The service proceeded. There would be no communion. Only last evening had Marie-Laure been baptized. For Søren she had converted and become Catholic, so theirs could be a union blessed by the Church. What would Kingsley’s father say had he been alive to see this? Monsieur Auguste Boissonneault, proud descendant of the Huguenots…he would have died in the chapel at the sight of his daughter becoming Catholic to marry a Catholic. Kingsley counted his father’s death a blessing now. Better to be dead than to live through this. He, too, wished for death. If only he and Søren could have had one last night together…Kingsley would have begged for Søren to kill him. And he knew in his love and power and mercy, Søren would have granted that request.

Kingsley came back to the moment as Father Henry beamed his smile at Søren and Marie-Laure.

“May almighty God, with his word of blessing, unite your hearts in the never-ending bond of pure love.”

The assembled students and priests, the only guests, intoned in unison a solemn “Amen.”

Amen…so be it.

Only Kingsley and Søren did not speak the amen.

Father Henry nodded at Søren, who took Marie-Laure by the arm. And together they left the chapel. For once that hellish day, Kingsley felt the touch of God’s mercy. For whatever reason—propriety or by request of the groom—there had been no kiss.

Kingsley walked on leaden feet behind Father Henry up the aisle and to the narthex. Søren and Marie-Laure waited in the shadows by the door. Søren had taken off the jacket of his suit and given it to Marie-Laure. Had he given her the keys to a kingdom, she could not have smiled with more love and gratitude. It sickened Kingsley to see it.

“Father Henry, will you take her to her room?” Søren asked as Kingsley waited by the shrine of the Virgin Mary.

Distress crossed Marie-Laure’s wide amber eyes. Søren soothed her fears with a smile.

“I’ll be there soon,” he pledged. Her smile returned and Father Henry threw another robe about her and bustled her out into the cold.

For nearly a minute, Søren and Kingsley stood not speaking to each other as the students and other priests filed out of the chapel and into the cold. None of them congratulated Søren. None of them even glanced their way. Jealousy…all of them ached with jealousy. One perfect girl had come into their midst and all of them adored her. Yet she had chosen the one they all feared. The last to leave, Kingsley’s friend Christian, turned back and glanced at him on the way out the door.

“Are you all right?” Christian mouthed to Kingsley, not even granting Søren the courtesy of eye contact.

Kingsley nodded. The nod had been a lie.

“You aren’t.” Søren finally spoke once they stood alone in the chapel.

“No. I’m not.”

“I did this for us, Kingsley,” Søren said.

“I wish you hadn’t.”

“This will help you both.”

Kingsley exhaled and the air that came out of him turned opaque in the cold. He looked like he’d been breathing fire.

“She’s not ours. Remember our dream? The girl wilder than both of us together. Green hair and black eyes.”

“Black hair and green eyes,” Søren corrected. “Untamed.”

“But not untamable.” Kingsley remembered every word of their dream. “We were going to share her.”

“Because no one man would be enough for her.”

“The unholy trinity.” As the final student left the chapel, Kingsley reached out and took Søren’s hand in his own.

“You know I come from a wealthy family. And try as he might, my father can’t seem to sire another son. At age twenty-one I would have inherited my trust fund. But if I married, I’d inherit it immediately.”

“You married my sister so you could have your money?”

“No.” Søren turned and gazed down into Kingsley’s eyes. “I married her so we could have it. You and I. And her, too, of course. I know how much you love her, how much you missed her. Now all of us can be together.”

“She thinks you love her.”

“She’ll understand. If she has half your intelligence and insight, she’ll see the wisdom of this arrangement.”

Kingsley’s eyes widened. Intelligence and insight? Had those words come from Søren’s lips? How many times had Søren held him down and with disdain whispered how worthless Kingsley was, how useless? Did Søren not actually believe that?

“She’s my sister.”

“I know. And I know how you care for her. I have no intention…” Søren stopped, and the words he didn’t speak said everything Kingsley needed to hear.

“You won’t?”

“I can’t... You know that better than anyone.” A slight smile, the first Kingsley had seen on Søren’s face in days, appeared at the corner of his lips.

“You could...” He could if he hurt Marie-Laure. If he treated her the way he treated Kingsley—with violence and scorn, beating her and humiliating her and subjecting her to every type of sexual degradation…then they could be lovers. But only then.

“I wouldn’t. I have no interest in her like that. Only you.”

Hope filled Kingsley’s heart. “Only me? Why?”

The slight smile on Søren’s lips spread to his entire face. Kingsley could scarcely breathe from the sight of it. Not even Marie-Laure, flush with love and in her bridal glory, had looked more beautiful than that one smile.