Her eyes are beautiful. They're the bluest shade of blue he's ever seen anywhere, and they betray everything she is feeling. When she's happy, they twinkle and glitter like stars, and when she's angry, they are like ice. He could get lost in them, and he often did, back when they were young, when she was the wise-beyond-her-years 16 year old girl, and he was the cocky young archeologist, and they'd spend hours in the flowery field a few miles out of town. He would just stare into her eyes, and she would blink sweetly back, her hand secured in his.
10 years after that, they're still that same shade of blue. They're harder, wiser, a testament to all she has gone through since he last saw her, but for a moment, just a moment, when he first walks through her door, and she turns to see him, she's 16 year old Marion again. And then she punches him. Some things never change.
Now, over 20 years later, her eyes are a vivid as ever. There are laugh lines around the edges that are accentuated by the dazzling smile she's wearing, and they look slightly brighter than normal, as he suspects his are also. The priest pronounces them man and wife, and she grabs him and kisses him, and he doesn't think he's ever been happier.