The reception was set beside the pool, a crescent of turquoise bordered by marble and boxwood, with a white silk canopy stretched overhead to keep the day from getting into anyone’s hair. Serena stood beside Chad for the formal portraits, her veil now pulled back and her mouth aching from the hours of smiling. The guests gathered in tight bouquets around the photo riser, the air thick with the ozone sting of floral centerpieces and too much perfume.

 

The wedding photographer snapped shots in a blur, moving Serena and Chad through every possible permutation: together, apart, with Victoria, with Chad’s friends, with a group of minor celebrities who seemed to have wandered in off the cover of a magazine. At every break in the choreography, someone offered Serena a glass of champagne, and at every break she pretended to sip before setting it down untouched.

 

Chad’s hand never left her waist. His fingers rested just below her ribs, a reminder that she was here to be held, displayed, kept from floating away. Sometimes he would murmur in her ear, always the same litany: “Perfect, darling, just perfect. You’re the star of the show.” His voice made her skin crawl, but she never flinched.

 

Victoria presided over the gathering from a throne-like chair at the head of the table. She wore a smile sharpened by victory and watched Serena as a cat watches a canary after the cage has been locked. Whenever Serena looked away from the camera, she would find Victoria’s eyes waiting for her, unblinking, cold as the water in the pool.

 

The crowd drifted from group to group, collecting and dispersing stories and laughter with the efficiency of a school of fish. Serena moved among them, the dress dragging behind her like a bridal train made of lead. She felt the words spoken to her brush past the surface of her consciousness, but none of them stuck. She could only think about the man in the third pew, the way his eyes had pinned her in place, the way it felt as if he’d spoken her name without moving his lips.

 

During the toasts, Serena sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring at the perfect arc of her wedding band. The metal was so thin she could feel the bones of her finger pressing through it. She twisted the ring until the skin around it paled, then let it go.

 

Chad’s best man raised a glass. “To the newlyweds! May they never have a dull moment, or a moment’s peace.” The room laughed, but Serena felt the words as a hex.

 

She looked across the table and saw the stranger again, now lingering near the hedge at the far side of the patio, a glass of water held loose in his hand. He did not mingle, did not laugh. He just watched, shoulders squared, eyes locked on her as if waiting for a sign. When he caught her gaze, he tipped his glass in a salute, and for a second Serena forgot where she was.

 

Chad noticed, of course. He leaned in, breath warm and sour, and asked, “Do you know him?”

 

Serena did not answer. Instead, she reached for her own glass and took a real sip, the champagne burning a line down her throat.

 

The crowd began to thin as the sun set, guests filtering out to the lawn for the evening’s entertainment. Fire pits had been arranged at the water’s edge, and a jazz trio played standards to fill the gaps between conversations. Serena found herself pressed against a railing overlooking the garden, the air finally cool enough to cut through the fatigue and the stench of lilies.

 

She heard Chad’s footsteps before she felt his presence. He slipped an arm around her waist and leaned his chin on her shoulder, his face a mask of newlywed adoration. “You made it,” he whispered. “First day as Mrs. Owens. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

 

Serena said nothing, watching the flame of a distant torch flicker and die.

 

“You’re going to have everything you ever wanted,” Chad said, his words a caress that left a bruise. “I promise.”

 

He turned her to face him, cupping her cheek with the back of his hand. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, then drifted to the scar above her eyebrow. “Don’t let them photograph this side,” he said softly. “Let’s keep it just for us.”

 

Serena recoiled inwardly but let him guide her back toward the main table. At the edge of the dance floor, Victoria intercepted them with a gesture so slight it might have been mistaken for a tic. “Have you had your first dance?” she asked, her tone airy.

 

Chad smiled. “Not yet. May I?” He bowed slightly, as if mocking the formality, then pulled Serena into the center of the patio. The band shifted to a slow waltz, and the guests formed a ring around them, clapping politely.

 

Serena’s feet ached, but Chad guided her through the steps with military precision. She let herself be led, her body moving on autopilot. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw the stranger’s face, the way it had changed when she faltered at the altar—the flash of hope, then rage, then something even deeper.

 

As the song ended, Chad spun her out, then reeled her back in, dipping her low enough that the blood rushed to her head. For a moment, the world tilted, and Serena thought she might faint. But she didn’t.

 

The crowd cheered. Chad lifted her upright and kissed her on the cheek, holding her face just long enough to make sure everyone saw it.

 

When the music resumed, Serena slipped away to the edge of the patio, seeking shade and silence. She found herself near the hedge where she had last seen the stranger. He was there, just beyond the pool of light, his silhouette sharp against the fading blue of the sky.

 

She stepped toward him, heart racing. When she reached the edge of the light, he spoke first.

 

“You don’t have to go with him,” he said. His voice was low, American, familiar in a way that made Serena shiver. “Not tonight. Not ever, if you don’t want to.”

 

She stared at him, her mind a whirl of confusion and longing. “Who are you?” she whispered.

 

He hesitated, as if weighing how much truth the moment could bear. “Kodiak,” he said. “You used to know me. Before—before all this.”

 

The name struck her with the force of a memory half-drowned, half-revived. She reached for it, but it slipped away, replaced by the sensation of arms around her waist, the safety of it, the promise that she could be more than what Chad and Victoria had made of her.

 

She glanced back at the party. Victoria watched her from across the lawn, her expression unreadable but her attention absolute.

 

Serena turned back to the man in the darkness. “I don’t remember,” she said, the confession so raw it hurt her to say it.

 

Kodiak nodded, his face softening. “You will. I promise.”

 

Before she could answer, Chad called her name, loud enough for the crowd to hear. She straightened, smoothed the dress, and forced herself to walk back toward the lights.

 

She joined Chad at the head table, sitting beside him as he regaled the guests with tales of their future adventures, their grand plans, their inevitable happiness. Serena listened, smiling at the right moments, her mind a thousand miles away.

 

The absolute victory that Chad felt pulsed through his veins. He was arrogant boastful, reminding her of a peacock showing off it’s display of beautiful feathers. Serena faked a smile and struggled to stay in the conversation. Her minddrifted to the stranger the name Kodiak. the sensation of Home.