Page 72 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘She’s beautiful.’

‘God, isn’t she?’ I whisper, wishing I could take his hand fully. But the middle of my sister’s wedding isn’t the time to go public.

Even the humanist is misty-eyed by the time Dad and Maggie reach her and Roman, Fraser hovering just behind them.

‘Your mother would be so proud,’ Dad says to Maggie, his voice catching as she kisses him on the cheek.

‘Thank you,’ Maggie says, pulling him into a tight squeeze. She used to look so small beside him, but now the balance has tipped. It tears me up to see it.

Maggie and Roman join hands, facing one another, and Fraser helps Dad back to his seat. Eleanor passes Dad the hip flask without comment and smiles as he takes a deep drink.

Janet begins as drizzle falls, waking the grey expanse of water behind Maggie and Roman. Coffin hops under Dad’s chair, fluffing out his feathers and pecking Gaston’s bottom to steal his warm spot. We stand in a rough semicircle, and for this moment in time, the rest of the world ceases to matter.

This is my family.

My people.

I hook James’ small finger with my own, and the tiny, intimate touch feels braver than anything I’ve ever done.

I can’t help thinking about Maggie and me as children, running around the estate with skinned knees and gappy smiles. Fraser trundling after us. While she’s my older sister, I’ve always been fiercely protective of her, even through my teasing. I love her. There’s a pain to seeing your core family splinter into their own little core families, and I feel it keenly. I know that marrying Roman is exactly right for her, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel jealous. She belonged to us first. The Hamiltons.

The drizzle stops right around the time they exchange rings, pinning Gaston in Roman’s arms long enough to access the metal bands. Coffin hops out from under Dad’s seat and right into Eleanor’s lap.

To give Eleanor her due, Roman’s gran doesn’t flinch. She accepts the crow with tender pats of her wizened fingers.

Then Eleanor is feeding Coffin something from her coat pocket and whispering to him, and Coffin is tilting his head, listening intently.

I inch closer and smile. Eleanor is explaining the proceedings to Coffin.

‘James,’ I whisper.

‘I see them,’ he laughs.

‘He’s enamoured with her. I guess she’s officially accepted into the fold.’

‘Eliza,’ he says. ‘Vows.’

Roman promises to love and honour Maggie. To protect her and support her. To be there until death parts them. Maggie looks like her every dream comes true, her face a sweet, open canvas.

Fraser wipes a tear and catches me looking.

‘Fuck off,’ he whispers.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ I murmur.

‘Good. Don’t.’

Dad grips Priscilla’s hand tightly, the two of them looking on at the vows with delight, when the wind suddenly gusts hard.

Maggie’s veil lifts clean off her head and goes flying towards us. It catches on Eleanor’s hair. There’s a moment of silence before we all burst into laughter. Eleanor looks pleased with her headdress, her new crow beau still in her arms.

‘Oh,’ Janet says.

Gaston takes the presence of material on the ground as a blanket and curls up at the bottom of the veil.

‘Gaston!’ I say, getting ready to shoo him off the now muddy veil.

‘It’s fine,’ Maggie laughs.