This is my Caroline.
Her hair, a tangle of waves, is pulled away from her face, but a few strands tug free and cut across her face as she spins. Slow motion. Pause. Rewind. I want to do all of these during this moment. The camera flashes, and I’m thankful the photographer saw what I just did and was wise enough to capture it.
My chest aches. The love I have for her is soencompassing, I’m not sure she’ll ever truly know how much she means to me or how far I’ll go to make her happy. Finally. Finally. I have what I desire most in this crazy world. My very own sunshine. Even on those days when I’m thinking about dark things, I know that by walking into the room she’ll steal those thoughts away.
How do I tell Caroline she’s saving me without telling her why?
“Tahoe,” Caroline calls, h34 mouth grinning around my name. “Come here.”
Standing from our little table, I approach her and her dad. The blush of her cheeks and the sheen on her neck call out to the beast that lies dormant. I finally get to tap him on the shoulder. Tonight. Our wedding night is here.
“The band is playing our song next. Are you ready?”
I grin, and her gaze darts to my lips. The dimple she loves. “I’m never not ready,” I reply.
Mr. May shakes my hand and kisses her on the cheek and heads back to Mrs. May, who is crying and laughing in the same measure. She knew all along. Or so she told me when I asked them both for permission to marry Caroline. They were both overzealous in their acceptance of my offer, even going as far as telling me I needed to propose as soon as possible. That was when she was recovering, though. I think we all thought her acceptance or refusal was a shot in the dark.
I was the one to get her back in a plane. I think that’s when they knew she’d be back to her old self in no time. I was fucking petrified we would crash. Not because she was piloting, but because that’s what happens anytimeyou hear about an airplane crash on the news. You wonder if yours is going down next. The fact that I saw her fiery wreckage didn’t help my phobia either.
“Have I told you how ravishing you look tonight?” I take her into my arms, and the camera flashes.
“Only about a thousand times,” she replies. “How are we going to do this dance? Malena was probably right. We should have practiced or something, right?”
Malena did an awesome job. But I think most of this wedding came together because of the small town of Bronze Bay. They drop everything to help one of their own, and the fact is we didn’t want anything fancy.
The band came from the next town over, and we have the restaurant hookup already. I’m wearing my uniform, and Caroline’s dress is a remake of her mother’s that the town seamstress updated for this decade. For something so impossible, it came together effortlessly, like this was how it was always supposed to happen.
My buddies shout out from the corner bar when the band starts the familiar twang of our song. She wraps her hands around my neck and presses her lips into a thin line. Someone is clinking their glasses, signaling they want us to kiss. I lean down and give her a chaste peck, and she narrows her eyes.
I laugh. “We can’t give them too much. That’s ours, remember? After we finish up here?”
The reminder sets her on fire. I know what to say, and it thrills me to no end. “Mrs. Holiday.”
“I’m like Mrs. Claus now,” Caroline jokes.
I lean over and lean into her ear. “Ho. Ho. Ho.”
She gasps. “You’re Mr. Holiday tonight.”
I swallow hard. “You’re my wife. Thank you, Caroline. Thank you.”
The music slows. “Thank you for loving me.”
“I never had a choice in that,” I reply. “First, I took over the beach. The one you took your first steps on. Then I took over your airport. The one your family owns. The next logical step was to love you. For the rest of my life.”
Holding her face with my left hand, I hope she feels the platinum band rest on her cheekbone. “You’re so suave sometimes,” she says. Resting the side of her face on my chest, she stays that way for a few moments.
“Sometimes?” I mock. “I feel like you’re shortchanging me.”
“All the time. Fine. When you’re not being silent and stoic, that is.”
“That’s a defense mechanism,” I argue. “It’s how I try not to fall in love.”
“Remind me of that when you’re being stoic with your friends,” she says, smirking.
I laugh. “You’re feeling frisky tonight.”
“In more ways than one.”
