Yes—we got married. The ceremony proceeded as though nothing had happened. Elara never mentioned the tattoo, never mentioned the argument, never mentioned the blood dripping from my palm. By evening, it was as if none of it had ever happened.
That night, during the after-party games, the guests went wild, laughing and cheering as they pushed Elara and me into the bedroom.
“It’s time for the newlyweds to eat apples!” someone shouted.
Elara, still in her wedding dress, smiled shyly at me through the noise.
Then Dorian barged in again. He tossed the apple aside and pulled a slinky black lace camisole from a gift box, holding it high.
“Apples are boring. Look at this instead!”
A chorus of whistles rang out. The panties sparkled—the lace edges studded with rhinestones that glittered under the lights.
“Surprise wedding gift!” Dorian grinned and shoved the garment into my hands. “Don’t be nervous. It’s for her. I heard it’s comfortable—make sure she wears it tonight.”
The crowd howled with laughter.
He suddenly tugged at the hem of Elara’s dress.
“Elara, why don’t you change into it now? I bought it in your size—guaranteed to fit.”
“Change into it! Change into it!” the guests began chanting.