The Inside Diaries

Amo, Amas, Amat

And there they were—

She blinked, smoothing her hands over her brocaded pearl-embroidered cocktail dress, hand-in-hand with—

Him.

Fernando squeezed her hand as she smiled. A dark grey suit, a deep lilac tie, for this special occasion.

Was this really happening? She glanced all around before her, a lemonade stand transformed into an ivy-grown trellis thicket, interlaced with pale peach rose blossoms. On the table, miniature tea candles within tiny glasses, glowing all the while, feathery fronds providing ample added décor. And below that, yet another thicket of apricot-peach blooms, the scent permeating the grassy shoreline upon which they stood, the morning sea an undefinable, wild, windy slate grey.

Who knew the Justice of the Peace performed impromptu outdoor ceremonies?

She took a slight backwards glance to the chairs behind her. Morgana, Matias, Marcella (large-bellied at this time), Henry, and of course...Tory.

The writer laughed to herself. Tory had come upon the scene in the most unlikely of ways and burrowed her way into Melanija's heart without realizing it. Good thing Hesper had a spare dress (or few!) on the island, before she'd landed further afield.

A very good thing, indeed.

"Do you, Melanija, take this man to be your wedded husband?"

Her thoughts interrupted, she nodded. Once. Then twice. "Yes. I mean—I do."

"And do you, Fernando, take this woman to be your wedded wife?"

He turned to her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I do."

"You may now kiss the bride!" A pronouncement. Fernando dipped her low, kissing her squarely upon her lips as her mind melted for just the merest millisecond. Hot damn...She could hear, almost as if in out-of-body experience, her wedding guests cheering and hollering behind her, as the true festivities began.

Evening consisted of a sweetheart table with multilayered pure white linen, twenty candlesticks atop, other guests' tables, and hundreds of stringed lights all around. As for dinner—a choice of freshly caught salmon, butterflied chicken, or a vegetarian ravioli. For dessert, a most sumptuous red velvet cake that Marcella had somehow found the time to make, for unbeknownst to Melanija, the expectant woman was quite gifted in the culinary department.

She and Fernando made their rounds—first to Morgana and Matias'—

"Your dress is lovely, dear!"

And then to Marcella and Henry's, which interestingly enough, Tory had chosen to join as well. "Have you thought of a name yet?" Melanija asked. Marcella bore an enigmatic expression.

"We've got some ideas up our sleeve..."

"Princess Peony?" Tory asked, ever precocious, as everyone laughed.

"Not exactly," replied Marcella with a bemused smile. "But thanks for the suggestion, sweetie." She rose, her bump lightly tapping the table in front of her. "Look, thanks so much for inviting us, but we've gotta get going—and this bean's been kicking the whole time—" indicating toward her belly.

"It's ok, you're pregnant—you get a free pass—" Melanija spoke. "Get lots of rest, and I hope the rest of the journey is boring and uneventful," she stated, in reference to Marcella's condition.

"Thanks." And the pair were off, and soon after, Morgana, Matias, and Tory called it a night as well, Morgana muttering something about early morning coloring book sessions.

"Have fun, you lovebirds!" Morgana called out before the trio departed, leaving Melanija and Fernando standing beneath the twinkling tea lights.

A few minutes passed, then Melanija felt a tap on her shoulder. "How about one last dance?"

"I'd love that...hubs."

"Wifey."

They laughed as her right hand slowly went to meet his left, her left arm winding 'round his sturdy shoulder, as his opposite arm grasped her, softly but sure, the pair gliding once more upon the evening dance floor, aglow, sparkling, scintillating—

All too soon, the music ended, an ethereal Bossa Nova tune echoing among the billowing treetops. The lights, save those paving an unknown path, went out in entirety.

"What now?" Melanija murmured low. Fernando clasped her hand and bade her follow. So she did. Up, up, up they stepped, sandy soil turning to rocky ledge after another—smooth earth—soft voices—where on earth were they headed? A...campground? A...lodge?

He stopped suddenly, pulling back a broad palm frond to reveal—she gasped—

A cozy set of pristine sheets, a downy bed, and around it, glimmering iridescent glow lights and a pair of lanterns, one on each side, the island's water visible across a steep cliff, the view positively breathtaking—

She stared in wonderment. "Where are we?"

"Aeolis Tinos Rooftop. A quaint resort, of sorts."

"It's lovely—" she squeezed his hand, kissing him lightly. Paradise lost...turned paradise found...

"How about we get to know each other more, until the sunrise?" he offered, his eyes twinkling.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," breathed the writer, as she—and he—made their way to their tropical hygge haven.

Once upon a time, there was a lady...

Who traveled to an island...

Found herself a family...

Wound up in wedded bliss...