Alexa took her hand. “You are my greatest joy. And this day is your gift to me.” She stopped before she got sloppy. She didn’t tell her daughter what it meant to see her find her life partner, who loved and respected her. What it meant to see her in that stunning dress, a grown woman but still blooming with youth and possibility. What it meant to see her healthy, happy, and so, so capable. That would have wrecked them both. Instead, she squeezed her hand and said in her native tongue, “S’agapó.”

Penny turned to look at her mother, “Ki egó se agapó.” I love you, too.

Lord Simon Fox, dapper in a blue suit, white shirt, and a handsome blue Gucci tie with purple butterflies, knocked before popping his head in the door. The sight of the two Diamandis women, mother and daughter, in their wedding finery took his breath away a tiny bit. “Stunning. Very good. Both of you. This is such an honor for me.” And then he added, “It’s time. Alexa, Madison informed me that all the guests are seated. If you’ll kindly go downstairs and meet Madison for your entrance. Then Penny and I will follow. Ready?”

*  *  *

A grove of evergreens, the deeply discounted Christmas trees that Mitsy and her crew scooped up on the twenty-sixth of December, provided a privacy screen for the bridal party to assemble out of view of the guests. Madison, headset on, clipboard in hand, motioned to Alexa to take her place at the head of the line, next to Abigail and George.

It had been Penny’s ideas that Alexa walk down the aisle with the Blakemans instead of on her own or with a groomsman. As mother and daughter met on Zoom to plan the timeline of events with the same care and decisiveness as a tour of Delphi and Olympia, Penny had said, “Chase and I were talking about everything our parents have done for us, including getting us back together. We said we didn’t want gimmicks, but we want to ask you to do something special for us. We thought maybe all three of you could walk down the aisle together to symbolize unity, two families joining. Is that too much? Would you rather walk alone?”

Alexa was taken aback. She had assumed she would walk herself down the aisle. She fancied her own moment, a quiet nod to how she had raised her daughter, but then she remembered the advice Aunt B had given her months ago at the engagement party: It’s not your wedding. So instead of protesting, Alexa agreed like it was a brilliant idea, the best notion ever. “As long as I get to pick the entrance song.”

“As long as it’s not the Cure,” Penny had answered, rolling her eyes at her mother’s former goth sensibilities.