My Lovely Headmaster

Chapter 40

One month later

The real wedding happens on winter solstice, because Leo insists we can't be "properly" married without his full vision realized. I'm mostly healed, though I still move carefully, and the scars are covered by the spectacular dress Leo commissioned—black silk with hand-embroidered silver roses, elegant, "a dress that says 'I survived attempted murder and still look amazing,'" according to him.

Blackwood's Great Hall has been transformed into what Devon calls "a fairy tale." Thousands of candles, winter roses in deep purple and white, silver branches that catch the light like frozen lightning. It's excessive and dramatic and absolutely perfect.

"You realize we're already married," I tell Vlad as Genesis does my hair, weaving silver ribbons through dark strands.

"Leo says hospital weddings don't count aesthetically."

"Since when does Leo make our rules?"

"Since always," Leo says, entering without knocking as usual. He's in a deep purple suit that should look ridiculous but somehow doesn't. "Also, the press needs proper photos. 'Dickenson Heir Marries in Hospital' is a terrible headline. 'Gothic Romance Culminates in Winter Solstice Ceremony' is much better."

"You called the press?"

"Of course not. They called me. I simply didn't discourage them." He adjusts my veil with surprising gentleness. "You look perfect. Like a queen who conquered death and social hierarchy."

"That's very specific."

"I'm a very specific person."

Devon enters in his miniature tuxedo, looking older than seven (his birthday passed while I was unconscious, something I'll never forgive myself for).

"Dad's pacing," he reports. "Uncle Chase is trying to calm him down with whiskey."

"It's his second wedding to the same woman. Why is he nervous?"

"He says this one counts more because you almost died for us." Devon's matter-of-fact about it, but I see the shadow in his eyes.

I pull him close, careful of my dress. "I would do it again."

"I know. That's what scares me."

"Hey." I tilt his chin up. "No one's dying today. We're just getting dramatically married in front of three hundred people including several who tried to destroy us."

"So, a normal Tuesday for our family?"

"Exactly."

The ceremony itself is a blur of faces and vows and Leo's absolutely over-the-top musical selections. Theodore is notably absent—still in Switzerland, still seething, but legally impotent. Thomas is in prison, which is somehow both justice and tragedy. The board members are here, won over by Devon's charm and our sheer refusal to disappear.

"Do you, David Dickenson, take this woman you already married in a hospital against medical advice—" the officiant begins.

"That's not the traditional wording," Vlad interrupts.

"Leo paid me extra for personalization," the officiant explains.

Of course he did.

The vows are ones we wrote ourselves. Vlad's are predictably romantic, all promises of eternal devotion and references to that night six years ago. Mine are simpler: "You gave me Devon. You gave me a family. You gave me a reason to survive. I promise to keep surviving, with you, through whatever insanity comes next."

"That's it?" Leo whispers loudly. "I wrote you three pages of poetry!"

"That's why I wrote my own."

When we kiss, the crowd erupts. Devon plays Pachelbel's Canon on the piano, but his own way—adding flourishes that make it uniquely his. Leo actually cries, though he'll deny it later.

The reception is equally excessive. Ice sculptures that Leo insists represent "the duality of passion and refinement." A cake that's more architecture than dessert. Speeches that range from touching (Helen threatening Vlad again) to hilarious (Chase explaining how he knew we were meant to be "when Vlad punched Leo for her") to surprisingly moving (Cordelia declaring that I've brought "actual life to this mausoleum of a family").

Patricia Blackwood approaches during a quiet moment. "I owe you an apology."

"For?"

"Judging you. When Nathan first brought you around, I thought you weren't... suitable. Then when everything happened with Devon, I assumed the worst." She pauses. "I was wrong. You're exactly what this world needs—someone who refuses to play by our rules but wins anyway."

"I haven't won anything. I just survived."

"Sometimes that's the same thing."

As the evening winds down, I find myself on the terrace where everything went wrong at the rehearsal dinner. The space has been reclaimed, decorated with lights that make it look like stars have descended.

"Regrets?" Vlad asks, joining me.

"Never."

"Not even the stabbing?"

"Especially not the stabbing. It makes a great story. 'How did you finally get married?' 'Oh, I was stabbed at the rehearsal dinner, married him anyway.'"

"You're insane."

"You love it."

"I love you," he corrects. "The insanity is just bonus material."

Devon finds us there, Leo trailing behind him with champagne and juice.

"Uncle Leo says we should make a toast," Devon announces.

"Uncle Leo's drunk," Leo admits cheerfully. "But also right. To the most dysfunctional, dramatic, impossibly perfect family in existence."

"To choosing each other," Vlad adds.

"To surviving everything," I contribute.

"To me being the best uncle ever," Leo finishes.

"That wasn't the toast—"

"It is now."

We drink (juice for Devon, who makes a face like he's been included in something adult and important). Below us, Blackwood's grounds stretch out in winter darkness, lit by stars and possibility.

"What happens now?" Devon asks.

"Now," Vlad says, pulling us all closer, "we live. Normally. Quietly."

Leo laughs so hard he nearly drops his champagne. "Us? Normal? Quiet? We're Dickensons, darling. We don't do normal."

"We could try," I suggest.

"Where's the fun in that?" Devon asks, and he's so perfectly Leo's nephew in that moment it's terrifying.

