Vesper's POV
"The vanilla bean pairs beautifully with the champagne buttercream, don't you think?"
The baker's voice cuts through my concentration as I watch Elowen lift a silver fork to her lips.
The Vermont bakery wraps around us in exposed brick and marble countertops, wedding cake samples arranged like sacrificial offerings across the tasting table.
Leander sits beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.
"I prefer the chocolate," he says, reaching for another slice. "But I know that's probably too informal for what Grandmother has in mind. What do you think, Elowen?"
"The lemon is lovely." Elowen sets down her fork. "Light and elegant without being too sweet. Though I'm happy to defer to family preferences if the Armitages have traditions I should consider."
Family preferences.
I force myself to lift another sample, tasting nothing but ash while they debate frosting flavors with the polite distance of strangers negotiating a business transaction.
Leander flew up from Manhattan this morning, cheerful and oblivious, because Iolanthe insisted on family unity during wedding preparations.
I'm here because refusing would have raised questions I cannot afford to answer.
"Vesper, you've barely said a word since we arrived," Leander observes, turning toward me with genuine concern in his expression. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine, Leander. Simply observing the process rather than inserting myself into decisions that don't concern me."
"Of course they concern you."
He reaches across the table to squeeze my hand with the easy affection I've never known how to return.
"You're family, Ves. This wedding affects all of us, and I want you to feel included in the planning."
Elowen's gaze flicks to mine for a fraction of a second. The guilt pooling in her eyes matches the acid burning through my stomach.
"The champagne buttercream," I say flatly, pulling my hand from Leander's grip. "It photographs well and satisfies traditional expectations without being memorable enough to distract from the ceremony itself."
"That's actually brilliant strategic thinking," the baker interjects, clearly relieved that someone has made a decision. "The champagne pairs wonderfully with both vanilla and lemon cake layers, so you could incorporate multiple flavors if you'd like a compromise that honors everyone's preferences."
"A compromise," Elowen repeats.
The word carries weight only I can hear.
"That sounds perfect. Leander, would you mind reviewing the decoration options with the baker while I step outside for some air? The samples are delicious, but I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sugar."
"Of course, absolutely, take all the time you need." He rises halfway from his chair in an instinctive gesture of concern. "Should I come with you?"
"Stay." Elowen's smile doesn't waver. "Review the options and narrow them down to your favorites. I trust your judgment."
She disappears through the front door, and I count to thirty before following.
The afternoon light catches her hair as she leans against the brick exterior, arms wrapped around herself despite the mild temperature.
She doesn't turn when I approach, but I watch her shoulders relax at the sound of my footsteps.
"You handled that beautifully," I say, stopping close enough that I can smell her perfume. "Leander probably thinks you're being appropriately reserved for an arranged match."
"He's sweet." The observation sounds like an apology. "In a way that makes me feel like a monster for what we're doing to him."
"We're not doing anything to him."
The defense sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"The arrangement was never his choice either. If anything, we're trying to prevent a marriage that would make both of you miserable."
"Would it?"
Elowen finally turns to face me, and the exhaustion in her expression makes my chest ache.
"He's kind, Vesper. He listens when I talk and remembers details from conversations we had weeks ago. If circumstances were different, if I'd never known you, I might have learned to be happy with him eventually."
The jealousy that floods through me is immediate and irrational.
"But you do know me."
I step closer, crowding her against the brick until barely inches separate us.
"You know exactly what I taste like and you know that Leander will never be able to give you what I can."
"Vesper." Her voice drops to a warning whisper. "Anyone could walk out that door."
"Let them."
***
The Lake Champlain restaurant sits perched above the water, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the sunset in shades of amber and rose.
Leander's flight departed an hour ago, carrying him back to Manhattan with promises to call tomorrow and finalize the cake decision.
No family eyes. No performance.
Elowen sits across from me in the candlelight, her shoulders finally relaxed, her smile finally reaching her eyes.
The waiter brings wine I don't remember ordering, and we settle into conversation that flows without the careful navigation required when others are watching.
"The chocolate would have been better," she admits, swirling her glass. "But I couldn't bring myself to agree with him. It felt like betrayal, even though it was just cake."
"Everything feels like betrayal now." I reach for my own glass, letting the wine warm my throat. "I watched him squeeze your hand at that table and wanted to rip his arm off."
"Possessive." Her lips curve into something knowing. "I noticed you tensing every time he leaned toward me. Very subtle, by the way. I'm sure no one else caught the murderous glint in your eye."
"I don't share, Elowen."
"I've noticed."
The words hang between us, charged with everything we cannot say in public spaces.
Her foot brushes against mine beneath the table, and the contact sends electricity racing up my calf.
A woman approaches before I can respond—silver-haired, elegant, dressed in the particular uniform of old money that I recognize from a thousand charity galas.
Her smile is warm and curious as she stops beside our table.
"Vesper Armitage, isn't it? I thought I recognized you from the Henderson benefit last spring."
She turns toward Elowen with obvious interest.
"And you must be Leander's fiancée. I've heard lovely things about the engagement from Iolanthe. How wonderful that the sister-in-law is so involved in the planning."
Sister-in-law.
I bet my smile could cut glass.
"Elowen and I have become very close."
"How fortunate for both families."
The woman's gaze flicks between us with the particular assessment of someone who collects information for future leverage.
"I'll let you enjoy your dinner. Do give my regards to your grandmother, Vesper."
She disappears toward her own table, and silence settles around us like a held breath.
Elowen raises an eyebrow.
"That was super possessive."
"I told you." I hold her gaze across the candlelight. "I don't share."
"Even with polite society acquaintances who are simply making conversation?"
"Especially with polite society acquaintances who will report everything they observed to Iolanthe within the hour."
Her expression softens into tender amusement.
"You're going to get us both killed, you know. This protectiveness you can't seem to control is going to be our undoing."
"Probably." I set down my wine glass. "But I've never claimed to be rational where you're concerned."
"That should frighten me."
Elowen leans back in her chair, studying me with an expression I cannot entirely read.
"Does it?"
"No." Her hand finds mine beneath the table.
I should pull away. The woman who just left our table is almost certainly reaching for her phone right now, composing a message to someone in Iolanthe's network about Vesper Armitage dining alone with her brother's fiancée in a candlelit restaurant two hundred miles from Manhattan.
But Elowen's fingers lace through mine, and I don't move.
"You're thinking too loudly," Elowen murmurs, her thumb pressing against my pulse point. "I can practically hear the strategic calculations from here."
"I'm thinking that I should let go of your hand and maintain appropriate distance for the rest of this dinner."
"Are you going to?"
The question is simple. The answer isn't.
I tighten my grip instead, her breath catches.
And I realize, with the cold clarity of someone watching a trap close around her own throat, that I've already lost the ability to let her go.