Celebration before the storm

Blaise set the letter down, staring at the parchment as if willing the words to change. But they wouldn't. They remained the same—unforgiving, damning, a poison that had seeped into his bones the moment he had read them. The revelation echoed in his mind, chilling and grotesque in its implications.

Ron Weasley had abused every woman he had ever been with.

Lavender. That alone had been disturbing, but not entirely surprising. Whispers of her suffering had lingered in the background for years, brushed off as exaggerations, as the dramatic aftermath of a messy relationship. But then came the second name—the name that sent a cold dread slicing through his veins.

Hermione.

The very same Hermione who was now Draco's wife. The woman Draco breathed for, fought for, bled for. The woman Draco had killed for.

Blaise exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair, dragging a hand over his face. His mind raced, cold and calculating, weighing every possible outcome, every ripple effect this knowledge could create. He couldn't tell Ginny. The bond she shared with her brother, no matter how strained, would be irreparably shattered. This would break her in ways she might never recover from, and Blaise refused to be the one to bring that destruction upon her.

And Hermione—Merlin, Hermione.

She had barely clawed her way back from the darkness. She had fought tooth and nail to find peace, to build a life where she could breathe again, where her past no longer controlled her. This truth… this vile, gut-wrenching truth would rip open wounds that had barely begun to scab over. It would haunt her, suffocate her, shackle her back to a past she had fought so hard to escape.

His jaw tightened, muscles flexing beneath his skin as his thoughts shifted to Draco. His boss. His friend. His brother in all but blood.

Draco would not take this information well. No, that was an understatement. If Blaise told him, Ron wouldn't just disappear—he would cease to exist in the most excruciating way possible. Draco wouldn't rest until he had peeled the flesh from Ron's bones, until every breath Ron took was a symphony of agony. And Blaise wouldn't stop him. He wasn't sure anyone could stop him.

But was that justice?

Or was it just vengeance?

Blaise swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists. The urge to do something burned beneath his skin. The thought of Ron Weasley still walking free, still breathing the same air as the rest of them, made his blood boil. Blaise had seen men die for far less than what was written in that letter. He had been the reason some of them died.

Ron deserved worse.

But could he keep this to himself? Could he carry the weight of this truth alone? Could he live with it, knowing that somewhere, right now, that filthy bastard was carrying on with his life as if nothing had happened?

His chest felt tight, the pressure of it all suffocating. His loyalty to Ginny. His loyalty to Hermione. His loyalty to Draco. They were all tangled in this web, and no matter which thread he pulled, something—someone—would unravel.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, forcing down the simmering rage. He had to protect Ginny from this truth—no matter the cost. She could never know what her brother was capable of. And Hermione… she deserved to keep the peace she had fought so hard for. What good would it do to dredge up the past? What good would it do to rip open these wounds when they were all just beginning to heal?

But it wasn't healing.

Not for Blaise.

The knowledge festered inside him, a rot he couldn't purge. Ron Weasley had left behind ghosts, and now, now, Blaise had to decide what to do with them.

His fingers twitched as he reached for the letter once more, his dark eyes scanning the inked confession as if the paper itself might offer him an answer. But there were no answers here. Only choices. And Blaise knew himself well enough to know that he would not let this lie forever.

Ron Weasley would pay for what he had done—one way or another.

Blaise would make sure of it.

But the timing had to be right. No one could know. Not yet.

Not until he had figured out exactly how to handle the situation.

With a final glance at the damning parchment, he folded it with precise, deliberate movements, tucking it into a drawer. Out of sight. But never out of mind.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, exhaling sharply. Ronald Weasley, a dead man walking.

But the worst part?

