Chapter 93
2209words
Isla Verde Shores | Main House
The estate stirred before the sun had fully claimed the sky. Staff moved briskly across the lawns and corridors, their voices low but steady as the final touches were set into place. The arches, now fully bloomed, stood like gateways of white lilies threaded with the sharp contrast of black roses. Lanterns swayed faintly in the early sea breeze, strings of glass catching light that promised to burn brighter by evening.
No one outside the staff was permitted near the ceremony grounds. Not the grooms, not the bride, not even family. The space was sealed, guarded almost like a sanctum. It would remain unseen until the moment it mattered, until it belonged only to them.
At the far edge of the grounds, a small team of accredited media began their careful coordination with the event organizer. They mapped out where the cameras would be set, agreed on angles, and confirmed the rule that once the ceremony started, they would remain in place. No wandering lenses, no flashes cutting across the vows, no one obstructing the view meant for the couple alone. The coordinator reminded them firmly: only the videographer and photographers chosen by the family would have clear passage and uninterrupted access.
Inside the guest wing, Kristina prepared in quiet. Her gown, hidden from everyone’s eyes, now hung waiting in its place. She had refused stylists and makeup artists from the beginning, brushing aside every suggestion with calm insistence. “I’ll do it myself,” she had told Lucian, Eli, and even the coordinator. Today was not a day she would let strangers shape.
When the soft knock came at her door, Kristina opened it to the familiar presence of Signora Elena Mirella, the woman from La Promessa. She had invited her days ago, not just to attend, but to be here with her in the hours before. Signora Elena’s smile was warm, carrying the same unspoken wisdom it always had, and Kristina welcomed her in.
Breakfast had been set on the low table — fruit, bread, and tea. They sat together in quiet comfort, and Kristina spoke in pieces. Not rehearsed, not heavy, just the fragments of a life finally shared: of battles fought, of love found, of the strange and winding path that had led her here. Signora Elena listened without interruption, her hand resting lightly over Kristina’s once, as though anchoring her in the present while honoring all that had come before.
No elaborate conversation was needed. The room itself seemed to hold the weight of what passed between them — one life reflected in the gaze of another who had always believed she would endure long enough to reach this day.
On the other side of the main house, Lucian and Eli stood before tall mirrors as their final fittings were completed. Ash leaned against the doorframe, Vex lounged on the arm of a chair, and Sebastian, predictably, hovered with a checklist in hand.
Eli tugged at his collar with mock irritation. “You’d think they were sending us to the gallows with the way Sebastian’s pacing.”
Vex smirked. “Gallows are quieter.”
Ash, voice dry, added, “And with fewer instructions.”
Lucian adjusted his cufflinks, unbothered, though there was a flicker of tension in his eyes that didn’t belong to the tailoring. Eli caught it and nudged him lightly with an elbow.
“Relax, Lucian. Worst case, you trip walking down the aisle, and I’ll catch you. Promise.”
Lucian gave him a sidelong look — part amusement, part warning — before his gaze sharpened just enough.
“You’re just as nervous,” he said evenly. “You’re only better at disguising it with jokes.”
Eli’s grin flickered, conceding the hit, but he didn’t drop the act. “Fair. But at least one of us will look charming when it happens.”
The corner of Lucian’s mouth betrayed the smallest curve. Even with the teasing, the air held something heavier beneath: the quiet pull of a day that would change everything.
Isla Verde Shores | The Bride’s Suite
Past Lunch
A measured knock sounded against the door, and Kristina rose to answer. On the threshold stood Harold Sinclair, his posture as composed as ever, but his hands were not empty.
“May I?” he asked, voice low, deliberate.
Kristina stepped aside, letting him in. Signora Elena offered Harold a polite nod before retreating toward the adjoining space, leaving them alone.
Harold held out a small velvet case, his fingers steady despite the weight of it. “This belonged first to Eleanor,” he said — his late wife, Kristina knew. “When she passed, I gave it to Margaret. Lucian’s mother.” He paused, his gaze resting briefly on Kristina’s face, as if gauging the right to continue. “And now… it should be yours.”
Kristina opened the case carefully. Inside lay a bracelet — platinum links etched with faint vine motifs, its center marked by a single pale sapphire, soft and translucent. Elegant without being ostentatious, it wasn’t a piece meant to dazzle, but one meant to endure.
Her breath caught lightly. “It’s beautiful.”
Harold’s expression softened by the slightest degree. “It isn’t about beauty. It’s about time. Eleanor wore it as a reminder that time is not given, but chosen — how you spend it, who you spend it with. Margaret understood that, too.”
He hesitated, the weight of his words settling. “I believe you will as well.”
Kristina closed the case gently, her hand lingering on the velvet. For a moment, her eyes glimmered with something she didn’t name. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For trusting me with this. I’ll take care of it.”
Harold’s mouth pressed into something that was almost a smile, rare but unmistakably authentic. “It’s where it belongs.”
He turned toward the door, but before he reached it, Kristina drew the bracelet out again and fastened it carefully around her wrist. It was cool against her skin, but it seemed to warm almost instantly, as though carrying not only the weight of the past but the acceptance of the present.
On an impulse, she rose quickly and crossed to him. She wrapped her arms around him, quiet but firm, the gesture unpracticed yet certain. Harold stiffened for a breath, then his hand settled against her back — tentative, almost awkward, but real.
No words followed. They didn’t need them.
Isla Verde Shores | The Grooms’ Suite
A sharp knock cut through the low murmur of voices in the room. Sebastian looked up first, but it was Maxim Thorne who stepped inside without waiting for a summons, his presence carrying the same gravity he brought into any room.
