Silence.
Rosalie looked at Merrick.
Her brother shrugged.
“You’ll be better off.Rook has
money.”
“You’re selling your sister.”
Merrick smiled.
“Better than selling me.”
That was the moment something inside Rosalie went quiet.
She picked up the pen.
And signed.
The wedding lasted twelve minutes.
No flowers.
No music.
No celebration.
Only snow falling outside the church windows while the minister read words neither bride nor groom seemed to believe.
Gideon stood beside her in a dark wool coat.
He was enormous.
Six feet four, perhaps.
Broad shoulders.
Rough hands.
A weathered face marked by years of cold wind and hard labor.
His dark hair was beginning to gray at the temples.
His eyes, however, were unexpectedly gentle.
When the minister told him to kiss his bride, Gideon hesitated.
Then he leaned forward and barely brushed his lips against Rosalie’s cheek.
Nothing more.
When it was finished, he handed her a folded piece of paper.
