The reception was held in a glass-walled pavilion at the edge of the garden.
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls. Tables draped in white linen held centerpieces of pink peonies and ivory roses. The dance floor was polished oak, waiting for footsteps. A string quartet played softly in the corner — something classical, something romantic, something that made Emma's heart ache with happiness.
She stood at the entrance, Nick's hand in hers, looking out at the sea of familiar faces. Olivia was already crying. Chloe was taking photographs of everything. Eleanor was directing the caterers with military precision. Daniel was holding a glass of champagne and smiling at nothing.
"We did it," Emma whispered.
"We did it," Nick said.
She looked up at him. The scar on his jaw.