He set a long, narrow case down on the table, the kind that seemed more suited to a weapon than a gift. “For you both,” he said simply.
Lucian arched a brow. “Should we be worried?”
Eli smirked. “If it explodes, at least it’s on theme.”
Maxim gave them both a look that managed to silence even Eli’s grin. Then, with deliberate care, he opened the case. Inside lay two identical daggers — slim, elegant, the steel polished to a mirrored sheen. The hilts were wrapped in dark leather, each bearing a small inlay of black onyx.
“They were forged in Prague,” Maxim said, voice clipped but steady. “I commissioned them years ago, never knowing who they’d end up belonging to. They are not for display. They are for protection, for remembrance. If either of you ever doubts the weight of what you’ve chosen, hold it, and remember that love is not weakness. It is the only thing worth defending.”
For a moment, silence stretched.
Lucian reached forward first, his fingers closing around the hilt with a quiet reverence. Eli followed, spinning his lightly in his hand before settling into a rare stillness.
“Not what I expected,” Eli admitted, softer now.
Maxim’s gaze flicked to him. “Good. Expectation has no place in what you are about to build. Only choice.”
Lucian inclined his head. “Thank you.”
The older man’s eyes softened just enough to betray something human beneath the steel. “Make it mean something. Both of you.”
Maxim’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he spoke again, quieter this time. “This path you’ve chosen—both of you—it’s dangerous. Not because of what waits outside, but because of what it demands of you inside. But…” He paused, almost reluctantly. “…if anyone can bear it, it’s you.”
Lucian inclined his head in acknowledgement, steady as ever. Eli’s grin had softened into something smaller, more real. Neither pushed for more.
Maxim closed the box with a firm snap, then set it between them. “Don’t waste it.” With that, he turned for the door, his presence leaving the air heavier than when he’d entered.
When it shut behind him, silence held for a beat—until Vex drawled from his chair, “Well, that was practically a hug.”
Ash smirked, arms crossed. “Translation: he already accepts you both, but he’ll die before admitting it out loud.”
Eli huffed a laugh, leaning back. “I’ll take it. From Maxim, that’s basically a blessing.”
Lucian’s mouth curved faintly. “Which means we’re doomed.”
Early Afternoon
A soft knock came at each of their doors, courtesy of the coordinator’s staff. It was the quiet signal that the moment had arrived — time to exchange gifts.
The staff guided Kristina’s wrapped packages to the groom’s suite first. Inside, Lucian and Eli looked up as the boxes were set carefully on the low table between them. Each bore their names in Kristina’s hand, the letters pressed with an elegance that needed no embellishment.
When they opened them, they found matching cases in dark leather. Inside lay pens — crafted in Zurich, chosen with exacting care. Each pen was unique in weight and finish, tailored to the man it was meant for and beside each case rested a roll of parchment, bound with a slim ribbon.
Tucked into the lid of each box was a folded note, written in Kristina’s steady script:
“These pens are not gifts to be kept in drawers, but to be used. To write what matters. To mark what endures. Today, I ask you to use them for your vows — because even in silence, words remain.”
The parchment was blank — meant for their vows. No instructions, only the unspoken expectation that whatever they wrote there would carry the weight of their promises.
Lucian and Eli exchanged a glance — different in expression, yet the same in weight. Whatever Kristina had asked of them, she had asked as herself, and that was a thing neither of them could dismiss.
A gentle knock stirred the quiet of Kristina’s room. One of the coordinator’s staff stepped in, carrying a single parcel — not two. Kristina arched a brow at the detail but said nothing, accepting it into her hands once the door had closed again.
The box itself was unassuming — dark wood, finely polished, its seams carved into delicate, interlocking patterns. A puzzle box. Her lips curved faintly; of course, it would be. Eli had always known. He’d once told her, long ago, that puzzles were only worth solving if they protected something worth keeping.
It took her only a few deliberate shifts of the wooden panels before the lock yielded. Inside, nestled against a velvet lining, was another gift — a small black journal, its cover made of smooth leather, with initials pressed in gold: K.A.V.S.
For a moment, she only stared. Not at the puzzle’s trick, not at the box’s craft, but at the thought behind it — the way it was not two gifts, but one, layered together.
A folded slip of paper lay tucked beside the box’s inner lid. The handwriting was Eli’s, steady and direct:
“You’ve always been the missing piece. And now I’m complete. Don’t ever forget it.”
Beneath it, pressed flat against the first page of the journal, was Lucian’s note:
“For Kristina Alonzo. For Kristina Alonzo Voss-Sinclair. For every name you carry, every name you will ever claim — you are all of them, and all of them are mine.”
Kristina closed the journal slowly, her hand lingering on the embossed letters. Then she drew the puzzle box closer, her fingertips brushing over its carved lines, and allowed herself an almost unsteady breath.
Not gifts. Not really. More like anchors — binding her to the boy who once played puzzles with her, and to the man who saw every name she had ever been.
Behind her, Signora Elena’s eyes softened — the kind of knowing that needed no words. In the groom’s suite, Ash whistled low under his breath when he saw the pens and parchment, muttering something about Kristina being a woman who knew exactly how to keep them honest. Vex grinned wide, as if he’d expected nothing less. Sebastian, standing with his usual composure, allowed the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth — his version of approval.
Even those who weren’t the ones exchanging gifts felt the weight of them. The room — the house — the entire day seemed to hold its breath, as if aware that nothing from this moment forward would be the same.
Some gifts are more than possessions — they are promises, carried forward in silence and in memory.
—To be continued.
