Chapter 35
SOSIE
Igot the high heels—sparkling like diamonds.
The dress that hits just above the knees reminds me of classic photos from the fifties and sixties in New York City. I topped it off with a simple tennis necklace I stole from the tree just for the night. It will be returned to its proper place by morning.
And I got the husband, one who loves me more than anything. He even puts up with my early morning photo shenanigans. With our arms around each other and our lips pressed together, our tongues tempt the other into a slow dance.
A cleared throat disturbs the path we were headed down, which would have led us to bed instead of the reception. My eyes flutter open to find my dream come true already smiling at me. “We’re married.”
The man was enough, but that phrase alone sends my heart soaring. “We are.”
Another clearing of the throat pulls us from our daydream to the judge standing before us. “You don’t have to stop, but you need to move it outside. I have another ceremony to perform.”
Taking my hand, Keats leads me through the small group of friends and family who were here to witness the legal declaration of our love. Now, the only two who can tear us apart just willingly signed their names to a legally binding certificate.
The guests follow us into the large lobby, where voices echo if they don’t keep it down.
We could have gotten married anywhere, but a small ceremony at the courthouse was all we wanted.
In the excitement, we’re surrounded by our loved ones, but I sneak through to hug my mom first. The embrace is comforting, and the hold tight enough for us to silently say what we haven’t been able to.
I’m sorry.
I forgive you.
I want you in my life.
I’m not sure we have to, judging by the steps we’ve made. She’s here with a clean slate as far as I’m concerned.
“Congratulations. What a beautiful thing to witness.” Her hand is over her heart while tears tease her lower lids. “I brought you these.” She reaches down to grab a large tote that sat at her feet. “One’s a wedding gift. The others are things I thought you should have, like your Paddington bear.”
“That’s so thoughtful. I’d love to have that.” I glance as she hands the bag to me and do a double take. “Is that my photography portfolio?”
“You always took beautiful photos. I thought you might like to have them back.” Her hands grip around mine holding the tote. “We can arrange for you to come get anything else you’d like. I know . . .” She looks down and takes a breath. “You left in such a hurry, so if there’s anything you want.”
“I’ll let you know.” Just before I hug her, Marcy swings by to sweep the bag from my hands. I say what I wish I would have said the other day, “I love you, Mom.”
Keats captures my hand, and I slide against him, tucked under his arm. “This is my husband.” I glance up at Keats. “This is my mom.”
“Kelly,” she says, holding out her hand.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard her referred to by only her first name.
Kelly and Stansbury are always used together, or Mrs. Stansbury for those less acquainted.
Stansbury is a name to drop for entrance into society.
It has a standing invitation to every party of note and charity event.
It’s a mover and shaker in Manhattan and is used to get what they want.
Shaking her hand, Keats says, “It’s nice to meet you, Kelly.”
“Congratulations.” Her eyes pivot to mine before returning to his. “My daughter is an incredible person. The best I know.” Her words might be curated, but the true meaning is heard.
Keats holds me a little tighter. “Me too.”
I could be embarrassed, but having her here and seeing them interact brings a fullness to my chest like the void is gone altogether.
Marcy’s voice catches our attention. “We need to start toward the doors. There’s a car waiting for the newlyweds after they take photos, and one for everyone else to take us to the reception.
” Pointing toward the exit, she says, “Let’s move it on out.
” I can’t help but laugh. You’d think there was a massive crowd and not just six of us in total.
Lori comes around to hug us, and I take a quick moment to hug Michael and Marcy before we leave.
The four of them make their way down the steps, but we stay, the photographer already taking photos as the pigeons fly up in annoyance.
That will make for a great photo. I’m sure the one of me screaming when a bird gets too close will as well.
Keats and I kiss, and when he pulls me up from a dip, he caresses my cheek and says, “I know what our book should be called.”
“What’s that?”
“Spark and Poet, a love story.”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lift onto the toe of my shoes, which still doesn’t make me tall enough to reach him, and sigh in swoony bliss. “Sounds like a blockbuster, but stories are for the world to enjoy. Our story is only for us.”
He kisses me with the same tenderness as the caress, then whispers against my lips. “I couldn’t agree more. You ready to go?”
“Are you sick of taking photos?”
