Chapter 10 - Clear Skies
When I returned to the ballroom, the lights had been dimmed to a warm, amber glow.
Daniel was standing near the edge of the dance floor, holding two glasses of champagne. When he saw me, his shoulders relaxed visibly. He handed me a flute and leaned down to touch his forehead against mine.
“Everything handled?” he asked.
“Completely,” I said.
“No colored smoke?”
“Just oxygen.”
At Table 2, the seats were empty.
My parents, Chloe, and Tyler had departed. They had slipped out through the side terrace doors without saying goodbye to Aunt Sarah, without leaving a card on the gift table, and without waiting for the cake cutting.
Aunt Sarah caught my eye from across the room, lifted her wine glass in a solitary, approving salute, and turned back to laugh with one of Daniel’s college friends.
The DJ announced our first dance.
Daniel led me to the center of the parquet floor. The string lights above cast delicate, diamond-shaped patterns across the old oak. The music started—slow, resonant, and uncluttered.
*“Darling, you send me…”*
Daniel pulled me close, his arm wrapping around my waist with solid, unwavering strength. I rested my cheek against his lapel, breathing in the scent of cedar, clean linen, and night air.
There were no cold spark fountains shooting sparks toward the historic ceiling. There was no chemical pink fog clinging to the hems of our clothes. There was no confetti to sweep out of the floorboards tomorrow morning.
There was only the quiet, brilliant clarity of a room filled with people who had come simply to witness two adults choose one another.
“You okay?” Daniel murmured into my hair as we turned slowly beneath the lights.
May you like
I looked up at him—at the steady eyes that had never demanded I justify my existence, at the hands that took only what was offered, at the life we were about to begin together on Monday morning.
“I’m better than okay,” I told him, and for the first time in thirty-four years, every word was entirely my own.