Blaise wasn't even sure if Draco should get the pleasure of ending him.

~~~~~~

The fire crackled ominously in Draco's office, its flickering light casting twisted shadows that danced along the walls like restless spirits. The air was thick with tension, and the crackle of flames seemed to whisper dark secrets as Blaise leaned forward in his chair. His voice was a cold, low hiss.

"Draco, I've got something on Weasley. Something... ugly. I knew he was a piece of work, but this... this is darker than I ever thought."

Draco, seated in the armchair across from him, swirled his drink with unnerving calm, his eyes fixed on the flames. The room felt colder despite the fire. His voice came out measured, a blade cloaked in silk. "Spit it out, Blaise."

Blaise's lips curled into a mirthless smirk as he drew out his words with venomous precision. "Weasley's not just an idiot. He's a monster. Turns out, he wasn't exactly playing the role of the chivalrous knight with his past girlfriends."

Draco's grip on his glass tightened, the tension in his knuckles reflected in the eerie glow of the fire. The glass in his hand trembled slightly. "Abusive?" His voice was so quiet it was almost drowned by the fire's crackling, but there was no mistaking the dangerous edge beneath it.

Blaise's eyes darkened, his expression hardening. "Abusive isn't even half of it. Insecure, jealous... the bastard would lock his girlfriends in a room, Draco. He'd torment them mentally, gaslight them, punish them when they didn't obey his whims. Lavander, sure. But Hermione..." His voice trailed off, deliberately letting the weight of that name hang in the air like a guillotine.

For a heartbeat, the room was deathly still.

Draco's fingers twitched. Then, without warning, his glass shattered in his hand, the shards falling like broken promises onto the plush carpet. His breathing was shallow, his face carved from stone. The fire reflected in his eyes, a mirror of the fury surging beneath his composed exterior.

Blaise didn't flinch at the outburst, but he could feel the growing storm in the room, the dangerous energy that crackled between them. "He boasted about it, Draco. Said it kept them in line."

Draco rose to his feet in one swift, silent motion, his shadow looming tall and menacing. His face was a mask of rage now, the fury twisting his features into something almost inhuman. "Hermione..." The name fell from his lips like a curse, the threat behind it palpable. His wife—his Hermione—had been a victim of the Weasel's twisted cruelty, and that realization seethed within him, turning his blood to ice and fire all at once.

The silence that followed was oppressive, suffocating, as if the very room held its breath in fear of Draco's next move. The tension was thick, the air heavy with the scent of smoldering rage. Blaise watched him carefully, knowing full well what was brewing beneath the surface. Draco Malfoy was many things—cold, calculating, ruthless—but when it came to Hermione, the smallest crack could unleash a tempest.

Draco's jaw clenched, his mind racing through countless violent thoughts. He could already picture Ron's face twisted in fear, the coward finally paying for his sins. The firelight played tricks with the shadows, casting Draco's profile in sharp, menacing lines, as though even the room itself feared him.

"Weasley won't breathe another day without looking over his shoulder," Draco growled, his voice low and filled with deadly intent. His hands, now bloodied from the glass, hung at his sides, but he didn't seem to notice the pain.

Blaise leaned back in his chair, his face expressionless but his eyes gleaming with dark understanding. "No, he won't. Not after what we know."

Draco's gaze snapped toward Blaise, filled with something primal. The very mention of Hermione—his wife, his one source of light in a life shrouded by darkness—had ignited something deadly inside him. He would make Weasley pay. He would make him suffer for every tear Hermione had ever shed at his hands.

The fire crackled louder, as if it, too, was angered by the revelations that hung in the air. Blaise watched Draco, knowing full well that the wheels had been set in motion. Nothing would stop what was coming now.

And as Draco stood there, his bloodied hands clenched into fists, the room seemed to close in around them, the shadows growing deeper, darker. The temperature dropped, as if the fire could no longer keep the cold at bay. An execution was looming, and the air itself was charged with a sense of inevitable violence.

This was no longer a conversation. This was the beginning of something much darker.

~~~~~~

Theo sat hunched over the sprawling blueprints of the latest building layouts, dim light casting long shadows across his desk. The faint crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the room until the sudden whoosh of green flames flared to life in the hearth. He looked up sharply, his senses immediately on high alert. His face appeared in the fire, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

"Blaise," Theo greeted, his voice low, more a warning than a question.

"Theo," he replied, his tone clipped, eyes darker than usual.

"What do you want?" Theo's voice sharpened, sensing that this wasn't a casual call. He wasn't the type to reach out unless something was pressing—deadly pressing.

"We have a problem," he said, his voice soft yet carrying the weight of something ominous. "A new target."