“You know me so well.” I do, like we’re two beings sharing the same soul. We were just meant for each other.
When my heels touch down again, I catch my mom hugging Lori. She turns, and when our eyes meet, she waves and blows a kiss. I wave, knowing the risk she took to be here for me on my special day.
Putting on a smile and letting it grow into a full bloom for him, I reply, “I’m ready now.”
I’ll give credit where it’s due. Lori was right.
The purple dress is perfect for the reception.
I went back at the last minute and bought it, and I have no regrets.
Though I didn’t have time to add purple to my hair.
It’s perfect for getting ramen at our favorite restaurant.
We had a reservation, but we didn’t close it to Joy’s regular customers.
We figure the more, the merrier. But we did pay for everyone’s meals.
It was fun to create so much joy from something so little.
But sitting at the platformed center table for two just like on our first date is a highlight.
Our small party of guests sat at the table next to us, and Joy assigned someone else to work for her so she could join us.
She even decorated our tables with a tablecloth and cloth napkins.
Keats and I don’t care about finery, but this was the perfect touch to make our evening extra special.
I capture moments of magic on my camera, taking photos of Joy laughing and the joy from others engaged in conversation.
We cut the chocolate cake and feed each other the first bite before sealing it with a kiss.
We’re surrounded by love and by the people who support us, root for us, and make our lives better by knowing them.
We save the first dance for later, but I’m swept into his arms before we leave for our own private reception at the small apartment.
“Out of billions of souls in this universe, how lucky are we to have found our other half?” He kisses my cheek and then my neck, eliciting goose bumps up and down my arms.
Cupping the back of his neck, I wait to catch his eyes.
When they’re locked together, I smile. “The luckiest of them all.” Our lips come together in a collision of soft and sweet and the need for something stronger.
We resist, both of us losing our breath when we pull our mouths apart. “Let’s get out of here, Poet.”
I flip off my shoes as soon as I’m carried over the threshold. As much as I love that he wanted to do that, I wanted these toe pinchers off more. I should have chosen comfort and worn my combat boots.
I’m tugging at the zipper on the back of my dress, thinking we both had the same thing in mind—consummating this marriage.
But I still my hand when I see Keats dimming the lights and then scrolling on his phone to start a playlist. It’s sweet that he wants to set the mood, but it could be noon on Broadway, and I’d want him just the same.
Opening the fridge, he pulls out a bottle of champagne. He can afford anything, but I’m glad he didn’t buy the Bollinger Special Cuvee. My dad is the last thing I want to be reminded of with him. Ugh. I scrub my brain and admire how sexy my husband is instead.
We pop the champagne, and he fills our glasses.
Our gazes never lose sight of each other as we take a sip and fall into a kiss that feels like I’ve waited my whole life for.
Our hands don’t grapple, and there’s no frenzy to remove clothes anymore.
Just us, the two of us, swaying to the music playing in the background.
And as we dance, he says, “I used to think that John Keats had it right about the unheard melodies being sweeter.” The man never misses a chance to make me fall in love all over again.
“The line we quoted when we met?”
He brushes the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, then kisses me again. “He was wrong. We lived it, and life is definitely sweeter when we hear the music. I’d rather have you in my arms than live the rest of my life imagining what could have been.”
I couldn’t have said it better, so I leave that to the expert, and say, “You know who else got it wrong?”
“Who?”
“Professor Johns.” We call him Michael these days, but the formal name feels right if we’re traveling back to that time and place.
“How so?”
“You were never lacking authenticity. You’ve always been exactly who you are, and that’s the man I fell in love with.”
He sways me in his arms, then sends me out to twirl before pulling me back to where I want to be most. With him. “I was thinking about quitting my job and becoming a full-time author.”
“I think you should. You’ve made plenty of money—”
“We’ve made plenty of money. It’s all yours too, you know?” I’m dipped, and my neck is nipped, making me giggle. “More money than we have time to sin with.”
When we swing back up, I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. “Oh, we have plenty of time for that.”
“Sounds like a good plan if I’ve ever heard one.” He cups my face and smiles just looking at me. “I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you, Spark.”
“You say that like you had a choice.” I smirk, thinking about how we were star-crossed lovers, but not anymore. “We were never going to beat fate. The moment you went on break, we were destined for each other, Poet.”