The sun had fully risen by the time Lukas pulled up in front of St. Mary's Chapel, its whitewashed walls glowing under the golden morning light. The church bell hadn't rung yet, but a small crowd had already gathered, many dressed in modest Sunday attire. Some turned toward the Mercedes as it came to a gentle stop along the gravel shoulder. Curious eyes squinted through the windshield.
When Lukas stepped out and walked around to open the door for Keem, the murmurs began. He did it without hesitation, with practiced grace, like he'd done it a hundred times before—though the calm in his chest felt brand new. Keem stepped out slowly, holding the edge of her dress, her face glowing not with vanity but quiet serenity. Her ivory white gown flowed with the breeze, and her eyes reflected a peace rarely found in people so young.
"Is that... him?" "That's the boy from the Phillies..." "The pitcher... the hundred-million-dollar guy?"
