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It’s nearing midnight and the reception is in full swing and it’s reached that wonderful, happy point where everyone is merrily drunk but no one’s out stayed their welcome. It’s a warm, clear evening and the dance floor is surrounded by hundreds of tiny paper lanterns hung from tree branches; they sway gently on the breeze, a multitude of flickering, pastel colours - and illuminate everyone in a soft, hazy glow.
Lizzie is standing off to the side; a straw held between her teeth as she sips at a glass of diet coke and watches with an amused smile as Lydia tries to dance with Bing – she dips him backwards and he almost topples over, catching himself at the last minute and swinging back up with a wide grin that has Lydia laughing as he gathers her to his chest.
The band is playing an upbeat, jazzy number and the dance floor is packed with guests swaying and spinning – there’s smiles and laughter and chatting all around her and Lizzie breathes in the jasmine scent that lingers in the air; spring is a perfect time for an outdoor wedding she thinks peacefully, and it’s been the perfect evening to finish such a beautiful day.
There’s a hand to her elbow and she startles, surprised. Will curves his fingers low around her waist and she tips herself against his chest; feels his chin bump the back of her head and rest there, then the slow tickle against her hair as he breathes out deep.
“Having fun?” she asks without glancing up, and he squeezes her hip once before nodding against her temple.
“Yes, actually,” he replies and she can’t help but tip her head back to catch his eye – she smiles brightly and he returns with a light chuckle.
He’s disheveled after nearly nine hours in a suit; his hair is curling at his temples and his tie is askew – he’s still wearing his jacket but she can see the cuffs of his shirt are unbuttoned and rolled back slightly. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are cherry red and Lizzie would bet that he’s just past tipsy – it’s not often her husband has a lot to drink but when he does it always leaves him bright eyed and mellow. He softens and smiles more easily and Lizzie has the most fun prying secrets and funny little sayings from him.
“How much have you had to drink?” she teases him, and his eyes widen dramatically at the insinuation – he stutters a moment and Lizzie takes the opportunity to curl her own arm around his waist, trailing her fingers along his back underneath his jacket, until she’s tucked in tight to his side. He makes a soft noise and huffs, blushing, so she shuffles around until she’s facing him and can rest her head against his chest.
“They look happy,” she murmurs, and Will agrees with a soft, “They do.”
In the center of the dance floor, surrounded by people but focused only on each other, Fitz and Brandon are standing wrapped tight in each other’s arms. At one point they were dancing, a slow rhythmic sway, but now they’re pressed so tight against the other, gazes deep and smiles intimate, that their slow dance is more of a soft rock from side to side – they’ve hardly parted from each other all evening, save for the few dances Fitz spared for Gigi and Lizzie, and one memorable moment when he’d dared Will to a round of shots.
“What are you thinking about?” Will asks her, voice both a million miles away and so close, tickling her ear. He’s pensive and Lizzie can feel how he’s leant against her, sharing their weight. He has both arms wrapped low around her waist now and a hand splayed across the small of her back – at some point whilst watching the newlyweds they’d started rocking to the music – and Lizzie can’t help but remember their first dance; smiles cheekily as she gazes up at him and responds, “The Gibson wedding, remember?”
Will immediately stiffens and she squeezes him tighter in retaliation – giggling helplessly as the blush spreads down his cheeks. “Must you?” he growls, and she sways him forcefully from side to side, making him smile.
“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” she asks, pulling her hands out from beneath his jacket to smooth up the front of his chest, resting them over his heart. He shrugs and she purses her lips, silently prodding him to answer properly.
Whilst he ponders, eyes glazing over the lanterns and the people, she runs a hand up to his shoulder and then around and down his arm, circling his wrist loosely and raising his hand until it rests before her. His wedding ring is snug on his finger and she presses a kiss over the cool metal, darting the tip of her tongue out to lick at his skin and he shivers, curling her tighter in his arms.
“Back at the Gibson wedding?” he finally answers, and she delights in the breathy tone of his voice, “No, I didn’t dare to hope.”
“Well, I was only decent at that wedding,” she murmurs, voice soft enough to be petulant but smile warm enough that he knows she’s only teasing. Will glances up to the night sky, and with a smile tugging at his cheeks, tells her, “Lizzie Bennet – I don’t think you’ve ever merely been decent in your life.”
She laughs, and Will’s eyes crinkle at the edges as he returns it – she loves making him laugh perhaps more than anything in the world; more than nights spent making him squirm through bad television, or sharing lunch over a desk at work, or simply lying in bed, breathing the other in.
She has her hair out and curled perfectly around her face; Jane and Bing had flown in from New York for the wedding three days earlier, and the three Bennet sisters had spent an entire day at her house, watching movies and eating ice cream and practicing different hairstyles for the wedding.
Will tucks a loose strand behind her ear and his face is so open, so honest, that Lizzie could never doubt that he loves her. She can feel it in her bones and with every breath, and there’s something about weddings that makes it all the more magic.
“I’m glad I met you that day,” she tells him finally, curving herself back into his chest until her ear is resting over his heart – he’s the perfect height to accommodate snuggles, and she feels safe and warm in his arms. Across the dance floor she can see Jane and Bing with their foreheads pressed together; Lydia has accosted Gigi and the pair are giggling over champagne glasses at the bar whilst Charlotte strikes up a conversation with one of Brandon’s many cousins. Lizzie’s parents are somewhere in the crowd, as are colleagues from Pemberley, friends that they’ve made in San Fransisco and those that Will and Fitz have known since college.
The moon is high and full in the sky and the lanterns are flickering as the sway on the breeze; the band is now playing a soft waltz and Will steps back a moment, offering his hand to her – “May I have this dance?” he asks, voice formal but smile adorably cheeky. Lizzie blushes and nods and can’t help but think of that first dance, but then all the ones that have followed since, as Will leads her out onto the floor.
And as he rests an arm around her waist and she places the other to be held, firm in his grasp, he rests his cheek to her temple and whispers softly, “I’m so glad we met then too.”