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Miles woke early, as he always seemed to these days, and glanced down at the woman beside him. Her silver hair had spread across the pillow and over his chest, he smiled fondly and kissed the top of her head. She gave a sleepy little sigh and rolled away as he clambered out of bed. He padded through their little house on barefeet, putting on a pot of coffee, starting a simple breakfast of fruit and oatmeal which he loaded onto a tray and carried out onto the back patio.
The sunrise made silhouettes of the yucca trees and cacti, and the desert wrens were singing when he heard a sound that made him even happier: the soft squeak of his wife’s chair. He turned to smile as she rolled up to the iron wrought table.
“You could have woken me, you know.” She sounded annoyed, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that betrayed her.
“You’re a bear in the morning and you know it.”
She laughed, “at my age, you can be anything you like.”
“You’ve always done whatever you liked, Olivier, age has nothing to do with it.”
“Tch!”
He chuckled, “well, you’re as childish as ever, at any rate.”
“Speaking of children, are you ready for today? I don’t want you to be without a handkerchief when you start bawling.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Miles feigned offense with a slight sniff.
“You know you always cry at weddings.”
“I do not!” His protest was cut off by a rattling in the front of the house.
“Hello anyone home?”
“Back here, darling!”
Miles beamed at the woman coming around the corner, and was rewarded with a cheery “hello, Father!” and a kiss on the cheek.
“What on earth are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Olivier chided nevertheless smiling as she reached out to embrace her daughter.
“Well, then, who’d make sure you two remembered to turn up? And, besides, I rather think I’m beautiful enough without hours of primping and preening.”
“Of course you are. You take after your father, after all.”
“I’m not sure if I’m flattered or not,” Miles mused, “but you, my dear, are as beautiful a bride as there ever was.”
She smiled, and it was definitely her father’s smile, but the twinkling blue eyes were entirely her mother’s. She dropped into a chair and helped herself to some of Miles’ coffee, another trait decidedly from her mother. “I had something to ask you both, actually.”
“Hmm?”
“Were you nervous on your wedding day?” She blushed, so like her father, “My stomach’s all in knots.”
“Of course we were-” Miles began, but was interrupted.
“I was terrified.”
“You were?” It would be hard to say who was more surprised as two pairs of eyes snapped to Olivier’s smirking face.
She leaned across the table to take Miles’ hand in her own, “I didn’t know how to love you, back then. I was so afraid I was going to mess it up. And I did, but you were always ready to forgive. You never gave up on me.” She reached for her daughter’s hand with her other, and smiled fondly, “are you afraid of ruining it?”
“Yes.” The answer was barely more than a whisper, but it was heard.
“Will he be there ready to forgive?” A nod. “Good. Will he mess up, do you think?” Another nod. “Will you be ready to forgive?”
“Yes, always.”
“Then you’re going to be just fine.” Olivier gave her hand a soft squeeze. “If you’re both willing to forgive each other, then it’ll work out.”
“Right.” She nodded, and with a determination that both parents would claim came from the other, rose. “I’d best go get ready, Aunt Tava is doing my hair and if I’m late they’ll think I have cold feet.”
“Ishvala have mercy on your fiance’s soul if your uncle thinks he’s caused you harm.”
She laughed, “poor thing’s already terrified of him. Maybe even more than he’s afraid of you, Mother.”
“And me?”
“Oh, no one’s frightened of you, Father. You’re as dangerous as a duckling, everyone says so.” Laughing in the face of her father’s faux offense she kissed both parents once more, and departed.
Miles turned to Olivier shaking his head, “the cheek of that girl!”
“I don’t know where she gets it,” Olivier smirked into her coffee.
Miles sighed, and squeezed his wife’s hand. “I didn’t know you were frightened.” She smiled, took a sip of coffee, and didn’t answer. “You didn’t know how to love me?”
“You know that.”
“I don’t.”
“I didn’t know what love really was, I was afraid to open myself up to you. I thought you would hate me if you knew the truth about me.” Miles smiled gently at her, preparing to speak, but she cut him off, “I know, I know. You could never hate me, you’ve always loved me. You’ve proved that to me time and again, but I didn’t know that then.”
Miles laughed, “I’ve gotten predictable in my old age, hmm?” She laughed, too, and patted his hands. “Shall we go get ready?”
“Will you ever be ready to see your baby girl get married?”
“It feels like the end of an era,” he admitted.
“No, dearheart,” she squeezed his hands, and they both looked at the wrinkled skin on both their hands, and the lock of silver hair that fell over them when Olivier leaned forward, “it’s the beginning of a new era.”
“A golden age,” Miles agreed, “an age of peace and joy.”
“May our children never know another.”