After a pause, after he licks his lips and lets out a small puff of breath, he says, “I’ll tell you later.”
We stand there, looking, searching, for at least another thirty seconds. Then he turns, dropping my hand, and takes three long strides out of the hall.
I’m left alone, a beating, bleeding heart in an open ribcage, not certain of anything, ready for everything.
Chapter 22
Whoever coined the term “a vision in white” must have had a vision of Ivanka. She is the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen, bar none. With the tiny lights strung above our backyard world, the soft instrumental music drifting over our heads, and every eye turned to the aisle, this wedding is absolutely perfect.
I find a seat next to my family, Astrid and Millie on either side of me. Levi smiles at me across the aisle, a light in his eyes (as always). I’m focused on the wedding, of course, but there’s a part of me that’s still thinking about the moment outside the bathroom, and his lips on my hand, and our legs touching. It leaves me twice as breathless as Ivanka’s walk down the aisle.
The overall conclusion: I’m not breathing.
I’m the first to look away from our staring contest when Ivanka passes me. She reaches out her hand, touching mine, squeezing briefly. Then she smiles at her mother, who sits in front of me, and kisses her cheek. The photographer’s flash goes off, catching these priceless moments, keeping them boxed in, safe and sound.
The ceremony is a breeze, inciting laughter and tears. I grip Astrid’s hand too hard, eliciting harsh whispers about her fingers going numb. I notice, finally, how well the flowers mesh with the colors and theme of the wedding, and I feel a surge of pride lift me in my seat.
In the end, Ivanka and Augustin exchange vows and rings and a sweet, gentle kiss, and everyone stands to clap. Music starts again, a song about romance and a forever kind of love. I’m absolutely going to cry, I think, following the line of the crowd as we progress toward the food tables. Behind us, Levi and Tom and Ivanka’s brother start to turn the chairs around and fill the backyard with tables. Ivanka stands beside her new husband, grabbing family members as they pass, hugging everyone. She’s the sweetest little darling, and when I hug her, I feel warmth spread in my chest.
“Thank you for the wedding, Bonita,” she says.
I laugh softly, squeezing her to me. “You were ravishing. It was perfect. Everything is perfect.”
We’re all full after dinner—traditional Czech food catered by locals—but it doesn’t stop us from dancing.
We’ve moved all the tables and chairs to the side yard and set our shoes by the back door in a giant pile. I’m almost certain I’m never going to see my silver flats ever again, but at the moment I couldn’t care less. I’ve got Astrid and Millicent on either side, the three of us holding hands, arms raised high, practically floating amidst the lights and sweet-smelling night air, the dry California grass against our bare feet.
I turn Millicent under my arm, then Astrid under the other. Astrid laughs as she and Millie trip over each other, falling into Agustin’s youngest sister. She laughs and shouts something in Czech, her golden bobbed swaying with her movements. We laugh with her, shrugging, shouting back in English. There’s no way we understand each other, but the sentiment is there. Sometimes obvious joy says more than words we can understand.
I spin, taking a peek at Levi, who’s dancing with his mom. They’re laughing at some private joke, moving to the music with equal parts jumping and dancing. He whispers something into Suzie’s ear, leaning close, and her eyes go wide with her grin. She slaps his arm. Levi pulls away, laughing loudly enough that I can hear it. Suzie grabs his face and kisses him twice, as if she’s congratulating him.
I turn away, feeling (only slightly) ashamed that I spied on their little moment. I peer through the crowd ahead, trying to find Tom. I spot him dancing at the edge of the group with Elle; her hands are in the air, her blue locks flying. Tom shakes his head like he’s a little bewildered by her wild nature, but there’s a smile on his mouth that’s been there for hours.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder, bringing me out of my thoughts. Suzie dances close to me, grabs both of my hands, and drags me to Levi. He’s standing with Ivanka, who’s joined their little group. I wave at her, falling into step, raising my hands, until suddenly it’s no longer Suzie and Ivanka and Levi and me. It’s Levi. It’s me. Us. An inescapable laugh falls from my mouth as he grabs me and spins me. I twist in his arms, letting him pull me a little bit closer, swinging to a song I don’t recognize but want to remember forever.
Then it slows—the song, the dance, the atmosphere. Levi doesn’t let me go, doesn’t step away. In fact, we’re closer now, with his arm wrapped around my waist and his free hand entwined with mine. I sway in a moment of dizziness, but he holds me up, tucking me against him. I love this, the way I can practically feel the earth spinning under my feet. Our planet is flying at a million miles per hour and so are we.
“What do you think of the wedding?” Levi asks. His voice sounds a little hoarse. (It’s from talking and laughing all day, I tell myself.)
“I think it turned out perfectly.” I glance around and up at the lights hanging above my head. “It’s dazzling.”
He meets my gaze. “You pulled it off,” he murmurs. “Actually, I’d say you more than pulled it off—you nailed it.”
“I had the help of everyone in TCP. I had our moms. I had Ivanka. I had you.”
(I don’t have you but I wish I did. I wish you were mine.)
“True, but you planned it. You set everything up. You got the ball rolling.”
“If you hadn’t worn that yellow sweater…” I shrug.
He tips his head back, studying me. “How have you liked being called Bonita all evening?”
“It’s actually kind of nice. I like it much better than my real name.”
“Oh, gosh. Is it really that bad? I’ll have to scrape the bottom of the B name barrel next time.”
I want to pretend I’m offended, but all I can do is laugh at him. “You thought you were close, huh?”
He smirks. “Someday, I will be. I’ll get close enough that I can really feel its presence, like a beast in the dark—because apparently it’s just that ugly. And then I’ll nail it right in the heart, and Bee?”
The answer on my lips sounds more like a squeak than a word. “Yeah?”
He spins me slowly, turning me so that I’m dancing with my back to his chest. I roll my head to the side so he can whisper in my ear, “The discovery will be my victory.”
I laugh at this, to disguise the fact that I’m shivering, my stomach fluttering, my head spinning with the light. I can’t see him, but I can feel him, warm and real behind me.
The song comes to an end, and we part—there are several inches between us, and we don’t look at each other—but my heart is still beating, thrashing like a storm. I think, Walk away, Bee, walk away. But I don’t know how, so I reach out my hand instead.
He takes it, just like I hoped he would.