“Uh, okay.” I offer my hand to her. “I’m dead serious.”
“Iknow.” She tilts her head, arching an eyebrow. Then she snorts. “Lincoln Bridges, I know a lot can change over the years, and far be it from me to judge, but last I checked, the only dance you knew was the Electric Slide.”
A laugh rises from deep in my chest. “Oh,wow.Okay.” My cheeks heat as I stumble back, arms stretched wide. In so many words, I’m saying,What you see is what you get. This iswhat you’ll be signing up for.
“Oh my God, put your arms down.” She’s beaming.
“What?”
“Please don’t be one of those guys who throws his arms out like he’s greeting his imaginary audience.” She tries to pull my arms to my sides, but I wrap them around her instead, pulling her flush to me, smiling into another kiss.
My body hums with anticipation.
But then the deejay slows the music, calling out for “the lovebirds.”
“That’s us,” I say.
“No, it’s for the bride and groom,” Ebony protests.
But I assure her, after pressing one more kiss to her lips, “Baby, no. Trust me,” before I take her hand in mine, guiding her to the grand ballroom, through the crowd, undeterred in my mission.
An ease settles in my limbs as I twirl the love of my life in my arms beneath the soft, glittering lights of the crystal chandelier.
It’s not about the familiar faces of Ellswood scattered around us, their eyes trained on us, the low hum of their whispers floating on a cloud of a thousand judgments of Ebony and me.
No, it’s so much more.
“Look at me, baby,” I say, blocking out all the faces, all the noise, as I pull in a deep breath. “It’s just you and me, okay? No one else matters.”
She nods solemnly.
And with Maxwell’s smooth falsetto crooning “Whenever Wherever Whatever” in the background, I nudge up her chin and ask, “Would it be okay if I told you a story?”
With her permission, I tell her about the reading I’ve been doing—the tale of Amara and Elijah, who, amidst dust and dreams, built Madison Manor. Her, with the vision and grand design to fill the walls with life, and him, with the rough hands and heart to tirelessly work until he saw her dream through.
“Under the glow of candlelight, they laid every brick with care, built every room with their growing love.”
Ebony gives me her rapt attention, her focus entirely on me as we sway to the tender ballad.
“As the final touches were added, there was only the grand crystal chandelier, a family heirloom, made in the likeness of the Baccarat chandeliers Amara’s grandmother had told her stories of.”
“Oh my goodness.” Ebony’s mouth is on the wood-slatted floor, her eyes saucer-wide. “No!”
I give a single nod. “Mm-hmm.”
“I’ve never heard this part of the legend. Go on.”
“Elijah pulled Amara close…” I tilt my head, squeezing Ebony to me. “They danced, slow and easy, beneath its warm, sparkling light. Their laughter filled the air as the manor seemed to breathe with them, sighing with the love they’d built.”
She swallows hard, still shaking her head. “I love this so much.”
“Legend has it, anyone who dances beneath that crystal chandelier”—at the same time, we both look up, then deflate into laughter—“with their true love will be bound together forever, hearts as one, love eternal. But…”
A gasp pushes past Ebony’s lips. “But?”
“Okay, hear me out, because I’ve got a theory.” I tip my head to either side. “So, couples were coming to Madison Manor, scrambling to get under the chandelier with their boyfriends, new boos, situationships, whatever.”
Ebony winds her hand in circles, signaling for me to wrap up the editorializing.
