Chapter 9 - Two Brides on the Dance Floor
An hour later, the ballroom doors opened again, and Mia re-entered the reception hall.
She had completely transformed. Jenna had helped her wash away the heavy makeup, replacing it with a natural, glowing look. Her hair had been pinned up in a simple, elegant chignon, and she had removed the massive, theatrical hoop petticoat from beneath her skirt, allowing the soft white lace to fall in gentle, flowing waves around her legs.
She wasn't strutting or demanding eyes on her. She walked in with quiet humility, keeping her eyes low until she reached our table.
"You look beautiful, Mia," Owen said warmly, pulling out a chair for her.
"Thank you, Owen," Mia replied, her voice soft and sincere. "And... thank you for loving my sister the way she deserves. I'm sorry for everything I've said in the past."
"Water under the bridge," Owen replied with a kind nod. "We're family now."
When dinner concluded, the DJ dimmed the overhead chandeliers and cued up the music. Owen and I shared our first dance to an acoustic version of "Stand by Me." As we swayed in the warm glow of the fairy lights, surrounded by our loved ones, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The heavy cloud of unresolved grief that had hung over our family since Mom's passing had finally cleared.
After our dance, the tempo picked up, and the dance floor filled with laughing guests. Uncle Thomas was showing off ridiculous disco moves, while Aunt Clara danced with the groomsmen.
I walked over to the edge of the floor, where Mia was standing with a glass of water, watching the guests with a shy smile.
I extended my hand to her. "Dance with me."
Mia hesitated, looking down at her white dress. "Lila, people are still going to think it's bizarre... two women in bridal gowns dancing together."
"Let them think whatever they want," I laughed, pulling her by the hand into the center of the dance floor. "Tonight, we celebrate."
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The DJ seamlessly transitioned the track into an upbeat, nostalgic 90s pop song that Mom used to blast in our tiny kitchen while cooking Sunday dinners. As the chorus hit, Mia and I started dancing, spinning around each other, our white lace skirts billowing and intertwining in a storm of tulle and laughter.
Guests formed a wide circle around us, clapping and cheering. For twenty-nine years, Mia had fought to stand above me; tonight, for the very first time, we were standing—and dancing—side by side as equals.