Theo's eyes narrowed, the room suddenly feeling colder. "Who?"

There was a pause, and for a moment, Theo thought the flames flickered strangely, as if responding to the tension in the air.

"Ronald Weasley," he said slowly, as if savoring the words.

Theo felt the weight of those two names settle over him like a heavy shroud. "Fuck me, Blaise," he hissed, standing from his chair, the blood rushing in his ears. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I've been hearing whispers," he replied, his voice smooth yet laced with something darker. "Terrible things, things we can't afford to overlook. My little birds…they've been chirping."

Theo's eyes flashed dangerously. "What's the topic?" he demanded, his fingers curling into fists.

Blaise's gaze didn't waver, but the flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, an eerie calm that unnerved Theo. "One of those things that we do not—cannot—allow within the family. A transgression that requires...permanent resolution."

"Well," Theo breathed, the tension in his chest tightening like a noose. "Good luck with that, for your soul mate."

The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of Blaise's intentions thick in the air. But then, with a voice as soft as velvet, Blaise broke the quiet, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.

"It has to be fatal," he said, leaning closer to the flames, his face barely illuminated in the dim light. "And I need your special little skills, Theo."

For a moment, the air between them seemed to freeze, the weight of Blaise's words settling like a thick fog over Theo's mind. The implications of the request were heavy, darker than any job they had ever discussed. Theo's pulse quickened, each beat hammering against the silence in the room. This wasn't just a job—this was personal, deeply entwined with the web of secrets they lived within. Shadows upon shadows, and neither could afford to let any of it slip into the light.

Theo's breath was shallow as he tried to process. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him, eyes narrowing. His voice was a low growl as he finally spoke, the words dragged from him.

"Blaise," Theo began, his tone tight with disbelief. "We're talking about your wife's brother. You understand that, right?"

His face in the flickering flames remained eerily calm, but his eyes darkened, the weight of his guilt simmering just beneath the surface. He swallowed, the tension drawing out in the silence before he responded. "You think I don't know that?" His voice was a quiet storm, each word deliberate. "What do you think I feel, Theo? What do you think is tearing me apart inside?"

Theo could only stare, his mind racing through the implications, through the moral lines they had long ago crossed but had never considered breaching this far. "I can only imagine," Theo muttered under his breath. There was a sadness in his words, a sense of inevitability that hung between them like a noose waiting to tighten.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, his jaw clenched. "This... this thing," he said, voice strained. "You need to understand, Theo—what Ronald has done goes against the very core of what we protect, what we stand for. There are things in our circle that are forbidden. Boundaries that cannot be crossed."

Theo's gaze flicked to the fire as the crackling of the flames filled the room, a foreboding rhythm to his ominous tone. The rules of their world were clear. Brutal, perhaps, but necessary in the circles they moved in.

"Domestic abuse," Theo said softly, the words hanging between them like a curse. The unspoken truth between them deepened, sinking into the silence of the room.

"In our world, Theo, a man who raises his hand against a woman, especially his wife, is already dead. You know that. The family's laws are absolute. We don't protect the weak. We don't protect him."

Theo's jaw clenched as he felt the weight of the situation grow heavier. Blaise was right, but that didn't make this easier. It didn't make it any less horrifying. Ronald Weasley wasn't just a man—they were talking about the brother of Blaise's wife, a man who had once fought alongside them.

Theo's voice dropped to a near whisper, laced with tension. "So, what happens now? You expect me to...?"

"You know what's required," he interrupted, his eyes cold, the calculation in them undeniable. "You do your part, and I'll do mine. This has to end, and it has to end with finality. Ronald's crossed a line, and now, the consequences must follow."

Theo's stomach turned, but there was no escaping the reality of their world. This was how things worked. One mistake—one violation of the sacred rules of their circle—and the punishment was swift and unyielding.

"Have Merlin's mercy on your soul," Theo said quietly, the words bitter on his tongue.

But Blaise didn't flinch, his gaze hard and determined, a man who had long made peace with the darkness they both lived in. "There's no mercy left for me, Theo. There hasn't been for a long time."

