The gown Marybeth wore was heavy—and so was her heart.
White lace layered with soft tulle clung to her body like punishment, like sewn shame. It had once belonged to her mother, and it stung even more that she had to accept it from her.
Mrs. Hathaway had insisted it was tradition. Hmph. Marybeth knew better. It was just desperation, wrapped in lace.
Behind her, Mrs. Jenny stood quietly, fastening the pearl buttons along her back. The old maid's hands moved with practiced grace—gentle, yet firm.
"You look like a painting, Mary," she said with a soft smile, though her eyes held a trace of sorrow.
Marybeth didn't answer. She only glanced at the woman through the mirror, her body stiff atop the vanity stool. She couldn't bring herself to meet her own gaze—not today.
The girl in the mirror unsettled her. Nothing obvious, just a creeping unease.
Like the way her reflection sometimes lingered a moment too long after she turned away.
Mrs. Jenny finished with the last button, "Shall I go fetch the veil?"
Marybeth nodded silently.
The door closed behind the old maid with a soft click, and silence swallowed the room.
She couldn't even hear her own breathing.
Alone now, Mary allowed herself a moment—to breathe. Really breathe. Her hands were cold. Her fingers trembled. She curled them into fists and pressed them tightly against her knees.
Downstairs, the guests were waiting.
Mr. John would be waiting.
He had likely arrived early, cane in hand and chest puffed with pride, wearing that smirk of a man who had finally claimed a prized possession. Her parents would welcome him like their savior. After all, he was their only hope. Or so they said.
Mary rose slowly from the vanity stool and crossed the room to her bed. She dropped to her knees, reached beneath the frame, and pulled out the object she had kept hidden.
Something about it had called to her—even as a child. She had kept it ever since, polishing it, hiding it, cherishing it in secret.
Now, she turned it over in her hands, the edge catching a glint of sunlight. It looked ceremonial… and felt heavier than she remembered. But maybe that was just the weight of the day.
A knock broke the silence.
Mrs. Jenny stepped in, the veil folded in her arms and a nervous look on her face.
"They're ready, dear."
So soon?
Not that she had expected anything different. It wasn't as if she could run now.
It wasn't as if he would come.
But she had hoped…
She sighed. What did it matter now? There was no more escaping.
Mary slipped the blade beneath the sheet and gave Mrs. Jenny a nod.
Her body moved on its own as she returned to the stool, letting the old maid settle the veil over her hair and adjust the folds with careful fingers.
There would be no salvation.
No one was coming.
Not even McKenna.
*****
The drawing room was full.
Guests sat in neat rows, whispering behind gloved hands—and she wondered if it was about last night.
She only wished it was —that someone, somehow, would use it to stop all of this.
The velvet curtains had been drawn open, letting sunlight spill across the polished floors.
Mary walked slowly, each step making her heart pound louder in her chest. Her parents flanked her, one on either side, escorting her like a prized possession.
Mr. John straightened near the fireplace, his eyes catching the light. He wore a black coat that strained against his round belly, and gripped his cane like a scepter.
She didn't look at him.
She couldn't.
The priest stood nearby, his white robe brushing the floor.
Mary's chest tightened. Her breath came in shallow pulls as the ceremony began.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…" the priest intoned.
But Mary shut it out. She shut out the priest's voice, the murmurs in the room—Mr. John's booming laugh.
And then—
The door burst open.
Wind rushed in first—sharp and sudden, so cold it made the entire congregation freeze.
It swept through the room like a ghost had entered, chilling everyone to the bone.
Guests gasped. Some rose from their seats.
And there he was.
McKenna.
Dressed in a black coat that trailed behind him like a shadow, his face was calm—but his presence was not.
His dark eyes stayed fixed on her, and Marybeth couldn't look at anything else.
Suddenly, she felt frozen in place.
"Who is this man?" Mr. Hathaway demanded.
Mr. John grunted. "You're interrupting a sacred ceremony, sir."
McKenna stepped forward. Each stride drew a sharp breath from the guests. He stopped directly in front of Mary, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I'm the man who ruined her," he said plainly.
Silence crashed over the room.
Mary's heart dropped.
He had come.
And he was playing along.
"I beg your pardon?" the priest asked, blinking in shock.
McKenna turned to him. "I was with her last night. At the club..." His gaze shifted to Mr. John. "You saw."
The room erupted in whispers. Mrs. Hathaway let out a soft cry.
Mr. John stepped forward, outraged. "That's a lie!"
But McKenna didn't flinch.
"If it's a lie," he said, calm and deliberate, "then why were you out there searching for her in the dead of night?"
His lips curved slightly, though his eyes remained locked on Mr. John.
"And why did you leave so quickly... when you saw her sitting on my lap?"
Gasps echoed across the room. Murmurs spread like wildfire. The priest looked between the two men, his face etched with disgust.
Mary's lips parted in shock.
His voice—so cold, so controlled—was like ice. It carried a quiet authority that made it nearly impossible to doubt him.
But beyond the shock... he had come for her. Something she had never expected.
Why?
"You came…" she whispered.
He glanced at her, the edge of his mouth lifting slightly, "You asked."
Mr. John reached for his cane, as if to charge him, "You filthy—"
McKenna's hand shifted—just slightly—to block him.
Mr. John stumbled back. His legs buckled beneath him.
A loud gasp rippled through the room.
No one had touched him, yet he has fallen.
The priest stepped back, eyes wide with fear, hands trembling, "W-what should we do?"
Mary's father said nothing. Her mother looked as though she'd seen a ghost.
And McKenna?
He simply extended his hand to Mary.
"Shall we?" he asked.