By the time I straighten, the couple is upright again, foreheads pressed together, both of them grinning like idiots.
The sun sinks behind the horizon at that exact moment, washing the sky in gold and pink, and for one suspended breath it feels like the entire universe is glowing just for them.
They walk back up the aisle hand in hand, petals floating through the air around them. My heart squeezes so hard it almost hurts.
My baby sister.
Married. Happy. Certain.
And I cling to that certainty—hers—like it might be contagious.
THE DANCE
ASHLEY
As soon as they walk back up the aisle, Luna and Noah disappear the way we planned—spirited away to a quiet little side room off the courtyard where champagne and appetizers are waiting. Fifteen minutes just for them. No cameras, no questions, no audience.
A short breather before the next whirlwind.
Out here, everyone else drifts naturally into reception mode. People line up at the bar, claim tables, and chit chat over the beauty of the wedding… The noise level rises into that warm, happy buzz that sounds like clinking glasses and overlapping conversations.
I’m sitting at the head table, right next to Tay, Simon a few seats over. I listen to their idle chatter for a little while, sipping at a glass of red wine as we wait for the return of the bride and groom—though we’re not kept waiting for long.
“Damas y caballeros, ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ booms, accent thick and joyful.“Por primera vez esta noche—give it up for Doctooor y Señora Grrrrrrrady!”
Everyone claps, along with a few cat-call whistles andwhoop whoops, and as they step into the courtyard, Noah gallantly gives his bride a spin, making her dress swirl. By the time theyarrive at the head table, neither of them can stop grinning and they’re still holding hands.
It feels right—like all is exactly as it should be.
For a while.
From up here, I can see everything—the fairy lights, the clustered tables, the line at the bar… and my family. Every time I glance over, I feel like I’m on the outside looking in. Mom dabbing at her eyes, then laughing at something Babs says, Beckett straightening Blakey’s bow tie or intercepting Max’s attempt to turn his napkin into a cape.
I can’t just sit here anymore, so instead of digging into the plate of food in front of me, I push away from the table.
“I’m going to check on the boys,” I murmur to Luna.
“Go,” she says, squeezing my fingers. “I’ve got Noah to entertain me.”
I slip down from the head table, and before I can decide whether I would be hovering or intruding, Beckett spots me.
He’s on his feet right away. “Hey, look who’s here,” he says to the boys, then glances at the chairs. All full.
Max starts to scoot his own seat closer to the table, guarding it like treasure. “But there’s no?—”
“Hey, bud.” Beckett leans down, voice low but warm. “Remember what we talked about? Being a gentleman?”
Max pauses. I can practically see the gears turning.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
“So what do gentlemen do when a lady needs a seat?” Beckett asks.
Max huffs out a put-upon little sigh that doesn’t fool anyone. Then he struggles with the chair for a second—legs scraping the stone—before tugging it back from the table and turning it toward me.
“Have my seat, Mom,” he says, trying to sound casual and grown-up at the same time.
My throat gets tight. “Thank you, sir,” I say, playing along as I sit.