The flames flickered again, casting long shadows across the room as his image slowly faded into the hearth. Theo was left in the oppressive silence, the weight of his next move pressing down on him.

~~~~~~

When the time came to face his creator, Blaise knew this would be the sin that weighed the heaviest. Not the hundreds of lives he had ended without remorse, not the faces of those whose blood he had spilled—those were easy to push aside. But this? This was different. He was going to kill his brother-in-law.

He loved Ginny with an intensity that sometimes terrified him. It twisted in his chest like a blade, sharp and consuming. His love for her was so powerful, so blinding, it made everything else pale in comparison, even this terrible decision. But in his warped reality, this act—this betrayal—had become a priority. It was necessary, justified in his mind in a way that made sense only to him.

Blaise knew there would be no redemption for him, not for this. He could see it now, standing before God, not as a soldier or a protector, but as a sinner beyond saving. His hands would forever be stained with the blood of the man who shared Ginny's blood, and no amount of penance could erase that.

In the eyes of God, he was damned. Another lost soul, too far gone, beyond any hope of forgiveness. But in the eyes of Satan? Blaise knew he would be crowned. There, in the depths of hell, he would be seen as something more. Not just another sinner, but a king—a man who had crossed every line, sacrificed everything, and embraced the darkness fully.

It was a twisted comfort, one that gnawed at him even as he resigned himself to it. There would be no salvation for him. Only the cold, endless void of a soul too broken to be mended. And yet, for Ginny—his love, his reason—he would walk that path without hesitation. Even if it meant losing himself forever.

~~~~~~

Inside her bridal suite, Pansy stood amid a whirlwind of activity, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and disbelief. The air was thick with excitement, and the atmosphere crackled with the energy of her closest friends, who had gathered to celebrate this monumental day with her. Laughter and chatter filled the room as her bridesmaids flitted about, adjusting the delicate folds of her gown—a stunning phthalo green creation that flowed like liquid silk. The color, reminiscent of emeralds glistening under sunlight, made her feel vibrant and alive, the intricate lace detailing and shimmering beading catching the light just right, creating an ethereal glow around her.

"Pansy, you look absolutely radiant!" Hermione exclaimed as she stepped back, admiring the way the gown hugged her figure. Hermione's voice was filled with genuine awe, and Pansy couldn't help but smile at her friend's enthusiastic support. The two had been through so much together, and in this moment, it felt as if all their shared memories had led them here, to this beautiful culmination of love and friendship.

" Just wait until you see her from the front," Ginny chimed in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can't believe Neville is going to be the luckiest man alive!" She adjusted Pansy's veil, making sure it fell perfectly in place, a gesture that made Pansy's heart swell with gratitude.

"Let's not forget," Luna added, her voice soft yet melodic, "that this isn't just about the gown or the decorations. This is a celebration of love, and you are surrounded by people who adore you." She smiled, her dreamy expression adding a touch of tranquility to the chaotic energy of the room. Luna's words resonated with her, grounding her amidst the excitement and reminding her of the love that brought them all together.

As she caught a glimpse of herself in the ornate mirror, Pansy felt a whirlwind of emotions crash over her—exhilaration, nervousness, and an overwhelming sense of happiness. "I'm getting married," she whispered to herself, the reality of the moment sinking in. It was a thought so monumental that it felt almost surreal, as if she were a character in a dream rather than the bride standing on the cusp of a new life. She took a deep breath, her chest tightening with the weight of the moment.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with excitement and a hint of anxiety.

"I think so," she replied, trying to quell the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach. "I just… I can't believe it's finally happening."

"Of course it's happening!" Ginny said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You and Neville are perfect for each other. It's time to celebrate that!"

"Plus," Luna chimed in, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of enthusiasm and mischief, "think of all the wonderful adventures that await you both."

The anticipation of the ceremony weighed heavily in the air, and the friends shared knowing smiles, each one reflecting the love and support they had for Pansy.

"Just imagine," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling, "you'll have a beautiful home filled with laughter, love, and maybe a few new plants, courtesy of Neville."

She giggled at the thought, imagining their cozy home filled with more vibrant greenery and the warmth of shared memories. "I can already see it," she said, her heart swelling with hope.

