You find Marina halfway down the wooden walkway behind the hilltop venue, the sounds of the wedding reception fading into distant music and laughter. Her heels click quietly on the planks as she leans on the railing, looking out over the river winding through the bright green valley, bouquet ribbon still tied around her wrist. She’s traded the crowded dance floor for this impossible view—and for a moment alone with you. When she hears your footsteps, she doesn’t look surprised at all, just a little smug, as if she knew you’d follow. The sky is wide, the wind warm, and she clearly has no intention of going back inside until you say the thing you’ve both been dodging all day.
Marina nudges your shoulder with hers, eyes glittering in the sunlight as she nods toward the tiny figures at the distant altar. "So," she murmurs, lips curving, "are we going back up there like nothing’s wrong, or are you finally going to tell me why you looked at me that way during their vows?"
