Page 104 of Second Dance
And kiss in the rain
as a saxophone wails.
Waiting for the right time
to appear
in the indigo night.
On the evening of my wedding to Gillian, the sun was just beginning its slow descent into the Pacific, the horizon washed in gold and apricot light. We’d chosen the fragile hour when day and night meet to exchange our vows in the last warmth of sunlight lingering even as the air cooled.
The patio had been transformed by the wedding planner we’d hired. Lanterns hung from the pergola beams and curved tree branches, their soft light spilling over everything it touched. Strings of smaller bulbs traced the edges of the roofline and railings, their reflections doubling in the pool below so that the lantern light seemed to multiply, glowing like earthbound stars.
The pool itself was the centerpiece—half covered with clear glass tiles that caught the fading sunlight and shimmered like liquid crystal, the other half open and filled with floating lanterns, each one carrying a single white candle that drifted lazily across the surface. From where I stood beneath the arch, they looked like tiny constellations moving with the tide. Later, the covered side would become our makeshift dance floor—an illusion of walking on water under the glow of lantern light.
A long table stretched across the back of the patio, covered in linen the color of sand, the center lined with blush-pink roses, trailing ivy, and the faint flicker of votive candles waiting to be lit. Chairs in simple white rows faced the ocean, angled so every guest could see both the horizon and the arch. The air smelled of salt and roses, with hints of the feast being prepared by the caterers inside the kitchen.
Beyond it all, the Pacific gleamed like polished glass, the horizon melting into shades of tangerine and lilac. The sound of waves reached us in slow, steady breaths.
I stood beneath the wooden arch we’d had made for the occasion—five-sided to represent our new family and adorned with pale pink roses and strands of ivy.
Seated in several rows of white chairs were all the people we held dear. Gillian’s best friends and their children. For Gillian, they were her extended family and were quickly becoming that for me too. A few colleagues who had helped me build the company and their wives were in attendance, as was Ben. At the moment, he was staring right at Sonya. He’d been widowed around the same time as I, and seeing the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her made me wonder if he, too, was ready for love again. I made a mental note to have him over to the house as soon as we returned from our honeymoon.
Sonya stood in the center of the arch, elegant in a black gown and looking every bit the embodiment of grandmotherly wisdom. Her silver hair was pulled back into a chignon tonight, a few tendrils escaping to dance in the ocean breeze. Layers of bohemian jewelry—silver pendants and beads—adorned her neck and wrists.
“Sonya, you look very pretty,” I said.
“You look like a fairy godmother,” Bella said to Sonya.
Beaming, Sonya flushed and said, “Gillian helped me pick the dress. I feel like a rich lady tonight.”
Sonya had cried when I asked her to be our officiant at our wedding ceremony, but recovered quickly to tell me she’d be honored.
“But why me, Señor Alex?” she’d asked.
“Because you’re an important part of this family,” I’d replied.
Now, she caught my eye and winked. “You okay, Señor Alex?”
“I’m good. Nervous,” I said under my breath.
Peter fiddled with his indigo tie, shifting weight from one foot to the other. Bella stood on my other side in a full-length gown in the same deep indigo. Gillian had let the girls pick their own dresses, as long as the colors matched. They’d chosen different styles, each representative of their personalities. Bella’s design was simple, almost architectural, with slim straps and afitted waist that flared gently into a sweeping skirt. Although she’d balked somewhat at the idea of wearing such a fancy gown, once she tried it on, she’d decided it was all right for a tomboy to take a night off. She looked both grown-up and sweetly young as she smiled up at me. “You got this, Dad.”
And then, the music swelled.
Grace appeared at the doors that led out to the patio. Her indigo dress was pure old-Hollywood glamour—a strapless, tea-length gown with a fitted bodice and flared skirt as dramatic as our Grace herself. The color was deep and striking, the perfect contrast against her glowing skin and the pale blush roses she carried. With her hair swept into soft curls and her usual sparkle, she looked like she’d stepped straight out of a classic film reel, every bit the star she’d always dreamed of being.
All three of them wore indigo—the color Gillian had chosen to represent twilight, summer skies, and the ribbon that bound our five souls together.
Then Gillian stepped into view.
My knees felt weak at the sight of her.
Her gown, an ethereal creation of tulle and lace that seemed to float with every step, shimmered in the golden hour. The bodice was delicately structured, a modern corset softened by intricate embroidery and tiny seed pearls that caught the last of the sunlight. The strapless neckline revealed her muscular shoulders and the graceful line of her collarbones, while the full skirt fell in airy layers that rippled like ocean foam.
I swallowed hard, my vision blurring as she came closer. The lanterns flickered around her like fireflies, the scent of roses drifting on the salt air.
When Grace placed Gillian’s hand in mine, her eyes were bright with tears.
