He twists the part on the side around the center section, weaving with careful concentration. “Rope.”

Not sure how I feel about my lover referring to my hair as rope, but that is neither here nor there.

When he finishes, he fastens the bottom of my hair with a leather queue from the trunk. I’m so relaxed, I could fall asleep right here on this chair, especially when Ever begins to trace along one of the scars on my shoulder. “Tell me of your Seelie mating traditions.”

Where do I even begin? Most of what I know came from my mother’s copy of A Seelie Guide to Matrimony. It all seems so silly now. So unnecessary. So shallow. Who cares about selecting the perfect bouquet? Why does it matter if you don’t create a seating chart for the reception? I would marry Ever right here, right now, with the trees as our witnesses and be perfectly content.

“Instead of scars, we exchange rings.” That’s one tradition I wouldn’t mind keeping.

He reaches into the trunk and starts rummaging around. When I ask what he’s doing, he doesn’t answer. After a few moments, there’s a small golden band pinched between his fingers. “Rings like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

“What happens next?”

“Your family and friends come from all around to attend.” I’d love for Theo and my father to meet Ever. Maybe someday they will.

His jaw drops. “They watch you mate?”

“No! Heavens, no. They come to celebrate with you during the wedding ceremony. The…mating takes place in private afterward.”

He turns the ring over in his hand, as if studying the way the firelight flickers on the gold. “Tell me more of this ceremony.”

“Well, the bride usually wears white. And then you vow to love and cherish each other forever.”

His lips flatten. “You are wearing white.”

My stomach flutters as I glance down at my shift. “I am.”

With a nod, Ever pushes to his feet and reaches for my hand, helping me to mine. Still holding onto me, he slips the ring onto my middle finger. I don’t bother telling him that he has the wrong finger and the wrong hand because everything about this moment feels too perfect.

The quiet rumble of his deep voice washes over me, drawing tears to my eyes. “From this day forward, every beat of my heart belongs to you, Kerris Dawn.”

I’m not yet twenty-five. We have no license and no witnesses, but none of that feels important as I stare into Ever’s eyes. This is what a marriage should be: Two people who love each other coming together, vowing to honor and cherish each other until their dying day.

I straighten my spine and tell him all the promises in my heart. “I love you Everett—” Wait. “What is your last name?”

A smile. “Gathin.”

Everett Gathin.

Kerris Gathin.