Rae Stone-von Hannover
The minister had finished his short sermon and was chanting, blessing the rings.
Rae breathed, absorbing every moment, holding every glance in her heart. Yes, they had been married on paper for months, but this was, for her, the ceremony that made it real.
It was funny because she had always expected this moment to be in the tiny, wooden church in her hometown, not in an extravagant cathedral—she was pretty sure that this church qualified as a cathedral—in Switzerland.
Switzerland, and she smiled a little more.
She would get used to it, Wulf assured her, but right now, it all still seemed magical.
Especially Wulf. He seemed magical. Only magic could have brought the two of them together.
At the back of the church, the doors slammed open.
Oh, God.
Possibilities swept through her head: Wulf’s father Phillipp stomping up the aisle to rail his objections, her own father raising a gun and shooting down Wulf just before being shot dead in a barrage by Wulf’s security staff, any one of Wulf’s ex-girlfriends arriving to royally scratch Rae’s eyes out, or some mad, lone gunman, the one that she worried about and dreaded, a jackal who was impossible to predict.
But the figure silhouetted in the afternoon sunshine was slim, and she swayed on her feet. A long braid swung down her back.
Rae shaded her eyes with her hand, trying to see better, and called across the crowd, “Georgie?”
And yes, Georgie was there, and all was perfect.