When she had appeared at the end of the aisle in the abbey, Gideon had not been able to take his eyes from her. She wore the magenta gown. The gown she’d worn the first time he’d seen her, imprinting her likeness on the backs of his eyelids like a meteor streaking across a midnight sky. She’d been but a beautiful mirage then, always on the horizon and never quite corporeal enough to be real, the promise of her tempting him despite knowing better. But now she was his.
