Rhys
Forever [fohr-ev-ur] n—Emmy
One Year (to the day) Later
It’s Friday afternoon, and the weather couldn’t be any worse. Snow is coming down so hard it’s comical. Except for the fact that I promised Emmy a perfect day, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve let my bride down.
“Smile,” the photographer says.
My smile is probably closer to a grimace, as is Emmy’s. I carefully readjust her in my arms. Her white wedding dress swishes as I move her. “You okay?”
“I’m perfect, Rhys. Really.”
She’s been pushing herself too hard to walk today. She can only walk with a walker and even then only for a short distance. Her body is exhausted.
The photographer checks the camera display and frowns. We’ve been trying to get a decent shot for the last fifteen minutes. Judging from the frowns the photographer keeps giving her camera, I’m guessing none have come out.
“Why don’t we try something different?” The photographer pulls a pink umbrella out of her bag and opens it as she walks over to us. She hands it to Emmy and then positions us under it, angling my face down to Emmy’s. Another frown. “Okay, just . . . try to be cute.”
Emmy presses her lips together as if trying to hide a smile. “We must not be very photogenic.” She hides her scarred cheek in my lapel.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I give Emmy a toothy grin, meaning to distract her. “Have you seen this face?”
Emmy smiles and seems to forget her embarrassment.
The photographer takes a step away and then starts rapid-firing her camera. “Turn, maybe?”
I do. She takes more pictures. “Hmm. A little more.”
I take another step, and she bobbles her head with a shrug.
Emmy giggles in my arms.
“You think this is funny, huh?”
“Maybe a little.”
“I’ll show you funny.” I dip her back in my arms, careful not to hurt her. Her hair is in long ringlets and falls back into the snow. Her giggle turns into a full-blown laugh, and I can’t help but join her.
“Good. Great!” the photographer says.
I secure Emmy back against my chest. “I’m sorry about the weather,” I whisper. “I wanted to give you perfect.”
Emmy’s smile fades into something more somber. “I don’t know. This is kind of perfect, don’t you think?”
I glance at the photographer long enough to notice her furrowed brow and then gaze at my bride in my arms, not even able to walk. She deserves perfect.
Next, I look at our family. They’re huddled together and shivering, but at least they’re all here. Cami, Mom, and Supe. The only person missing is Jen, who’s serving a mission in Peru. Mr. Jennings has had a smile stretched across his face all day. It feels good to not only have his blessing but to officially be his son now too. This day is good, but Emmy deserves perfect.
Emmy touches my cheek with a soft palm, forcing my gaze back to her. “Remember when we went tunnel singing?”
“You know I do.” Never, as long as I live, will I forget that night. It was the night I told her the truth. The night I first told her I loved her.
“It was snowing,” she says.
“It was.”
“Just like today.”
Despite the snow and the wind and everything that makes this day less than what I had hoped to give her . . . she’s right; in a way, it is perfect. Today is the day our forever begins.
I touch my forehead to hers, her smile a mirror image of my own. My lips brush hers. “Forever,” I whisper.
She kisses me back and then returns the promise. “Forever.”
“All right!” the photographer calls. “I think that’s a wrap. We’ll get group shots at the reception tonight.”
This day has been a blur. I can’t believe it’s already halfway over.
Everyone hurries to their cars. Supe wheels Mom to the Jennings’s SUV, and then he helps her inside. He has been helping care for Mom all day and will check in on her at the care center while Emmy and I are on our honeymoon.
I tuck Emmy against my chest and curl my body around hers protectively as I speed walk to my truck. I gently slide her out of my arms and into the passenger seat and then hurry around to the driver’s side.
She tries to hide her pain, but her breaths are shallow, and she can’t stop rubbing her legs.
“How are you?” I ask.
“A little sore, but I’m okay.” She closes her eyes and rests her head against the window.
I hate that she’s in pain. Hate it. I wish there were something I could do. Wait. There is. “Emmy . . . may I give you a blessing?”
Her eyes flutter open. “Please.”
I hurry to the home we’ll be renting for the next year until Emmy graduates. It’s a dark-red brick, one-bedroom house. We’ve spent the last month painting the walls yellow and hanging frames we mean to fill with wedding pictures. Judging by the photographer’s less-than-satisfied expressions today, we may need only one or two frames.
I carry Emmy over the threshold and set her on the couch. Her fluffy wedding dress takes up most of the cushions. The second I set her down, she deflates.
“Do you need anything?”
“Just my husband to give me a blessing.”
As I put my hands on her head, my wedding ring catches the light and reminds me of the promises we’ve made. Warmth spreads through me like it did the night I sat outside the temple and pleaded for answers. I say a silent prayer, inviting that same power to be my companion, and then place my hands on her head. My voice shakes as I utter the precious words I’ve waited so long to say, “Emelia Jennings Solario . . .”
* * *
Emmy
Forever [fohr-ev-ur] n—Rhys
“And for the first time . . . Mr. and Mrs. Rhys Solario!” The DJ’s voice booms through the reception hall as Rhys carries me inside. “Let’s have the bride and groom come straight to the dance floor for their first dance.”
Rhys tries to hide it, but I can feel his arms tense around me and his steps slow. I haven’t been able to dance since the accident. I’m doing better with walking, but he’s still had to carry me nearly everywhere today.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to Rhys.
He nods, but I can tell he wants to tear into the DJ. We, as in Rhys, made it clear that there would be no first dance. “We don’t have to do this . . .”
We are definitely doing this. I’ve been waiting for this moment for one whole year. “Set me down.”
“Emmy—”
“Set me down, Rhys. I’m fine.”
He looks around the dance floor as if unsure what to do.
“Do you trust me?” I ask him the same question he asked me the night he took me dancing at Joe’s.
He slides me out of his arms and sets my feet on the floor.
Pins and needles prick my feet, and a deep ache radiates from my bones. I swallow back the pain. As much as it hurts to stand or walk, it is getting easier.
Rhys loops his arms around my waist, taking the majority of my weight. “Are you okay? Let me help—”
“I’m fine.” I pull my gaze away from Rhys to nod at the DJ.
A second later, the man’s voice on the recording rings through the reception hall. “Suavemente!”
Rhys’s whole face lights up. “You didn’t.”
I smile up at him. I did. I so did. I never thought I’d want to hear this song again after I nearly kissed him and he stopped me by telling me what bésame meant. And now I can’t get enough of it.
The words blend into the shrill whine of trumpets, the beat commanding us to dance, but Rhys doesn’t move. “Are you sure?”
My legs are sore, and my body is tired, but I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day. “I’m sure.” I’ve wanted to dance for weeks now, but I’ve waited for this moment to share it with him. My first dance for the rest of our forever. I’ll never be the dancer I was before. More likely than not, I will never even go on pointe again. I’m okay with that though. I have a long way to go, but I’ll get there with Rhys by my side. Dance will always be a part of my life. My goal is to open my own dance therapy center. Blend healing with dance.
Rhys grips my waist and takes a slow step back. Not in time with the music, not even close. He’s tentative and careful, making sure I’m okay. The words of the song fade as he all but carries me around the dance floor. For a first dance, it’s not exactly traditional, but then again, neither are we.