Page 126 of Cold Mercy

“Tell me what happened.”

She launches into a rant that spirals from floral arrangements and color palettes to the existential misery of napkin folding, finally landing on a dramatic cry of, “Why did I agree to a garden wedding when God invented elopements?”

When she’s finally out of breath, she lifts her head and narrows her eyes at me.

“Also, what the hell was that with Thomas earlier?”

I blink. “What?”

“That little… whatever the hell you two were doing in front of the altar.”

She wiggles her brows. “Your fake husband walks like he owns you.”

Heat hits my face so fast it’s embarrassing.

“Elizabeth, for the love of God—”

She grins, wicked and delighted. “Oh my God, he does. You didn’t deny it.”

I groan and throw the edge of her veil at her.

“You’re impossible.”

She sobers a little, wiping her under-eye smudges.

“Soph… will you help me survive today?”

Her voice is small, and my chest softens instantly in response.

“Always.”

She exhales, relieved, and squeezes my hand like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. For a moment, the world outside the tent, the chaos, the tension, the wedding fades into nothing but the two of us.

Tomorrow she gets married. But today? I’m here for her. No matter what mess waits outside this tent.

We end up sitting on the tent floor like two teenagers who’ve escaped their lives for a minute. The canvas walls are thin, the ground is cold, but Elizabeth curls her legs under her dress and leans her shoulder against mine, and suddenly it feels like we’re back in middle school hiding under the bleachers.

We talk about everything. The stupid school bake sale we sabotaged, the time we got detention for switching name tags during a field trip, how she met James.

Elizabeth sighs dramatically and presses her palms to her cheeks.

“Last dinner as a fiancée,” she murmurs. “Next time I sit down to eat, I’ll be a whole wife.”

I laugh, but my chest squeezes at the same time.

Not jealousy, not the poisonous kind. Something gentler that tastes like hope.

I’m happy for her. God, I’m so happy for her. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that someday. The family, the steadiness, the love that doesn’t turn into a weapon the second you stop looking. Someday, just… not now.

A husband’s kiss, a family’s name, are just another losing game. You weren't born for peace or rest, you’ve got a graveyard in your chest.

We hug, promise to meet downstairs later, and I finally slip out of the tent.

By the time I get back to the room, Thomas is nowhere to be seen. Good.

The silence in the room helps me breathe again, and I drop onto the bed, completely exhausted. The mattress has barely dipped under my weight when a knock sounds at the door, but I don't even bother to lift my head.

“It’s open!” I hear another knock.