The time flew by as they continued to prepare, laughter and joy intertwining like the delicate lace of her gown. With each passing moment, her nerves began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of peace and excitement. She could feel the love surrounding her, wrapping her in a warm embrace that reassured her that she was making the right choice.

As the moment to leave approached, she turned to her friends, her heart full of gratitude. "I couldn't have done this without you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You've all been my rocks."

Hermione stepped forward, pulling Pansy into a tight hug. "We'll always be here for you, Pansy. No matter what."

Ginny joined in, wrapping her arms around them both. "Absolutely. This is just the beginning of a beautiful journey."

Luna beamed at them, her eyes misty. "You're stepping into a new chapter, and I can't wait to see what the future holds for you."

She felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the love and support from her friends. She pulled back, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, a smile breaking through her emotions. "Alright, enough of that! I don't want to ruin my makeup before the ceremony!"

As the last touches were made—a spritz of her favorite perfume, a delicate adjustment of her veil. The warmth of that thought filled her heart with a profound joy, igniting a spark of excitement for the beautiful day that lay ahead.

At that moment, Pansy felt overwhelmed with gratitude for the support surrounding her. She glanced at the ornate mirror, her heart racing as she took in the reflection of a woman ready to embark on the most significant journey of her life. As her thoughts drifted to Neville, a soft smile crept onto her lips. He had always been her rock, steady and unwavering.

~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in a nearby room, Neville paced nervously, fiddling with the cufflinks of his dress robes. He looked dapper in phthalo green, perfectly complementing her gown, but the mirror reflecting his image didn't quite match the turmoil brewing inside him. The vibrant color, meant to symbolize new beginnings, felt like a stark contrast to the storm of anxiety swirling within him. With every passing minute, the reality of what was about to happen weighed heavier on his chest. "What if I trip while walking down the aisle?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I can't find the right words during the vows? What if I forget everything I've planned to say?"

He took a deep breath, attempting to steady his racing heart. The sound of laughter and joy filtered through the walls, a stark reminder of the celebration happening just beyond his reach. Each laugh felt like a distant echo, emphasizing his growing unease. He imagined Pansy standing in the grand hall, radiant and stunning, while he stood awkwardly, fumbling over his own nerves. What if she looked at him with disappointment? The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over him.

His mind darted through a flurry of possibilities. Would he manage to keep his composure? What if he forgot to breathe? Just then, Theo entered the room, a teasing grin plastered across his face, breaking through Neville's spiral of worry.

"Relax, Longbottom," Theo said, the playful tone in his voice cutting through the tension in the air. "You're marrying the love of your life. Just focus on her, and everything will be perfect." He slapped a hand on his back, the gesture both grounding and reassuring. The warmth of Theo's presence helped ease some of the tightness in Neville's chest.

"Easier said than done, mate," he replied, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "What if I mess it all up? What if I'm not good enough for her?"

Theo shook his head, stepping closer. "Listen, Parkinson loves you for who you are, not for some idealized version of yourself. She's not looking for perfection; she's looking for you. You've fought alongside her through thick and thin, and now you're taking this incredible step together."

Just then, Draco strolled in, his demeanor calm yet confident. He arched an eyebrow at the two of them, a smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth. "What's all this fuss about? You're not backing out, are you?" he teased, though his tone held an undercurrent of genuine support.

" No way!" he exclaimed, straightening up. "I just… I want everything to be perfect for Parky. She deserves that."

Draco stepped forward, crossing his arms with a knowing look. "Listen, mate, perfection is overrated. What matters is the love you share. Pansy will see the sincerity in your eyes when you speak your vows. Trust me, the moment you lock eyes with her, everything else will fade away. You'll be in your own little world."

He nodded slowly, absorbing the wisdom in their words. "You really think so?" he asked, his voice softer now, the doubt beginning to fade.

"Absolutely," Theo affirmed, his eyes bright with encouragement. "You and Pansy have something special—something that can weather any storm. It's not just about the wedding; it's about the life you'll build together afterward. And I know you'll make her happy."

Feeling the reassurance of his friends surrounding him, he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The nerves were still there, but now they felt more manageable, like butterflies preparing to take flight rather than a suffocating weight pressing down on him.

