Mara's pov

It was freezing cold, the perfect weather for a garden wedding. I clutched the mug Margarette had prepared for me, the steam rising in spirals to warm my face.

Today being the day of the wedding made me nervous.

I took a slow sip of the tea, my mind calculating the possibility of the wedding happening or not. I wanted it to be over. I wanted the vows to be spoken, the champagne to be toasted, and the shadow that had been haunting me to finally retreat. I hoped, with a desperation that bordered on prayer, that everything would go perfectly. If Andrea were happy, perhaps she would...