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In Paris, we’ll kiss again up on the altar while our guests cheer us on excitedly, but out here, the moon and the lake and the pine trees are our only witnesses.
We’re married.
“It’s time for a dance,” he tells me.
On the end of the dock, Emmett leads me in our first dance as he softly hums the romantic tune of La Vie En Rose. We slowly sway together, my roses resting at our feet. He translated the lyrics of the song to me once while we lay in bed together. He told me I am his rose, he said being with me gives his life a pink hue, just like in the song.
We barely move, chest to chest, as his humming softly quiets. Then his mouth presses against my cheek, and he whispers, “You’re my life now, Lainey, mon cœur qui bat.”
