Chapter 50 The Dance
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 Senora Grrrrrrrady!”
Everyone claps, along with a few cat-call whistles and whoop whoops, and as they step into the courtyard, Noah gallantly gives his bride a spin, making her dress swirl. By the time they arrive 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.
Blakey immediately pats his own chair. “You can share with me, Max. We’ll be squished, but it’s okay.”
Max climbs onto his brother’s chair without hesitation, their shoulders bumping.
And along my back, I feel Beckett’s hand resting lightly.
“We’ve missed you, you know,” he says, like I’ve just come home from somewhere much farther than the head table. And for the first time all evening, I don’t feel like I’m watching my life from the outside.
I’m where I’m supposed to be.
For a while, it’s just food and laughter and clinking glasses, and the courtyard settles into that warm, fuzzy hum that only happens when people are full and happy.
Then the music shifts.
Chairs scrape back as the DJ announces the first dance.
Luna and Noah step out into the center of the courtyard, slow, swaying, the two of them in their own little world.
After that, Luna dances with our mom, Noah with his, a soft, sentimental song threading through it all.
Then the DJ steps up to the microphone again.
“Alright, married couples,” he says. “I want all of you out here for this next one. We’re doing an anniversary dance.”
Couples start to rise, laughing and tugging each other along.
And Beckett stands as well. Holds out his hand.
I put my hand in his, warm. Like coming home.
“It’s been too long,” Beckett says as we step onto the dance floor, with a myriad of other married couples.
“I know.”
At Last by Etta James is already playing as Beckett lifts my hand to his chest, slipping his arm around my waist.
I feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress. My free hand rests on his shoulder, then slides up to the back of his neck.
We start to sway.
I follow his lead, and it’s almost like we’re one person instead of two.
“Quite a crowd,” the DJ calls over the music. “Let’s thin this out a little. If you’ve been married less than a day, please leave the floor.”
Luna and Noah stop dancing, make a bow and curtsy to one another while everyone cheers.
I purse my lips and let out a small, dissatisfied hum. Because they’ve been married for, what, two weeks now?
Beckett’s eyes lock on mine, smiling secretly. “Are you still mad about that?” he asks.
“I don’t like secrets,” I say. “But I’ll get over it. Eventually.”
His steps falter, but only for half a second.
Instead of saying anything, he pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin.
“Thank you.” His voice rumbles from above me, and I have to pull back.
I have to see his eyes.
“I never said thank you.” His expression is suddenly too intense for the lazy sway of the music.
“For what?”
“For everything you’ve done this year.” His thumb draws slow circles at my waist. “With the boys. The house. And now, this week… Just… everything.”
My throat tightens. “Beckett—”
“I didn’t want you to worry. I never meant…” He turns his head, avoiding my gaze. “But I need you to know that you and the boys will always be taken care of. No matter what.”
I cannot ignore the chill that slides down my spine.
Does he think I’m giving up?
All along, I’ve been thinking the choice was mine, but what if…?
“I didn’t mean it.” I never should have said those words… “That night,” I whisper. “When I said I didn’t love you anymore. I didn’t mean it. Of course I didn’t mean it.”
“I know,” he says. “Even though it hurt like hell to hear you say it.” His voice is low, rough. “I never stopped loving you. Not for one damn second.”
My breath hitches. “I know that,” I manage, my voice catching.
“Five years!” the DJ calls. “If you’ve been married less than five years, step off the floor!”
More couples leave, laughing, clapping for the ones who stay. The circle shrinks around us.
Beckett’s hand presses more firmly into my back, like he’s trying to anchor us both. “Ash,” he murmurs, “when we get home… some stuff’s going to come out. About work.”
My stomach tightens. “What kind of stuff?” The air shifts. My breath sticks in my throat. “Are you in trouble, Beckett?”
His jaw tics. “I can’t talk about it. Not yet.” He swallows. “But if something happens… go to Nick.”
“Nick?” My voice is barely audible. “Nick Watson? Why would I need to go to him?” I have vague memories of sitting in the attorney’s office, signing dozens of papers, estate planning, living wills…
Before he can answer, the DJ’s voice booms across the speakers again. “Ten years! If you’ve been married less than ten years, give it up for the couples staying on!”
We stay. Almost twelve years. A lifetime. A blink.
Cheers erupt around us. Beckett’s mouth is near mine, and the courtyard spins gently as we turn. The music feels too soft for the way my heart is pounding.
I step back, just enough to see his face. “Why are you telling me this now?”
He opens his mouth—then stops.
“Fifteen years!” the DJ announces. “If you’ve been married less than fifteen years, step off and cheer for the couples still out there!”