"You're right," he finally said, his voice stronger now. "I just need to remember that today is about us."

Draco clapped him on the shoulder, a proud grin on his face. "That's the spirit. Now let's get you ready. The last thing we need is for you to be late to your own wedding."

With their support bolstering his confidence, Neville took one last look in the mirror, straightening his tie and adjusting his robes. Today marked the beginning of a beautiful adventure with Pansy, one that he was determined to embrace fully, nerves and all. Together, with his friends by his side, he stepped toward the door, ready to embark on the journey of a lifetime.

~~~~~~

As the newlyweds sealed their vows with a kiss, the garden erupted in a chorus of cheers and applause. Champagne glasses clinked, flower petals fluttered through the air, and the joyous energy was nearly palpable. She turned to him, her eyes alight with excitement as the celebratory hum of the guests surrounded them.

He smirked, his expression both playful and sincere. "How about a dance after the ceremony? I hear the reception is going to be just as extravagant."

She grinned, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. "Absolutely! I'll need a partner for all the wild dancing I plan to do, and you, my love, are the only one I trust not to trample me."

"Bold of you to assume I don't plan on doing exactly that," he teased, leading her toward the pavilion as the wedding party began to move.

The reception was a dream—an open-air wonderland of twinkling chandeliers, floating candles, and delicate floral arrangements suspended in midair. The warm glow of the fairy lights bathed everything in gold, and she felt her breath catch for a moment, taking it all in.

"Pansy really outdid herself," she murmured, her fingers tightening around his arm.

He chuckled. "When does she not? This has 'Pansy Parkinson Perfection' written all over it."

With the crowd filtering toward the dance floor and bar, she tugged him toward the refreshment table, her eyes immediately scanning the lavish array of sparkling drinks and exotic cocktails. "Come on, let's grab something before the real party begins."

She plucked a flute of champagne from the tray, handing him a glass before raising hers with a smirk. "To love, weddings, and the absolute disaster that will be Theo attempting to dance."

He laughed, clinking his glass to hers. "To that, I'll happily drink."

The music shifted, the first lively tune of the evening filling the air, and she felt the electric pull of the dance floor before he even had to ask.

He leaned in, his voice low, his breath ghosting over her skin. "So, what do you think? Should I make my move and ask you to dance, or do I let you beg for it first?"

She raised a brow, swirling the champagne in her glass. "Why wait? I'm ready now."

With a smirk, he set his drink down and took her hand, guiding her to the dance floor just as the music swelled into something fast and exhilarating.

They fell into the rhythm effortlessly, their movements perfectly in sync, their laughter blending with the melody around them. His hands were sure, his steps fluid, and she let herself be swept up in the sheer energy of it all—the thrill of twirling under his arm, the rush of his presence so close, the warmth of his gaze as it lingered on her face.

"You know," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as they moved, "I never thought I'd enjoy a wedding this much. But it's hard not to get caught up in the magic of it all."

She twirled away from him, only for him to pull her back effortlessly, his grip strong yet careful. "Especially when it's Pansy's wedding," she quipped, breathless from the dancing. "Have you seen how happy she looks?"

He cast a glance toward the bride, who was currently twirling with Neville, her laughter ringing through the air. "I have," he admitted, a softness creeping into his voice. "She deserves this."

The tempo of the music slowed, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he pulled her close, one hand settling on the small of her back while the other clasped hers tightly. The world blurred around them, the chatter and movement of the other guests fading into something distant.

For a moment, it was just them.

"Do you ever think about what your real wedding might look like?" he asked suddenly, his voice softer, almost hesitant.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression light, teasing. "Not really. I'm more focused on the here and now. Besides, planning a wedding sounds exhausting."

He let out a soft chuckle, but his eyes never left hers. "I suppose it does."

They swayed in silence for a few moments, the weight of unspoken thoughts lingering between them. She wasn't sure what he was thinking, but something in his gaze was unreadable—something warm, something deep. She wasn't ready to face it just yet, wasn't sure if she ever would be. But in his arms, beneath the golden glow of a thousand fairy lights, she let herself enjoy the feeling of being his, even if just for tonight.