Italian and English. But the real vows come when he asks us to speak our hearts.

Adrian goes first, his voice steady despite the tears still slipping down his face.

“Aurelia. You were my secret, my salvation, long before I knew how to love you properly. Ten years I watched you grow from that fierce girl seeking justice into a woman who could bring empires to their knees. You survived what would have broken anyone else. You found light in darkness I thought was absolute. You saved me, not just from death, but from the emptiness I’d accepted as life.

I promise to spend every day earning the gift of your love.

To build a world where our children know only safety and joy.

To choose you, again and again, in every lifetime we’re given.

You are my heart outside my body. My beginning and end. My wife.”

I can barely see through my tears, but my voice comes strong.

“Adrian. You were my constant when everything was falling apart. My protector who never asked for thanks. My quiet strength when the world tried to break me. You loved me through my vengeance, my darkness, my rage at the world. You died for me—literally stopped breathing—and still found your way back. You showed me that love doesn’t have to consume to be real.

That it can be steady and sure and still burn brighter than any flame.

I promise to build our life on truth, not secrets.

To show our children that love is choosing each other through heaven and hell.

To wake up every morning grateful that of all the paths I could have taken, they led me to you. You are my home. My peace. My husband.”

“The rings?” the priest prompts.

Lorenzo steps forward, producing two bands that catch the light. Simple gold, inscribed inside with words only we will see: Through darkness to light .

Adrian slides mine on with shaking hands. I mirror him, feeling the weight of promise settle over us.

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may?—”

Adrian kisses me before the priest finishes. The crowd erupts in cheers, but I barely hear them. There’s only this—his mouth on mine, his hands cradling my face, little Juliana growing between us. Living proof that we survived.

It took so long to reach this moment, but maybe we had to walk through hell to appreciate heaven.

We turn toward the crowd and the priest says, “I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Draven!”

We walk toward the light, toward laughter and family and all the messy, beautiful chaos of a life lived fully.

Behind us, shadows of the past grow smaller with each step.

Ahead, everything waits: sleepless nights and first words, skinned knees and birthday parties, all the ordinary miracles we almost didn’t live to see .

The darkness we escaped will always be part of our story. But it’s not the ending.

This is.