• • •

We danced, and the world around us disappeared. There were only Ethan and me and the sweeping melody among the glow of those thousand candles. No politics, no drama. Just love and hope, and the fact that this incredibly sexy and powerful man belonged to me.

When the song ended, Ethan spun me around and dipped me low to more applause and amusement.

“You are really working the crowd tonight.”

“It’s my party,” he said with a smile.

The sound of ringing crystal was a welcome interruption. We looked back, found Amit on the small stage, microphone in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “for those who don’t know me, my name is Amit Patel. And I have had the dubious honor of knowing the groom for more than a century.”

There were well-timed chuckles.

“I have seen him at his worst, and this wouldn’t be a very good wedding toast if I didn’t share at least a few of those embarrassing anecdotes with you.”

“Good Lord,” Ethan whispered beside me, as my smile spread.

Embarrassing anecdotes about my gorgeous husband seemed like the perfect cure for family-related blues.

“Yes, please!” I yelled out.

“Well, there was the time the only mount we could find was a very sad-looking donkey. So close your eyes, if you will, and imagine Masterful Ethan Sullivan riding Eeyore. Until Eeyore decided he wasn’t interested in being ridden, and chucked him into the street. The look on his face—even then.” Amit stopped to laugh. “He was shocked—absolutely shocked—that a donkey would dare.” His smile was warm when he looked at Ethan again. “He was a Master even then. And then there was the time in a certain house of ill repute . . .”

There were salacious whispers in the audience, and Ethan cleared his throat. “Pay him no mind, Sentinel.”

“Oh, I’m paying him all the mind. Please continue!” I called out.

“Ethan, of course, did not partake of the less honorable offerings. But he was running from a human who suspected Ethan of demonic leanings. So, of course, Ethan pitched out the window. Landed in a horse trough, to the amusement of all.”

I snorted, glanced at Ethan. “Why do you always end up on the ground?”

“He’s choosing selectively,” Ethan said, shaking his head at Amit.

“But there is more, of course,” Amit said. “More stories, good and bad. Because while I have seen Ethan at his worst, I have also seen Ethan at his best.” He glanced at me. “And he is at his best when he is with you. That, I think, is the best kind of love. Love doesn’t guarantee happiness or wealth or success. But if you’re willing to commit to it, to work at it, it guarantees partnership. So that no matter the trials or tribulations, no matter the joy or loss, you are not alone.” He raised his glass. “To Ethan and Merit.”

“To Ethan and Merit!” the crowd responded, punctuated with more clapping and the ringing of crystal, which hopefully distracted them from the tears I swiftly wiped away.

Amit handed the microphone to Mallory, then stepped down and moved to us. He shook hands with Ethan, then pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Congratulations and Godspeed.”

“Appreciated on both counts,” I said with a smile.

“My turn!” Mallory said. “I wanted to do a skit, but our illustrious wedding planners ixnayed that idea. I also proposed to learn how to play the ukulele and honor our Merit and Ethan with a song, but that was a no-go. So I guess I’ll have to use my words.”

“You can do it!” Catcher yelled out.

“Thank you, honey,” she said with a chuckle. “I debated how much detail I should get into on this stage, whether I should embarrass her completely, or just a little bit. I’ll probably take the high road.” She put a hand on her hip, getting into the speech. “But I will note for the record that she has an unparalleled love of chocolate, and she was, for a brief time, obsessed with the Backstreet Boys.”

“Oh God,” I murmured, and covered my face with a hand.

“What’s a Backstreet Boy?” Ethan whispered.

“Never you mind,” I said. “Never you mind.”

“There’s the ‘vacation’ to DC, in which she spent three full days in the Library of Congress, the one time I took her bowling. One time,” she repeated, with a dramatic eye roll and headshake. “And the incident involving the marathon she basically ruined when she tripped the front-runner.”

“It was an accident!” I insisted. “He ran into me.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mallory said. “Our girl, our bride, is a little bookish, obsessed with chocolate, and prone to become obsessive about the weirdest things. Newsies,” she added through a fake cough.

“But most of all,” she said, settling her gaze on me again, “there is Merit. There is joy and curiosity and bravery that’s almost ridiculously terrifying. And there’s loyalty. There was loyalty at a time I didn’t deserve it, which probably makes it the best possible loyalty of all.” She sniffed, looked away, obviously holding back tears. And when she’d composed herself, she looked at Ethan.

“You have that loyalty now, and I don’t have any doubts that you feel the same way about her. We may call you Darth Sullivan, but you’re really her knight in shining armor. You let her see a side of herself that she didn’t know existed, and it’s a pretty kick-ass side. For that, the world is forever grateful.” She raised her glass. “To Ethan and Merit!”

There were more cheers, and then Amit helped her step down again. She wrapped her arms around me, squeezed me tight enough to bruise ribs.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mallory. And I will get even for the Newsies comment.”

She pulled back, thumbed a tear away from my cheek, winked at me. “Do your best, vamp.”

“Looks like you’re having a good time.”

I glanced back, found my grandfather smiling at me, hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. Both the gray jacket and pants were a little too big for him, the pants bagging a little over his thick-soled shoes. It was perfectly grandfatherly, and just made me love him that much more.

“It’s been a pretty good night,” I said.

“It’s been a beautiful night,” he said. “A beautiful wedding, a wonderful couple, and some damn good food.”

My stomach rumbled. I could smell steak but hadn’t had a chance to try it.

I glanced over the crowd, happened to catch sight of my father, who was walking across the room with my mother. No, not just across the room, I realized. Toward the door. His hand was at her back, her wrap over her arm.

They were leaving. They waited just long enough for pictures and toasts, and that was apparently enough. I guessed there’d be no father-daughter dance.

My grandfather must have realized what I’d seen, and sighed heavily. “I’m not sure why he’s leaving so early.”

“Business deal,” I said. “Conference call . . .”

“He is a busy man.”

“He’s a man with skewed priorities,” I said. “And that doesn’t make it feel any better.”

“No. It doesn’t. I’m sorry.”

I nodded, feeling my buoyant mood slip away, and grasping at the thin tendrils of it. “Robert didn’t even show up.” Robert was my older brother, and very much my father’s son. He’d been injured at Towerline while courting Adrien Reed for a new business deal. That had been a bad move on many levels, but he’d put the blame on “supernaturals,” or so I’d heard. He hadn’t spoken a word to me since.

“I don’t know why I expect otherwise,” I said, but that was a lie. I expected otherwise, at least from my father, because there’d been glimmers of hope recently.

“Because you expect more of him, and rightly so. You expect a lot of your friends, of your family, of yourself.” He glanced at the door, gaze narrowed. “It’s not unreasonable to expect your father to be a willing and complete participant in your wedding.

“If it helps,” he said after a moment, “I don’t think he disappoints you for the sake of disappointing you. He has known loss. And in response, he tries to control what he can, by whatever means he can.” He looked at me. “Your immortality being a prime example. I’m not trying to make excuses for him. I’m just trying to explain what he might be thinking.”