Page 19 of Bred By the Silent Bidder
The rest of the afternoon shifts. Tension doesn’t vanish entirely, there are still careful pauses when Dayan’s name comes up, still glances exchanged when I describe the timeline. But something fundamental has changed. Cecily laughs more freely. Mother offers opinions that feel like collaboration instead of correction. When I spin in front of the mirror in the final choice, a dress that makes me feel powerful and soft and entirely myself, they both watch with matching expressions of wonder.
“You’re going to be a beautiful bride,” Cecily says, squeezing my hand.
“And a formidable wife,” Mother adds, almost to herself.
I catch my reflection again. The woman looking back isn’t waiting anymore. She isn’t particular in the way they once meant it as criticism. She’s certain. She’s chosen. She’s happy.
Later, as we step out into the late afternoon sun, Dayan’s car is waiting at the curb. He leans against it, arms folded, looking exactly like the dangerous man my mother still fears and the one I chose without hesitation.
I turn back to them. “Come to the wedding. Please. Both of you. Not because you have to. Because I want you there.”
Cecily nods immediately. Mother hesitates only a second before she pulls me into a hug. It’s brief and fierce, and more honest than any we’ve shared in years.
“We’ll be there,” she says against my hair. “Try to keep that glow, darling. It suits you.”
I walk toward Dayan. He straightens, his dark eyes warming the moment they land on me. When I reach him, he pulls me close without a word, one big hand settling possessively at my lower back.
“Good?” he murmurs against my temple.
“Better than good.” I tilt my face up to kiss him, not caring who sees. “They saw me. The real me. And they’re starting to accept this.”
His mouth curves into the small, private smile that still makes my stomach flip. “Then let’s go home, wife-to-be. We have a future to plan.”
I glance back once as the car pulls away. Mother and Cecily are still standing on the pavement, watching us. Cecily raises a hand in a small wave. Mother’s expression is unreadable, but she doesn’t look away.
I lean into Dayan’s solid warmth and let myself be exactly who I am.
Deliriously, completely, unapologetically happy.
Dayan
Two weeks after Akyl’s wedding, we stand in the garden behind my house as the sun dips low and turns everything gold. The stone terrace is dotted with fairy lights, a handful of chairs, my brothers and their new wives, Amelia’s mother, father and sister standing quietly to one side. The contrast to the dinner where we first crossed paths is deliberate. That night had been an arrangement. Business. This is real life, beautiful and true.
I wait at the end of the short aisle of scattered white petals. The air is cool, carrying the scent of early roses and the faint warmth of early summer evenings. Serik stands at my shoulder, uncharacteristically quiet. Rovin watches from the front row like a man who has finally seen all five of his brothers settle into the future he demanded. Volody and Akyl flank him, their wives tucked close. Amelia’s mother dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Cecily looks steadier than I’ve seen her since the dossier tore her careful plans apart.
Then Amelia appears.
She walks toward me alone, no one giving her away because she made it clear this choice was hers and hers alone. The dress she chose hugs every line of her body, sleek, minimalist, the low back baring skin I already know by heart. Her brown hair is swept up with loose pieces curling at her neck. She is not smiling the polite, careful smile I first saw at Pietty’s dinner. She is radiant.
My chest tightens in a way no bullet or deal ever managed. I have faced down rooms full of armed men without flinching, but watching this woman walk to me of her own free will nearly undoes me.
She stops in front of me. Her blue eyes lock on mine, steady and bright. The officiant begins, short, simple words we both agreed on, but I barely hear them. All I see is her.
When it’s time for the vows, she goes first. Her voice is clear, warm, carrying that dry British edge I have come to crave.
“I choose you, Dayan. Not because anyone arranged it or because it was safe or expected. I choose you because you trusted me with the choice, protected those I loved before you even know them, and asked me every single day what I wanted. I will stand beside you. I will build this life with you. Whatever comes, we face it together.”
She slips the ring onto my finger. Heavy platinum that fits snug enough to remind me it’s never coming off.
The officiant nods to me.
I have always been the silent one. One-word answers and letting others fill the quiet spaces. But not today.
I take both her hands in mine. They look small against my scarred knuckles. I speak low, but every word is meant to carry.
“Amelia. From the moment you looked at me across that table and didn’t flinch, I knew. I wrote your name in my blood because I saw my future in your eyes. I will never lie to you. I will never lock you away. I will burn whatever stands between you and the life you want. I want you as my wife. I want to fill this house with our children. I want to watch you grow round with them and hold your hand through every night and every fight and every joy. Your sharp edges, your fire, your laugh in the morning…I want all of it. Every day. Until I stop breathing. You are nota prize I won. You are the only woman who has ever made the silence feel like home. I am yours. Completely. Protectively. Forever.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she doesn’t look away.
