Page 161 of Dishonored

The asshole.

“It went well, Father,” he replied.

The priest nodded. “Better to go into a day like today fresh and clean, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sure.”

That was a demand of the Bishop, and the church’s requirements when it came to marrying a couple. Alongside months’ long couple’s classes, both Caesar and Aria had been made to do confession with their priest before the ceremony could begin.

It wasn’t like he could say no.

It’d been … hell, five years since he last confessed. It still felt like nothing had changed even as he had slipped into the confessional room, and took a seat across from his priest ready to admit to his transgressions with a promise not to repeat them.

Some sins, he wouldn’t commit again. Others … well, that was between him, his wife, and God.

Made men were made for life.

Well, Caesar didn’t believe for a second that a few Hail Marys and all the other prayers he had been made to recite for his latest sins were going to change very much between him and God. A prayer wasn’t going to get him any closer to heaven.

It had always been a delicate relationship.

At best.

Besides, he always found heaven somewhere else. Now, he found that blissful, wonderful place between Aria’s thighs.

Caesar grinned to himself.

Maybe he wasn’t all that different. Maybe he hadn’t changed too much. He was just a different breed of sinner, now.

The church quieted again when the creak of an opening door echoed down the aisle. Caesar hadn’t even taken his gaze away from those doors at the back of the church from the moment he came to stand on the altar—he felt like he’d been waiting for this day for far too long.

He was done waiting.

And so was she.

There she stood just beyond the open doors in an off-white gown that hugged every single one of her curves, and teased him from fifty feet away. Decorated in lace and pearls, the dress she picked to wear for this day was perfect, daring, and everything he expected. Strapless with a neckline just low enough to be suggestive, yet modest enough to keep the priest from grumbling, it fit Aria like a glove.

Yet, it was still enough to take his breath away. Always keeping him on his toes. He looked forward to that happening for the rest of his goddamn life.

How could he not?

Now that she was there—and almost with him—Caesar had the strangest urge to bolt down the aisle and grab his soon-to-be wife. Even as the people stood in the church to begin the procession of her walk, he had to beat down the urge to go and walk with her.

She wanted to walk alone. She wanted to come to him willingly.

She had her reasons.

He let her have them.

This love and marriage and life thing was supposed to be all about compromise, anyway. Wasn’t it?

Their procession and wedding party was small. So small, in fact, that they didn’t even have one to begin with. He had Cain to stand for him, and sign the necessary documents, but even then, he could have made his best man sit for the majority of the ceremony. Aria had done that for the person she chose to be her witness.

There was no ring bearer to walk.

No flower girl.

No people.