She leans into me during the funny parts, her shoulder brushing mine. When the bride’s father gets emotional talking about family, she blinks quickly, looking down at her hands like she doesn’t want anyone to see her reaction.
And I think—God. She deserves moments like this. A family like this. A life like this. Real and loud and messy and happy.Not the cage she grew up in. Not the fear she lives under now.
The DJ calls out something about “inviting all couples to the floor,” and before I even have time to think, my hand is already reaching for hers.
“Dance with me?” I ask.
Her eyes flick to the crowd, to the packed dance floor, to the open space waiting for us.
Then back to me.
“Yes,” she says softly.
I take her hand and lead her out, and the moment I pull her into my arms, something in my world clicks into place with ease.
The song is slow and familiar. The same one Juliet played for our first dance at our wedding.
I feel it, the moment she realizes this is “our song” too, and then I feel her fingers tighten just a fraction at the back of my neck.
Her body fits against mine like I was made for this exact purpose. Her hand rests against my chest, right over my heart, like she’s grounding me… or maybe like she’s feeling how fast it’s beating.
“You’re a good dancer,” she whispers.
“I warned you about that,” I tease softly. “Grew up getting dragged to weddings. You pick up a few moves whether you want to or not.”
“It’s not that.” She swallows. “It’s the way you hold me.”
My throat goes tight.
“How’s that?” I ask quietly.
“Like you know exactly how to.”
I tighten my arm around her waist, drawing her in closer.
“Maybe I do.”
Her eyelashes flicker at my confirmation. Around us, couples sway, lights twinkling overhead, the whole room slow and soft. And she looks up at me with those steel-blue eyes, like she wants to memorize my face. Like she’s searching for something in it.
All I can think is,“Ask me to make this whole thing real for you… for us.”And I would.
The thought hits me so hard I almost stumble.
But then the song ends.
Her fingers slip from my neck, the heat of her body against mine fades quickly as she takes a step back. Reality drops between us like an anvil.
“I’m going to get drinks,” she says, voice light but too controlled. “Do you want anything?”
“Water,” I manage. “Please.”
She nods and slips away through the crowd.
I watch her go, the sway of her dress, the careful composure settling over her like armor again.
And for a moment, I stand there in the middle of the dance floor, hands empty, thinking—I’m falling for my wife, but she didn’t sign up for that.
I duck into the restroom after the dance, mostly because I need a second to get my head on straight.
