Ella
Tradition, according to Camille, demanded Kylian and I spend the night before the wedding apart, and for exactly one evening I found myself installed in the estate’s guest wing while he remained in his own rooms down the hall, an arrangement that had lasted less than two hours before he knocked softly on my door with a bottle of wine and an expression that made it clear neither of us had any real intention of honoring the custom.
“You’re supposed to be respecting tradition,” I said, opening the door to find him already pouring two glasses before I’d fully stepped aside to let him in.
“I’ve never been particularly good at tradition.” He handed me a glass, settling onto the edge of the bed with the easy familiarity of two years spent learning every version of each other. “Besides, I
