Page 20 of Father of the Bride
“Oh!” she gasped, her hands moving instinctively, one to the back of her neck, and the other to the front of her dress, holding it in place.
The damage was done, though. The top of her dress had slipped to just under her arms, threatening to give way with even the slightest motion.
Mark wouldn’t have minded.
“Here, let me…” he said as he stood. He made his way behind her, staring reverently at the smooth brown skin of her bare back, glowing in the candlelight. His fingers reached for the thin ties that hung uselessly on either side. He lifted them carefully, accidentally brushing against the nape of her neck as he gathered the straps.
Her eyes fluttered shut. The light touch—the gentle caress—it was all she could take tonight.
“I always loved your shoulders,” he murmured, barely audible over the sound of the waves. “You used to get freckles there in the summertime.”
“I still do,” she said, her voice throaty and strained.
His fingers, surgeon’s fingers at that, fumbled with the knot. His brain couldn’t seem to connect, his thoughts drifting somewhere else, his blood rushing to a familiar spot.
“There,” he said after his task was finally accomplished. But he didn’t move. His hands didn’t move. They lingered, one palm resting at the base of her neck, the other sliding down, tracing the curve of her shoulder.
Her breath hitched.
“You’re so soft,” he said quietly as his eyes closed. He decided to give in to the feeling, letting it wash over him like a tidal wave. He was ready to go under again.
His thumb brushed across her skin, deliberate and sure. She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting…but no words spilled out.
“You okay?” he asked, stilling his fingers.
She nodded slowly. “I am. I just didn’t expect to feel so…”
“Much?”
She opened her eyes, turning her head to meet his gaze over her shoulder. “You feel it too?”
He chuckled softly. “You have no idea.”
She blinked slowly, seemingly entranced by him. He held out his hand, helping her to her feet.
“Will you dance with me?”
She stared up at him and nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer.
Despite his surprise at her forwardness, he had the wherewithal to hit the right button on his phone without looking, filling the immediate area with their song.
His phone went back into his pocket. His arms encircled her. His hands went to her back, where they lingered, tracing nonsensical patterns on her skin.
As they swayed rhythmically from side to side, their bodies and breaths in sync, Mark found the small of her back and pulled her closer. He didn’t stop until he had to.
It was as if no time had passed at all. As if this wasn’t the first time they’d held each other in almost thirty years.
The lyrics swelled around them like a lullaby, threading through every shared memory—late college nights, road trips, and so-called study sessions that ended with their clothes strewn across the floor and their limbs entwined on the bed.
His hand moved slowly up her back, his fingertips tracing the exposed line of her spine. She shivered at the contact. It had been a long time since she’d been touched like this.
Mark was in no hurry. He wasn’t demanding. Not claiming. It felt like he was simply enjoying her like she was a privilege. Cherishing.
Nothing like Orion.
Her ex-husband had always grabbed, impatient and possessive. Pushing, pulling, controlling. She never doubted his desire for her, but his love? His touch often made her question it.
Sunny melted against Mark, closing her eyes, listening to her body. It remembered this. Being cherished. Being revered. Feeling safe.
