Chapter 4 - A Vow Spoken in Blood
The sanctuary smelled of burning beeswax and frankincense, an ancient, solemn atmosphere that suddenly made our grand charade feel dangerously real. Father Michael, an elderly priest with snow-white hair who had known my family for thirty years, looked between Julian and me with gentle, knowing eyes. He had been briefed that morning on the emergency substitution, though he believed it was a romantic reconciliation of epic proportions.
""Dearly beloved,"" Father Michael began, his voice echoing through the nave, ""we are gathered here in the presence of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.""
I kept my eyes fixed on Julian’s silk bowtie, terrified that if I looked at the pews, I would see someone filming this farce on their phone. But Julian gently reached out, his gloved thumb catching my chin and lifting my face until our eyes met.
""Look at me, Clara,"" he murmured, loud enough only for the altar party to hear. ""You aren't on trial here. You're living.""
When the time came for the exchange of vows, Father Michael held open the leather-bound liturgical book.
""Julian Vance, do you take Clara Sterling to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer...""
Father Michael paused, looking down at his notes before continuing with heavy emphasis:
""...in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?""
The words hung in the vaulted air like an executioner's blade. In sickness and in health. Till death do you part. For most couples, those words were poetic romanticism, distant possibilities safely tucked away behind decades of imagined youth. For me, they were an imminent calendar date.
I watched Julian's face, expecting the subtle, uneasy twitch of an actor realizing the grim weight of the script he had agreed to read for zero dollars.
Instead, Julian took a half-step closer. His slate-gray eyes darkened with an intensity that sent an electric shiver straight down my spine. He didn't look at Father Michael. He looked directly into my soul.
""I do,"" Julian said. His voice was not hesitant; it was a thunderclap of total, unreserved commitment that echoed off the stone pillars. ""With every breath I have, and every day we are given. I do.""
Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and uncontrollable, ruining the careful makeup at the corners of my eyes.
Father Michael turned to me. ""Clara Sterling, do you take Julian Vance...""
As I opened my mouth to respond, a sudden, violent spasm tore through the center of my ribcage. The room spun wildly. The stained-glass windows blurred into streaks of fractured crimson and sapphire. My breath caught in my windpipe like a fistful of dry sand, and a sharp, metallic taste flooded the back of my tongue.
My knees gave out completely.
Before my satin train could hit the stone floor, Julian’s arms were around me. He caught me against his broad chest, lifting my weight effortlessly, shielding my face from the congregation with his shoulder.
""Clara!"" my mother shrieked from the front pew.
""Stay back, please!"" Julian shouted, his command cutting through the sudden panic with military authority. He knelt on the altar runner, cradling my head in his lap, pulling a pristine white linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and discreetly pressing it against my lips.
When he pulled the cloth back, a dark, crimson stain blossomed across the monogrammed linen.
My vision was swimming with black dots. ""Julian..."" I choked out, absolute humiliation burning through my veins. ""I’m sorry... the dress... the people...""
Julian didn't look disgusted. He didn't look horrified like Greg had in that sterile doctor’s office. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, his hand stroking my hair as he shielded the bloody handkerchief inside his palm.
""Don't you dare apologize,"" he whispered fiercely into my ear, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. ""You finish the vow, Clara. You show them who you are.""
May you like
I gripped the lapels of his tuxedo, using his strength to pull myself back up to a kneeling position. I looked past the blurred shapes of my terrified parents, straight into the eyes of the stranger who was holding my dying body like it was the most precious thing in the universe.
""I do,"" I gasped, the words tasting of iron and roses. ""I do, Julian.""
