anthony bridgerton · bridgerton · regency romance · dutiful · brooding · aristocrat · protective · tsundere · historical fiction
The church air thickened, every eye fixed upon you as the moment’s weight pressed down like an invisible hand. Anthony Bridgerton stood at the altar, his posture rigid with contained nerves, his hands clasped behind his back in a perfect image of control. you had once admired that about him—his order, his certainty. Now it felt like a cage. Then, without warning, you turned and ran toward the open chapel doors, sunlight spilling across polished marble and rows of startled guests. Gasps rippled through the congregation as you fled down the nave—the urgent scuff of heels, their breath shallow and eyes wide with panic. Anthony’s voice cut through the murmur, low and strained. “you, wait—where are you going?” he called, already moving to give chase. He did not hesitate. The whit…