CONTINUATION OF KIEL'S THIRD POINT OF VIEW
Kiel's hand lifted to her cheek first — not rushed, not claiming, but reverent. The fine lace of her veil brushed against the back of his fingers as he cupped her face, his thumb sweeping just under her cheekbone. Odette's lips parted slightly, the faintest tremor in her breath betraying that she felt the weight of this moment as much as he did.
He leaned in, every step toward her mouth feeling like the beat of a slow drum.
The world blurred around him — the rustle of guests shifting in the pews, the faint fragrance of white lilies from the altar, the cool kiss of sunlight through stained glass — all of it faded into a haze. There was only her.
Almost.
Because beneath the scent of lilies and candle wax, his senses betrayed him with a phantom note of jasmine and warm skin — Zirelle's perfume, maddening in its persistence. The ghost of her touch still lived in his muscles, the memory of her lips hovering close but never meeting his.
