Maximilian needed a moment alone with her father.
Because this time…He would do it properly.
In her previous life, she had dreamed of a wedding. He remembered it, not because she had told him, but because he had listened, from a distance, from shadows and from places he was never meant to stand.
He had heard her speak of everything—the banquet, the flowers, the colors she wanted woven into her dress, even the delicate details of what she would wear in her hair.
She had imagined it all.
And because of him… She had never had it.
This time, he would give it back to her. Every piece of it.
Catherine turned her head to look at him, her lips pressing together slightly.
Oh.
She knew.
The realization flickered across her face, followed immediately by something far less cooperative. Her nose scrunched faintly, and she shot him a glare, not out of anger, but pure, stubborn defiance.
