I had definitely picked the perfect spot for the wedding.
The air was salty and a gentle breeze stirred the stars Corabelle had repainted from Jenny’s shower. The arch was almost invisible, white against the white clouds. Beyond it, the sea stretched into the horizon, as if infinity itself was in attendance.
In the dozen or so chairs angled toward the cliff’s edge were all the people who mattered. Corabelle and Gavin, Manuelito on his lap. Jenny and Chance, who was jiggling Phoenix to keep her quiet. Stella.
Layla sat in the back row with an empty seat we had reserved in memory of Albert. I bit my lip for a moment, trying to rein in my emotions. Jenny would kill me if I messed up her careful makeup job.
I took a few steps back so I was hidden behind a bush. My father and I waited at the top of the trail for Darion’s little sister to arrive, signaling that Darion and his father were in place. The breeze stirred the gauzy skirt of my dress, lifting the lightweight fabric so that it brushed my knees.
I looked down at my stockings, the gold and silver stripes so subtle that it appeared my legs were simply white. I passed the bouquet of pastel roses to my father for a moment so I could straighten the crazy complicated bodice of the dress, a million seed pearls sewn onto a corset. It gave me the illusion of having boobs and made a nice straight line over my just-starting-to-pop belly. I assumed the boobs would come later or Junior was going to be seriously malnourished.
The pregnancy was going fine. Now that the second trimester had begun, I felt a lot less sick. The cervical stitch was in, a little wire loop that kept things shut tight until it was time to deliver. I was calm. Well, as calm as anyone could be on their wedding day.
“You look perfect,” Dad said. “Never a bride any prettier than you.”
I gave him a nervous smile and took the bouquet back. He tucked my hand inside the crook of his arm.
Darion’s nine-year-old sister, Cynthia, popped out from behind a bush. “Time to go!” she said. She was adorable and pixie-like in her vivid blue dress.
I peered back down the trail. She was right. The JP was in place under the arch, and Darion and his dad were just walking up to stand beside him.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“Right here!” she said, picking her way down the trail. “Had to pin the boutonniere on your boy!”
My heart squeezed that she was standing in at least a little for Darion’s mom, who had died so many years ago. “Thank you.”
“I’m so excited!” she said. “I never got to be a maid of honor before! And here I am, at my ripe old age.”
“You’re not old, Mom,” I said. “And you look great.”
“Thank you for not going with a pastel,” she said. She swished the skirt of her sapphire dress. “I’m going to go out dancing in this number.”
“You’ll knock everybody’s socks off,” Dad said.
Mom blushed.
“The officiant is waving at us,” Dad said. “I think it’s time.”
Cynthia jumped in the air with excitement. “I’m going!” She struck out down the trail, picking flower petals from her basket and dropping them in the dirt.
Mom waited a few moments, then followed her.
Dad squeezed my arm. “This is one of the happy days,” he said. “Savor as much of it as you can.”
“I will, Dad,” I said.
As we headed up the trail, the solo violinist began to play, a lovely sweet song that Darion’s mother had written when he was young. It had words, but we didn’t ask anyone to sing. Cynthia had said she’d be too nervous.
But when we arrived at the chairs, I realized she had changed her mind, because she was standing by Darion, belting out the chorus.
Love is tender, love is tough
Don’t ever think you’ve had enough
I bent to kiss the top of her elaborate hairdo and stood to one side of her as Dad left me to go sit in the chairs. When the song ended, Darion gave her a hug and whispered, “Thank you.” She moved into her place between him and their father.
I passed my bouquet to my mom and turned to Darion. This was it.
He looked amazing in a traditional black tux with a tie that matched my mother’s dress. The breeze ruffled his dark hair. My stomach fluttered. I was getting married. Me. This was crazy.
I must have looked uncertain, because Darion took my hands and lifted them both to his lips. “I love you,” he said quietly. “Besides, you can probably have it annulled tomorrow.”
The JP, who had taken in a deep breath to start the ceremony, let out a gush of air instead. “Really?” he asked.
I laughed. “I’m a little gun-shy,” I said. “But I think this one is going to stick.”