"No fun at all," Leo agrees. "Besides, Theodore's still out there. The board still exists. Devon will need protecting from fortune hunters when he's older—"

"I'm seven!"

"Never too early to start planning. I've already got a list of suitable future spouses—"

"Leo!" Vlad and I say simultaneously.

"What? I'm being proactive. Also, Jasmine, you should know you're pregnant."

I stare at him. "What?"

"The hospital ran tests when you were stabbed. Routine pregnancy check before surgery. About six weeks along." He grins wickedly. "I've been waiting for the right dramatic moment to tell you."

"You've known for a MONTH?"

"The timing had to be perfect."

"I'm going to have a sibling?" Devon's eyes are huge.

"If your mother doesn't murder Uncle Leo first," Vlad says, but he's smiling, pulling me closer, hand splaying across my stomach where another impossible Dickenson is growing.

"This is insane," I say.

"This is perfect," Vlad counters.

"This is very Gothic," Leo adds. "Life from near-death. Very thematically appropriate."

"Everything's thematic with you."

"Everything should be. Life without theme is just chaos."

"Our life is chaos WITH theme," Devon points out.

We stand there, our ridiculous family, on the terrace where I almost died, at the school that brought us together, under stars that don't care about our drama but shine anyway.

"I love you all," I say, surprising myself with the admission. "Even you, Leo."

"Especially me," Leo corrects. "I'm the best part of this family."

"You're the most modest," Vlad says dryly.

"Modesty is for people without accomplishments."

We bicker gently, lovingly, the way families do when they've chosen each other despite everything. Or because of everything.

Tomorrow there will be new challenges. Theodore will scheme from Switzerland. The board will have opinions. The press will speculate. Another baby will complicate everything.

But tonight, we're together. Whole. A family forged from accident and choice, from halls and desperate kisses on dark stairs.

"Ready to go inside?" Vlad asks.

"One more minute," I request, leaning into him, Devon pressed against my other side, Leo standing guard like a particularly well-dressed gargoyle.

But the moment is shattered by Vlad's phone buzzing. He checks it, and his face goes pale.

"What is it?" I ask, though I already know it's nothing good.

He shows me the screen. A message from an unknown number, but the style is unmistakable—Theodore.

Congratulations on your wedding. And the pregnancy. Yes, I know about that too. My lawyers have found some very interesting discrepancies in the original DNA test. It seems someone may have tampered with the results. We'll be requesting a new test through the Swiss courts. International law is so much more... flexible than American. Enjoy your honeymoon. It may be shorter than you think. —T.D.

"He can't do that," Leo says, reading over our shoulders. "The tests were confirmed by three labs—"

"Were they?" Vlad's voice is strange. "Or did you tell me they were?"

Leo's silence is damning.

"Leo," I say slowly. "What did you do?"

"I protected our family," he says finally. "The results were... inconclusive on the first test. Some contamination. So I may have... ensured the second and third tests gave the right answer."

"The right answer or the true answer?"

"Does it matter? Devon is Vlad's son in every way that counts—"

"It matters if Theodore can prove tampering. It matters if he can challenge custody based on fraudulent documents." Vlad's voice is deadly quiet. "What else did you fake, Leo?"

"Nothing! Well, nothing major. Some financial records to make Jasmine look more stable. A few character references that didn't technically exist. Small things to ensure—"

"To ensure Theodore has ammunition to destroy us completely if he finds out."

My phone rings. Helen.

"Jasmine, there's someone here. At the house. A woman claiming to be... claiming she needs to speak to you about Devon's biological father. She says she has proof that—"

The line goes dead.

"Mom?" I'm already moving, but Leo catches my arm.

"It could be a trap."

"My mother's there. Alone."

"We'll all go," Vlad decides. "Devon stays here with security—"

"No way," Devon protests. "If this is about me, I'm coming."

Another text arrives, this time with a photo. Helen, sitting at her kitchen table across from a woman whose face is hidden. But I can see Helen's expression—shocked, devastated, like her world has just imploded.

"Who is that woman?" Vlad demands.

But I'm staring at what's on the table between them. Documents. Photos. And something that makes my blood run cold—a hospital bracelet. The kind they give you when you're admitted.

The kind I wore the night Devon was conceived.

But not from the hospital where I gave birth.

From a different hospital. A psychiatric facility.

One I've never been to.

Or have I?

The memories I've always had of that night—are they real? Or is there something else, something worse, something I've been made to forget?

"Jasmine?" Vlad's voice seems very far away. "What is it?"

"I..." The terrace spins around me. "I think there's something about that night. Something I don't remember. Or something I remember wrong."

Leo's face has gone ashen. "That's not possible."

"Isn't it?" I look at him sharply. "You just admitted to faking DNA tests. What else have you been hiding?"

"Nothing! I would never—"

Another photo arrives. This one is clearer. The woman's profile is visible now, and she looks familiar in a way that makes my chest tight.

She looks like me. But older. Harder.

Like the sister I never knew I had.

"We need to go," I say. "Now."

As we rush inside to gather our things, I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror—still in our wedding finery, but looking hunted rather than happy. This was supposed to be our perfect day. Our new beginning.

Instead, it feels like the beginning of our end.