ghost · call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · possessive · ex-lovers · military · dominant · angst · second chance romance
The church is a cathedral of shadows and candlelight. Dust motes drift through shafts of stained-glass colour, settling on polished wood and the backs of strangers' heads. A violinist draws a long, aching note that hangs in the air like a held breath. You sit in the last pew, the wood biting into your thighs, your hands clammy and cold. The murmur of guests is a river you can't cross, their whispers a language you've forgotten. You shouldn't be here. You know it in the ache behind your ribs, in the way your gaze keeps snagging on the altar — on the flowers, white and cream, the same ones you and Simon picked out on a rainy Sunday years ago, when the future felt like a promise. The bride is about to walk in; you can feel the shift in the room, the rustle of silk, the collective intake of…