It's like a movie, a dream stirring to life, framed by auric glister of chandeliers, fairy lights, and flickering flames, strung by a love song as she dances with her fiancé at the heart of this living memory.
Although the gowns, tailored suits, strangers, and sweet drunkenness of celebration melt into a kaleidoscope haze around her, save for the familiar dark eyes fixed on hers as their bodies, guided by memory more than thought, sway to the sweet aria.
Her voice drifts like a warm breeze over the ocean, floating and flowing, rising, over the marmoreal-blue waves of the violin and pianoforte, nectariously mellow that her chest swells in utter breathlessness.
A smile transforms his hauntingly handsome face, clean-shaven, dark hair styled in an elegant, almost wet-sleek finish that sharpens his features.
He's so perfectly imperfect. Imperfectly perfect. Her man, spinning her beneath a breathing reverie woven by divine hands, wholly hers, chosen by her, and destined to be hers. Out of nowhere, right here in this moment, she finds herself falling deeper, deeper, and deeper still. No. Not out of nowhere. Not at all.
Every miracle, every choice, every act of love, every flaw, every forgiveness, and every endeavour to love each other better had been another flower woven into the wreath that, from the very beginning, had been drawing their souls towards a blessed union in God.
A watercolour garden blooms from its sweetheart neckline into shimmering layers of tulle, awash in the pastel pinks of a flowering dress, blossoming around her as she drifts back into his arms, his hand resting at her waist, the certainty of him tethering her to him.
Oh, the soaring bridge of the song, a wonder of spring within winter's magic,
melts the lingering guarded corners of her heart into a blooming garden of forever with him.
A blooming garden of forever with him.
"I love you," he whispers, love, wonder, and devotion stirring within the depths of his dark chocolate eyes.
"I love you," she breathes as he leans in, his kiss so impossibly gentle that it almost unravels her into a shivering mess, yearning for more, more and more of him.
Oh, Father... she's going to marry him.
Marry him!
He'll be her husband, one flesh and heart with her for the rest of their life.
She'll be his wife, his home, and his to love forever.
Butterflies flutter in her belly as her doubts fade like fog beneath the breaking daylight. For, through quiet prayers, the Lord has spoken, aligning her heart with His will.
Now she knows: this love is a grace bestowed upon them, strengthened through their faith and surrender.
"Are you real?" A faint frown touches his brow. "If so, how are you really mine?"
A smile curls at her lips as she wraps her arms around his neck. "I'm as real as the Lord made me," she says.
"And as yours as I could ever wholly, perfectly be."
He smiles faintly. "How can anyone look at you, and not believe in God?"
She lets out a gentle laugh, and find each other in another loving kiss, the flame between them defying the frost in the final moments of a wonderful year.
An unexpected tug on her gown pulls her away from him, and she finds Noah, his bright turquoise eyes fixed on them.
Heat rises to her cheeks as she wonders how he's here, her attention gradually drawn back
to the woman's voice singing a different tune and to the gazes that seem fixed upon them, despite the others swaying to the slow music around them.
"Where did he come from?" asks her fiancé, looking a little annoyed.
"It's almost time for the fireworks," she says, taking Noah's small hand in hers, worried he might be lost.
"And I'm hungry."
His expression softens, and he nods.
She guides the child through the shifting bodies, Rhett following closely behind them.
"Where is your father, Noah? Are you lost?"
Noah looks around, but finds no familar figure to fix his sight upon.
Sighing, she makes for the lounge area, knowing that the rosy cheeked boy has grown into her heart, having crossed paths with Noah and his father again today on the corridor when they had just stepped out of their suite for brunch.
Apparently it was revealed that Noah and his father's suite was only a few doors down from their own.
Noah insisted on going with them, while his father, Mr. Nicholas Miller, feared he might be an inconvenience.
Neva, however, denied it, and her fiancé exchanged phone numbers with Mr. Miller just to be on the safe side. Mr. Miller thanked them and told them
he had a meeting to attend, but they could call him anytime if circumstances compelled them to.
Noah happily joined them for brunch and their dance class. Except for the occasional burst of energy when he interrupted their lessons, displeasing their dance teacher once or twice, if not more, he was a good little boy, and she relished in his company, for she had always been fascinated by children's innocent way of seeing and experiencing the world.
"Do you also like fireworks, Princess?" Noah asks cheerfully, without a hint of worry about his absent father.
Neva nods. "I do."
Rhett pulls out a chair at the vacant table for her.
"Thank you," she says, taking her seat.
She has barely settled when Noah climbs into her lap.
"Didn't your mother come with you?" Rhett asks, sitting with his arms crossed across from them.
Noah looks up at him. "Mama is in heaven."
Neva's heart softens, for the sweet boy is barely five years old. "Noah, did your father come here with you?"
Noah shakes his head. "Papa was talking to some people I don't know, so I came here by myself."
"It's good you found us," she adds. "But where were you last with your father?"
"In the corridor," Noah murmurs, tugging at the flower petals in the vase on the round glass table.
"I'll inform his father," Rhett says, taking out his phone while Noah plucks a pink rose from the vase.
"Can I put this in your hair, Princess?" Noah asks, his eyes shining.
Neva lets out a soft chuckle. "Of course."
Noah beams as he carefully tucks the flower into the
braided crown of her half-up, half-down hair.
Neva smiles as Noah leans back, giggling and clapping his hands.
"He isn't picking up," Rhett says, frowning at his phone, when a familiar figure strides toward them.
Relief and frustration flicker across Mr. Miller's face.
"Papa!" Noah exclaims, immediately climbing off her lap.
Mr. Miller naturally scoops his son in his arms. "Now, why would you terrify your old man like that?"
Noah only giggles, wrapping his arms around his father's neck.
Mr. Miller glances at them, caressing the boy's head as he offers them a small bow. "I apologise
for the trouble again. He has a habit of dissappearing the moment I take my eyes off him."
"He's no trouble," Neva assures him, then tilts her head to meet Noah's gaze. "And Noah,
you shouldn't worry your father like that again."
"I won't," Noah replies obediently, making her smile.
Mr. Miller merely shakes his head. "Thank you again."
"Goodbye, Princess!" Noah calls, beaming as he waves at her.
Neva waves back until the father and son dissappear into the crowd,
swallowed by the sea of people watching the dance, drinks cradled in their hands.
"I wonder how our own child will be like," Rhett says, resting his chin on his hand.
Neva blushes at the suddennes of his musing, his gaze never leaving hers.
He straightens, and she catches the change in his deameanour at once. "You said you were hungry?"
She blinks, confused. "I did."
"Come on, then." He rises, offering her a hand.
She takes it and rises, smoothing the slightly rumpled tulle of her dress.
She loops her arm through his, weaving through the narrow paths between
the crowd, the warmth of the heaters keeping the winter chill at bay despite her sleeveless dress.
As they make it into the hall, the strong scent of perfume and alcohol gradually fades behind them.
He leads her eastward, in the opposite direction from their usual dining area.
"Rhett, where are we going?" she asks.
"I think it's better to dine in our own room," he says.
Alright. Something is definitely off.
She can feel it in the way he's—
A gunshot cracks through the music, and terrified screams erupt from the party hall they had just left.
It hadn't even occurred to her that he had quickened his pace beside hers.
But now, as the tremor of countless footsteps reverberates through her heels, mingling with gunshots, and screams,
they are already running, her heart beating wildly.
And one thought crystalllises in her mind with such piercing clarity it hurts.
The fear that Ishmael had finally found her.
Then she catches a distant voice through the chaos, but it's Rhett. "We're being hijacked."