Darkmoon(105)

To him, it was. No Wilcox primus had ever had a daughter since Nizhoni cast her curse, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “So does this mean our son will be the next primus, and our daughter will be prima of the McAllisters?” he asked me, and I’d laughed and said,

“How about we let them choose what they want to be? It’ll be a nice change of pace.”

He’d looked thoughtful at that comment, and nodded slowly, saying, “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

So now I held my own precious glass of champagne, determined to nurse it for as long as required, knowing I’d have to save some for the toasts. The guests milled around, segregating into their little McAllister and Wilcox clumps, just as I feared they would, although I noticed Sydney’s parents seemed to be willing to talk to anyone who crossed their paths. I didn’t know how much Syd had told them about Connor’s and my respective families, and in that moment I didn’t much care. I was just glad to see them treating all the wedding guests alike.

And then….

“Look at that,” I whispered to Connor.

He followed my gaze to where Mason stood. A tall young man with brown hair was talking to her, gesturing with a glass of champagne in one hand, and I saw her laugh and flick a lock of long dark hair behind one shoulder.

Good deployment of the hair toss, Mason, I thought, unable to repress a smile.

“Is that…?”

“Yep, that’s my cousin Adam. I guess his heart wasn’t irretrievably broken after all.”

“Wow.”

“I think it’s awesome,” I said. “I hope they flirt all night and then go shack up in a hotel room somewhere.”

“Seriously?”

I thought of how Mason had confessed she wasn’t that thrilled about getting married, since she didn’t want to marry a cousin and was worried that being with a civilian would be too complicated. That wasn’t to say that hooking up with a McAllister might not have its own complications, but I thought it was a step in the right direction.

“Seriously,” I told him. “Or do you want to be the only guy getting lucky in Sedona tonight?”

“Nah, I’m not that selfish,” Connor replied with a grin.

“Glad to hear it,” I said, and that was all the time we had to spend on our speculations, since a couple of his cousins came up to offer their congratulations.

And then it was time for dinner, and I just barely managed to make my glass of champagne last through the cinnamon-roasted duck breast so I would still have enough for the toasts. Even so, I ended up stealing a sip or two from Connor’s glass, just because there were so many toasts — from Lucas, of course, and my father and Tobias and Anthony. Even Bryce McAllister stood up and quite unexpectedly gave us his blessing, which moved me much more than I thought it would. Somehow I hadn’t thought any of the McAllister elders would unbend enough to recognize that Connor and I truly were meant to be together.

After that I kicked off my sandals and danced with my husband, alone on the dance floor, as the moon rose above the mesa to the east and “It Had to Be You” played through the loudspeakers cleverly concealed within the branches of the trees overhead. Once our first dance was over, everyone crowded in around us, the music picking up its tempo, Wilcoxes and McAllisters all moving together in a scene I was sure no one would have believed, if they’d seen it only six months earlier.

My feet were starting to give out on me, even minus the torture devices Sydney referred to as “sandals,” so I went back to my chair and sat down, then put my feet up on the empty seat next to me, content to simply watch the happy crowd. Connor settled in beside me, then handed me a glass of ice water. “Don’t poop out on me now,” he said. “We’ve probably got at least another three hours to get through.”

“I’m not pooping out,” I replied, taking the water and drinking half of it down without stopping. After I let out a contented little sigh, I added, “I’m just waiting to get my second wind.”

“I’m sure it’ll miraculously appear as soon as it’s time to cut the cake.”

“Probably.” I wasn’t going to argue with him on that point; I’d been waiting for that spice cake with buttercream frosting all day.

But then I saw something that made me sit up straighter in my chair and drop my feet to the ground.

“I don’t believe it,” I murmured to him.

“What?”

Pointing would have been rude, so I settled for tilting my head over to the left, to a table a few yards away. Margot Emory had been sitting there alone, watching the dancing. Her expression was hard to read, but to me it almost looked…wistful? No, that was impossible. Margot wouldn’t allow herself to be wistful.