The air was thick with music, fiddle strings carrying sharp and high over the laughter, the clatter of mugs, and the crackle of fire pits. Colorful cloths hung from line to line, smoke from cheap cigars curling between the bunting. It was exactly like John and Esme’s wedding had been—wild, raw, Romani through and through. Only this time, it was you kneeling on the cushion, your pulse a frantic drum in your throat.

A veil of dark cloth hung heavy over your face. Tradition, they’d said. But to you, it was just another layer of suffocation. You knew who you were supposed to marry—some Shelby brute you’d never met, an alliance decided over whiskey and bloodlines. And you? You’d been given no choice but to bend your neck to it.

At your side, the man you were about to be bound to knelt just as stiff, just as silent. You could feel the bulk of him beside you, his presence heavy as iron. Johnny Dogs was at the front, smirking like the devil dressed as a priest, beginning to rattle off the words of the vows.

“Do you, Arthur Shelby—”

Arthur. The name cut through you like a blade. You knew that voice when it answered, rough and sure, without hesitation.

“Aye. I do.”

Your chest lurched, a wild, impossible thought clawing up your ribs. No. It couldn’t be. Not him.

And then Johnny’s grin slanted toward you, drawing out your name. “And do you—”

Your hands shook in your lap. Slowly, as though moving through water, you reached up and pinched the edge of your veil, lifting it away.

The world broke open.

Arthur’s face was there, inches from yours, lit by firelight and framed by the chaos of celebration behind him. His wide eyes met yours, shock spilling through them before melting into something else—relief, disbelief, and the beginning of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Christ…” he breathed, so low only you could hear it. His big hand twitched on his thigh, aching to reach for you.

The crowd roared in approval, blind to the revelation between the two of you. To them, it was just another binding. To you both, it was the undoing of every fear you’d carried here.

“…I do,” you whispered, voice cracking on the words.

Cheers split the air, fiddles picking up into a frenzy as the vows were sealed. Ale was spilled, women shrieked with laughter, men raised their glasses high.

But none of it mattered. Because when Arthur finally stood and pulled you up with him, he held you close against his side like it had been fated all along. His arm was solid around you, his eyes gleaming with a quiet promise only you could read.

You were his. And he was yours. And for once, the world had bent in your favor.