The idea took root and blossomed with a speed that left Lily breathless. Marcus, once decided on a course of action, was a force of nature. The "vow renewal" was no longer a concept; it was a project with a date, a venue, and a growing list of guests.
He'd cleared his schedule for the afternoon, something unheard of, and they were spread out on the living room floor of the penthouse, samples of fabric, paper, and flowers scattered around them.
"Peonies," Lily said firmly, holding up a blush-pink sample. "Not lilies. I refuse to have a wedding themed after myself."
Marcus chuckled, picking up a sample of a deep, midnight blue silk. "I like this for the napkins. It matches your eyes when you're trying to be serious in a meeting."
Her heart did a little flip. He noticed that?
"Your mother's RSVP came back," he said, his tone shifting slightly. He held up a thick, cream-colored card. Lady Eleanor Harper had responded with a formal, elegant script that conveyed approval without a single warm word.
Lily took the card. "She's happy?"
"She's satisfied," Marcus corrected gently. "The merger of our public images is a success. The fact that we seem to have… genuine affection for each other is a convenient bonus."
It was the closest they'd come to discussing his cold, aristocratic mother. Lily placed the card down. "We're not doing this for her."
"No," he agreed, his voice firm. "We are not." He reached for another envelope, this one simpler. "This one is for you."
It was addressed to Lily in a familiar, looping handwriting. Her father. She hadn't spoken to him since the scandal had broken, since he'd called her in a panic, worried about how her "mess" would affect his own comfortable life.
Her hands trembled slightly as she opened it. The message was short.
Lily, Congratulations on the renewal. Margaret and I would be delighted to attend. Love, Dad
Delighted. It was such an empty, social word. And he'd signed it from himself and his new wife. The man who had chosen his own stability over his daughter's ambition years ago was still keeping her at a polite, safe distance.
She felt Marcus watching her, reading the disappointment on her face. He didn't offer empty platitudes. He simply moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. He took the card from her limp fingers and tossed it onto the coffee table, away from the other, happier RSVPs.
"He doesn't get to dim your light," Marcus said, his voice low and fierce. "Not today. Not ever again. Our family is who we choose. It's Sarah, who already asked if she can wear a neon green hat. It's Charles, who is insisting on giving a toast that will undoubtedly embarrass me. It's us."
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "We are the family. Everyone else is just a guest."
The pain in her chest loosened its grip. He was right. He was building her a new foundation, one made of chosen loyalty and fierce protection. She leaned into him, letting his certainty wash over her.
"Okay," she whispered. "Just guests."