I’d also worked out a deal with Henry’s mother. Marjorie and I had full custody, but she had visitation rights four times a year. My father had indeed forced her to sign away her rights, and I felt I needed to help make up for that.
My mother had to help Henry get down the aisle. He was nearly two now but still needed Grandma’s assistance so he didn’t drop the rings.
The notes of Mozart’s “Wedding March” from The Marriage of Figaro drifted across the gorgeous evening like the soft melodies of a quartet of songbirds.
I smiled.
My little son, blond and blue-eyed, held on to the gold pillow with both hands as my mother guided him toward me. He smiled when he reached me, and my mother took her seat.
Next came Jade, Marjorie’s matron of honor, in a golden gown.
And then…my love.
With her father. She hadn’t forgiven him yet. None of us had. That would take more time. But she’d allowed him the ultimate honor on this day.
Devastating in ivory, Marj carried a bouquet of her favorite yellow Asiatic lilies. The canary diamond engagement ring—the stone a gift from my mother—sparkled on her left ring finger.
Pure beauty. I’d never quench my desire for her. Day after day after day we’d be together, and my love and passion for her would always be insatiable.
I took the pillow holding the rings from Henry, handed it to Joe, and then hoisted my son in my arms.
Yeah.
Everything about today was golden.
“Ready to get married, buddy?”
Henry smiled and nodded, the sun gleaming on his golden hair.
We were both more than ready.