The restaurant erupts in rowdy cheers as Trace kisses me long and hard on the stage at the center of the dining room. You may kiss the bride reverberates through the chambers of my heart, expanding my chest to accommodate the overwhelming swell of emotion.
We did it.
We’re married.
It’s so surreal I continue to stand in place after he jumps down and holds up his hand. The hard, shiny band of platinum on his finger is made of elegant, unbending strength like the man I chose it for.
He’s wearing a wedding ring.
This obscenely gorgeous man in a tailored black tuxedo with arresting blue eyes is my husband.
I pinch myself to make sure it’s real.
He transformed Bissara into an opulent seating room for the wedding ceremony and stood beside me on the stage encased in the beam of light as we made our vows. There’s no place in the world I would’ve rather married. He fell in love with me when he first saw me at the restaurant. I fell in love with him while I danced on this stage. He proposed to me right here in this dining room.
This is our home.
“Mrs. Savoy.” He grips my hand and pulls me to the edge. “You owe me a dance before I take you upstairs and rip that dress from your hot little body.”
There’s no way I’m letting him destroy this dress. The sleeveless sweetheart neckline and heavily embellished bodice hugs my frame like a dream. Ruffles of white lace tumble from my waist in a romantic A-line. The layering of the skirt gives it a bohemian feel with the illusion of a back chapel train. It flows around my legs without tangling, making it ideal for dancing. He did good. Better than good. I couldn’t have picked a more perfect dress.
I lean toward him, and he clutches my waist, swinging me off the stage. Then we’re moving, caught up in a chaotic whirlwind as two-hundred wedding guests make their way to the ballroom.
He didn’t close the gaming area, so there are unfamiliar smiles everywhere, people crowding around to check out the excitement.
We wind through the maze of clinking, flashing slot machines, stopping every few feet for handshakes, hugs, and tearful congratulations from wedding guests and casino patrons. It takes forever to walk such a short distance, but Trace holds tight to my hand the entire time.
Until he doesn’t.
He jerks away from me, his attention on something in the crowd.
“Trace?” I grip his arm, following his gaze, unable to see whatever it is he’s looking for.
“I need to…” He sprints away, pushing through the throngs of people in his hurry.
My stomach hardens, and a chill skates down my spine. What the hell is happening?
I crane my neck, holding my breath. That’s when I see it.
The back of a black leather jacket.
The military-style cut of familiar brown hair.
Trace is chasing Cole.
My heart falls with an agonizing thud. I scoop it up, along with layers of ruffled lace, and chase them.
Evidently, the sight of a runaway bride makes people scatter, because the crowd parts as I barrel forward, hugging the skirts around my thighs. I spot Trace at the entrance twenty feet away. He shoves his way through the doors and vanishes into the night.
I pick up my pace, pulse racing and lungs burning. I have no idea what I’ll find when I get there, but my eyes are already aching with tears.
Just inside the lobby, I reach the exterior glass door and slam to a stop, spotting them instantly. My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a whimper.
Cole’s motorcycle is parked on the curb of the circle drive. He and Trace stand beside it, locked in an embrace. Trace’s head is lowered, his mouth moving at Cole’s ear as Cole nods and hugs him tighter.
Silent tears stream down my face. I press my palm to the glass, dying to go to them. But I won’t. I never want to come between them again.
Cole’s hair is shorter, his brawn impossibly more defined. He looks harder, older, but healthy. I wouldn’t dare say he’s happy, but the set of his shoulders shows purpose, his posture radiating determination. His eyes… I can’t see…
He lifts his head and stares directly at me. I stop breathing, and my hand slides off the window, falling to my side.
Trace releases him, and they step back. Cole rests his fingers in his jean pockets, scans my wedding gown from chest to toes, and returns to my eyes.
“Be happy,” he mouths and gives me a soft dimpled smile.
My lips curve upward, despite the terrible tremble in my chin. “Be safe.”
He stares at me as I stare him, suspended in a moment as defining as the day we met. Our story began and ended with a smile, every second in between marked with love.
He looks away first and turns to Trace. They exchange more words, their postures relaxed and eyes bright.
Without another glance in my direction, Cole straddles the motorcycle and rumbles out of my life the same way he rumbled into it.
I feel the loss all over again, but it’s swaddled in an unexplainable sense of peace. I watch the fade of his taillight long after the darkness swallows it, and so does Trace.
Eventually, Trace turns to me and shakes his head with a concerned look on his face. He strides in my direction and steps inside.
“Sorry I left you standing there.” He pulls a tissue from his pocket and wipes my cheeks. “You messed up your makeup.”
“I don’t care about the makeup.” I grip his wrist, stalling his hand. “You invited him?”
“Yes. I thought you both might need closure.”
“I know you told me you’re still friends, but witnessing with my own eyes…” My chest hitches with a ragged breath. “It’s the best wedding gift you could’ve given me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He pockets the tissue, studying me closely. “You can ask me what we talked about.”
“If I need to know, I trust you’ll tell me.”
He cradles my face in his hands and leans his forehead against mine. “I love you, Danni Savoy.”
“I love y—”
He kisses the words from my mouth with a passion that choreographs the dance of my heart.
Hours later, after dinner and speeches and cake, we stand at the center of the dance floor, surrounded by friends and family. Bree and my parents, colleagues and old neighbors—everyone is here.
“This is it, my tiny dancer.” He trails his fingertips across my cheek. “Your one and only chance to put a dance in the history books of best-ever first dances. No pressure.”
“I’m not sweating it.” I might be sweating it.
A few minutes ago, I gave the DJ a song title, one I didn’t have to think about. I meet the DJ’s eyes, letting him know I’m ready. Then I turn back to Trace and smile.
The piano harmony of Yours by Ella Henderson spirals around us, pulling us closer, chest to chest, hand and hand, hearts beating.
“You’re my waltz.” I kiss his neck, whisper in his ear, “I’m yours.”
His chest rises and falls on a deep inhale. Then we move together, our love leading the steps, guiding our breaths, carrying us elegantly, fluidly across the floor with sweeping turns.
I cling to him, all wide shoulders and arctic eyes, lost in his depths. This is the dance, the one I’ll always remember. To everyone watching, it’s a waltz—the controlled, pronounced, wave-like rise and fall. But to us, it’s the beginning of forever, the swelling and contracting of passion, with our hearts thundering at the center of the turns.
“I’ll never be finished with you.” He yanks me close, his breath at my ear.
“Good thing this is a forever thing.”
The moments, the memories, the pain, and the happiness—I’m grateful for it all.
Everything led me to him.