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The weather on their wedding day was everything.
It was cloudy—huge, bluish-white clouds rolled in and seemed to bubble over as they grew in size and spread overhead. It was rainy—those same clouds, and other darker ones, started to let loose a drizzling downpour. The winds were gales, buffeting everyone almost off their feet and sending tablecloths and flowery decorations flying.
In the midst of it all was a tornado—a small one, one that curled down from the clouds in its delicate funnel shape and danced in the mighty torrents overhead, the tip skittering to and fro above the town square as if looking for a place to land and stabilize itself.
Still, high above it all, patchwork patterns of sunlight streamed through—sunshine dappling the village all around and amidst the hurricane. It was everything all at once—every could-be-shed tear and would-be-held breath, every bluster and storm and wondrous moment of brightness they’d surely encounter from now on—and he couldn’t imagine anything more fitting or magical for the best day of his life.
His bride—his beautiful, windblown bride, who he could call his and be called hers by, his amor eterno and bella esposa!—was breathing heavily, her eyes wide with mortified panic as she stared up at the wildness of the weather. That look on her face had always struck a chord in his heart—she cared so much and carried the weight of such constant worry in her head, about how she might affect others with her gift—but his own concern was swiftly overcome with the way his heart swelled with affection for her. She worried much, didn’t she? Surely she knew by now that he had always loved the feel of the rain and the wind on his face. (And surely she knew by now that he loved it when she was able to fully feel her emotions.)
Almost always, he would comfort her when the gales picked up and the thunderstorms started, because clear skies mattered most to her. Today, though—today he thought he could be forgiven for letting his romantic side try easing her nerves instead.
“That is a lot of emotion in the air, mi cielo,” he drew closer to her ear as he remarked to her, in as quiet of a soft shout he could use and still be heard in the center of a hurricane. Her green eyes darted to his for a moment, still wide and now briefly uncertain. He tried to pull his best smirk—though could it be blamed him if it were more of a love-struck grin? “Do I make you feel all that?”
Her dress was as soaked as his suit, and her hair was frazzled and windswept in every direction, but she was beautiful when she dragged her gaze more fully from Bruno in the crowd to him, staring in brief surprise. Just as quickly, her cheeks tinted a shade on its way to that of her hair, and Pepa managed a wavering, wobbling smile at him that was still so embarrassed, but so genuine and so very her.
“Forget Bruno,” Félix murmured in her ear. The thunder crackled and the downpour grew heavier for a moment at that name. Still, he held his umbrella over her as he drew back to hold her gaze with the warmest smile his face could handle. “Today belongs to us.”
Her eyes softened and the thunder quieted just a bit, and her thin smile grew a little more when he reached up and gently put his arms around her, careful to keep his faithful old umbrella balanced over her head.
He dipped her low, and the atmospheric pressure followed her example, sending their ears popping and hearts flipping in the midst of the storm.