That’s our cue.
We gently break apart and start edging toward the side of the dance floor as people clap and hoot for the older couples who remain. Beckett doesn’t let go of my hand. He leans in, voice low.
“Just in case,” he says. “It’s probably nothing. I just… needed you to know.”
My fingers tighten around his. He’s trying to sound casual, but the look on his face isn’t.
My heart skips a beat and then starts racing.
Before either of us can say anything else, two small comets slam into us.
“Mom!” Max bounces in place, a little whine creeping into his voice. “When do we get to dance?”
“Soon,” I say, glancing toward the dance floor. The anniversary dance is winding down. Only a few couples remain now, slow-stepping in soft circles as the DJ calls out the years. One more beat, and he announces the winners—Roger and Helen, still swaying in each other’s arms, beaming.
“Now, Mom?” Blakey presses, eyes wide with hope. “They’re done with the mooshy stuff.” His voice drops low, serious as a heart attack. “We’ve been practicing.”
Max nods furiously. “We have moves!”
Their patience has never been their strong suit, but today, they’ve been amazing. Patient. Well-behaved. Tuxedo-clad little gentlemen who’ve waited through photos, a long dinner, and rituals I’d never expect them to understand.
I glance at Beckett. He’s grinning, but there’s a tightness still lingering in his jaw.
Well, it’s not like we can sort anything out right here. “What are we waiting for?” I say, maybe just a little too brightly.
A faster song kicks in as we let the boys pull us back onto the dance floor, and I just… let go.
It feels reckless.
Too much, too fast, right on the heels of what Beckett just said.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe it’s exactly because we don’t know what’s coming next that we lose ourselves in this moment. Before it slips through our fingers.
And for a while, it’s a blur of little feet, wild arm flails, and Max attempting some kind of slide that nearly takes out Rocky’s ankles.
We dance as a four-person unit, our weird little constellation. Max spins until he’s dizzy, Blakey claps offbeat, and Beckett does this ridiculous shoulder shimmy that has both boys howling.
Only a few songs later, the twins are panting, cheeks pink, hair sticking up in sweaty cowlicks.
“I’m tired,” Blakey declares, leaning heavily into my side.
“My legs are noodles,” Max groans, flopping against Beckett.
Mom appears beside us with Babs, both of them clearly winding down, their lipstick a little smudged and hair a little less perfect than it was at the start of the night.
“Time for us to head back to the ship,” Mom says. “These two look done.”
“They are done,” I agree. The adrenaline that’s been propping me up all day is starting to thin out, too.
I glance over at Beckett. “Tay and I need to help with the breakdown.”
I promised Luna we’d make sure nothing was left behind when the ship set sail later tonight, and we have tons to do.
As per ship rules, our luggage needs to be placed outside our cabins by 11 pm. I’d meant to get it together after lunch today, but…
Beckett seems to read my mind. “I’ll help your mom pack up the boys' stuff and then work on our suite,” he says immediately.
I hesitate. Part of me doesn’t want to let him out of my sight, especially after the little bombshell he dropped during our dance.
This is for the best, though. Divide and conquer. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll come back on the last shuttle with the others.”
Max looks between us, suddenly worried. “Don’t be late, Mom. The ship waits for no one.”
I crouch and smooth his hair back from his forehead. “I’m never late, kiddo. I’ll head back as soon as I can. Somebody’s gotta make sure Aunt Luna’s presents don’t get left behind.”
He nods, accepting that as a sacred mission.
Blakey yawns so wide his jaw pops. God, it’s been a long day for all of us.
Mom and Babs start herding the boys toward the shuttle area. Beckett hangs back for a second.
“Hey,” he says softly.
I turn.
He steps in close, one hand sliding around the back of my neck, and…
He kisses me.
Not like a husband.
Like a lover.
When he reluctantly pulls back, it takes a few seconds for me to come back to Earth.
““If you aren’t back by ten, I’m coming after you.” He rests his forehead lightly against mine. “Remember, you don’t have to do everything alone. You can delegate, you know.”
“I know,” I agree, and for a few seconds, I feel oddly hopeful.
Tay appears at my side, bumps her shoulder into mine, and chuckles. “I’ll grab the gift cards and meet you in the bridal suite?”
“Perfect,” I say.
The next hour is a whirlwind of packing up makeup bags and curling irons, double-checking envelopes, organizing gifts, and thanking anyone still standing. Vendors get paid. Leftover cake gets boxed. And through it all, I stay in motion—efficient, helpful, calm.
By the time I finally climb onto the last shuttle, shoes in hand and cheeks aching from too many smiles, I’m almost too tired to think.
Despite… everything, it really was a beautiful wedding.