The morning of our wedding dawned blood-red through the stained glass of our penthouse. I stood barefoot on the cold marble, watching the sunrise paint the city in violent hues while Kieran slept peacefully in our bed.
*Our bed.*
The words still sent a shiver down my spine.
I slipped back between the sheets, trailing freshly manicured nails down his bare chest. He stirred with a soft groan, still half-asleep as he reached for me instinctively.
"Mmm... wedding day," he murmured into my hair.
I kissed the pulse at his throat, smiling against his skin as I felt it jump. "Are you nervous?"
His arms tightened around me. "Only about tripping at the altar."
I laughed—a light, tinkling sound perfected through years of practice. "Don't worry, darling. I'll catch you."
*Like I always do.*
---
The ceremony was obscenely lavish, even by Voss standards.
Five hundred ivory roses dripping with pearls. A twelve-tier cake that took three pastry chefs a month to perfect. My father's business associates murmuring approvingly as Kieran recited his vows in a voice thick with emotion.
*"I vow to cherish every version of you..."*
I almost laughed.
He had no idea there *were* other versions.
When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, I let Kieran kiss me deeply, his hands trembling against my waist. The guests erupted in applause, but all I heard was the frantic rabbit-beat of his heart against mine.
*Mine. Mine. Mine.*
---
The reception passed in a blur of champagne and hollow congratulations.
"Such a *perfect* match," Aunt Celeste simpered, her jeweled fingers clutching my arm too tightly.
I smiled, watching Kieran across the room as he politely declined another drink. "Isn't he wonderful?"
"He's certainly... polished," she sniffed, eyeing his tailored tuxedo and the way he effortlessly charmed my father's associates.
I didn't bother hiding my smirk.
*If only she'd seen the rough-edged boy he used to be.*
---
We escaped to our honeymoon suite at midnight, Kieran's bowtie undone and my heels dangling from my fingers. He pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, his mouth hot and desperate against mine.
"Elara," he breathed, my name a prayer on his lips.
I carded my fingers through his hair—still slightly too long for my liking, but I'd fix that soon enough. "Say it again."
*"I love you."*
The words vibrated through me like a struck chord. I kissed him harder, biting his lower lip just to feel him gasp.
Outside, the city lights blurred into golden streaks as he carried me to bed.
---
Years later, when business associates ask how we met, Kieran tells the story with a soft smile—the "chance" encounters, the slow burn romance, the fairytale wedding.
I simply smile and squeeze his hand, letting him believe it was all his idea.
Our brownstone is filled with photos of us—his arms around me at various galas, our matching smiles at charity events, the perfectly curated evidence of our perfect life.
Sometimes, very late at night when the world is quiet, I trace the scar along his ribs—the one from his "biking accident" senior year—and remember how beautifully he bled for me.
He stirs in his sleep, murmuring my name.
I kiss his forehead and watch the moonlight gild his features.
*My masterpiece.*
**[End]**