If the meeting hadn’t finished early, I wouldn’t have come at all. By the time I entered the reception, the bride was drinking beer from a lomg-necked bottle and the groom had a rosy, bewildered look.

Then I saw him. A gentlemen with a craggy face and a coiffed mane of gray hair was nodding to one of the grandmothers. He did a quarter turn and stared at me with shockingly blue eyes. We looked at each other and neither of us faltered. He put his glass down on the table and turned back to the conversation.

The lining of my skirt felt like silk against my skin, stroking my thighs as I made my way over for a brief hello and congratulations to the happy couple. Then I found the bar and waited, wondering if he would come.

“Drink?” he said quietly stepping beside me.

“White wine, please.”

He smiled. “Of course. What else.”

“Are all women so predictable ?” I asked, pausing to take the drink, waiting while he received a fresh scotch.

He cocked hishead aand looked into middle space. “Actually, I have never found any woman to be predictable” He leaned back on the bar and took a sip. “That’s the intrigue.”

We walked around the perimeter of the merry makers and found a clean table near an alcove. We sat, slightly angled, pretending to watch the dancing but really studying each other.

His black suit was well cut, shirt with French cuffs, and an expensive, unobstrusive tie. He wore the clothes. They didn’t dominate him. He knew who he was.

“Bridge or groom?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Both. I’ve known themsince they were kids.” He turned and looked at me apprasingly. He turquoise surveyed me from head to toe”, judging, approving. “Dowager aunt, I presume?”

Gently he reached over and with both hands, smoothed my skirt away from the knees. He hands lingered while I raised the wineglass and stared into his eyes.

Now it was my turn to smile. “Dowager aunts don’t show too much leg.”

“When they’re good, always show too much, ” he chuckled, “of anything.

My skin felt prickly and I was soft all over. Every bit of me was alive.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He took my hand and in his and raised it, palm up, to his lips. His tongue circled the length of my lifeline and I took deep breaths of pleasure. I didn’t want him to stop.

I watched him dance with the bridge, elegant, rhymic steps, controlling her every turn. Then he took the bride’s mother onto the floor, chatting pleasantly, nodding his head, laughing.

The musicians took a break. He paused in front of the wedding table and stared at me. I stood and waited. He came through the crowd and put his hand in the middle of my back. I moved close to him and we walked off together, our steps matching, one for one.