Never Too Late for Love. Marie Ferrarella

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      “Then that’s all that counts.” She kissed Melanie’s cheek. “Because if he gives you one bad moment, I’m going to have to kill him, you know.”

      A smile twitched Melanie’s lips. “That should keep him in line nicely.” The Wedding March had already begun. Melanie took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. Surprisingly, it worked. “Well, they’re playing our song.”

      “No, only yours, baby. They’ll never play that song for me.”

      Margo had resigned herself to that a very long time ago. Marriage had no place in her world. It was better to just go through life expecting little, enjoying whatever there was for however long it lasted. And when some relationship continued, in her estimation, for too long a time, she was the one who tactfully ended it. Before someone ended it for her.

      The doors were pushed opened. Music swelled all around them. Holding tightly to the arm wrapped around hers, Margo began to slowly walk down the aisle with her daughter. As with most of her life, this was a break with tradition. Margo was infinitely pleased that Melanie had asked her to give her away; rather than choosing to walk down the aisle alone or having some older man she knew accompany her.

      If Melanie had ever belonged to anyone, she’d belonged to her. And now she was going to belong to someone else. And he to her.

      Margo could feel her heart swelling with each step she took. She had raised Melanie as best she could, loving every moment of that time. But it had been too short, she thought. Much too short.

      “You all right, Mama?” Melanie whispered, inclining her head toward Margo.

      Margo nodded. “Fine,” she whispered back, “just fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She wasn’t even herself, she thought, annoyed at her own lack of control. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, and here I am, being so hopelessly traditional I could just scream.”

      Taking a deep breath, Margo tried to stem the flow that was trickling from the corners of her eyes. After a few seconds, she succeeded. With all her heart she wished she had someone to share this moment with. But for all the friends she had garnered, all the men she felt affection for and who returned the feeling, there was no one for this special moment. No one who had been there from the beginning, to watch a frightened young girl become a mother and somehow manage not to mess up the life of the tiny miracle she’d been entrusted with.

      The only person who’d been there, whom she could have shared this with, was gone. Margo thought of Elaine, the woman who had come to her aid, who’d taken her out of a tiny, one-room apartment and a dead-end job as a chorus girl in Las Vegas and brought her into her home and her heart. It was because of Elaine that she had been able to blossom, to be who and what she was today.

      “Your aunt Elaine would have loved seeing you like this.”

      Melanie smiled fondly. Aunt Elaine had been gone almost three years now. The void she left behind would never be filled. But loving Lance had helped a great deal. “I know, Mama, I know.”

      She didn’t want to be maudlin at a time like this. Margo’s eyes fixed on the young man standing on the priest’s left. “So that’s him, eh?”

      Melanie’s smile lit up her whole body. “Yes, that’s him.”

      “Very nice.” Almost there, Margo’s eyes strayed to the groom’s side of the church. Bruce was in the front row, on the aisle. “The early edition is every bit as handsome as the later one.” She gave Melanie’s arm a little squeeze. “You two’ll make beautiful music and equally beautiful children.”

      They had come to the front of the church. With a tinge of reluctance that caught her completely off guard, Margo handed her daughter over to a man with kind eyes, then stepped back.

      

      “I see you’re not dancing.”

      Bruce caught the scent of sexy perfume that accompanied the voice and felt a hand on his shoulder. For the second time that day, Bruce was surprised by the same woman.

      He looked up to see Margo standing just to his left The remark was based on the fact that he was sitting alone at a table for eight. Everyone else was on the floor, dancing to the orchestra music.

      He shrugged as he felt the hand slide from his shoulder. “I don’t really like to dance.”

      She knew there were men who truly loathed to dance, but there was something in his voice that had Margo not quite buying Bruce’s excuse.

      She moved to stand in front of him to get a clearer view of his face. “Don’t like to dance or don’t know how to dance?”

      One quick glance told her what she wanted to know. She took his hand in hers, struck by the understated power she felt. She’d always had a fondness for strong men.

      “Just as I thought. Come on, let me show you.” She was already urging him to his feet. “It’s all in the hips, really.” To prove it, she placed one of his hands on her hip and moved slowly.

      Bruce felt something tighten in his gut even as he found himself being charmed. “What is?” he asked belatedly.

      “Rhythm,” Margo said, still demonstrating. Gently, as if she were coaxing a fawn out on the ice, she got him to the dance floor. “Let it take you over. Don’t think of it as dancing, think of it as moving with the rhythm.” Locking her hand with his, she was ready with the first lesson.

      When he looked down he saw that her dress seemed to cling to her body like a second skin. The smile on her lips was inviting as her body sealed itself to his. Then she said, “You look like the kind of man who knows just how to move with rhythm.” Before he could protest again, Bruce found himself on the floor with Margo, surrounded by other couples. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but he hated feeling like a fool.

      She read the reluctance in his eyes, and felt it in his body. He was afraid of being embarrassed. She’d lost the fear of being embarrassed herself years ago. “Don’t worry, we’ll pretend you’re leading.”

      Her assurance struck him as particularly baseless. “How can I pretend that I’m leading when I don’t know what I’m doing?”

      The same smile he’d seen on Melanie lit up Margo’s eyes. “Simple. Presidents do it all the time.”

      She winked at him, a lightning-fast flutter of dark brown lashes that had a far greater effect on him than he thought it should. In a last-ditch effort to save himself, he issued her a warning he thought was only fair. “I’m going to step all over your feet.”

      Oh no, she thought, he wasn’t going to get out of having fun that easily.

      “My feet can look out for themselves.” She jiggled his arm slightly. “Loosen up, Bruce. Just let yourself have a good time.”

      He thought he was having a good time. “Loosen up?” he echoed. “I wasn’t aware that I was ‘tight.”’

      She looked up into his eyes, wondering if she was making him tense, or if he was just that way in general.

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