A/N: Sorry for the long wait.

After another six hours on the road, you're finally pulling into Aunt Sarah's drive. The split rail fence guides you down the long gravel road, green meadows rolling into the distance just beyond it. You spy a few horses grazing on the sweet grass and the smell of the country seeps through the vents in the car. The place is still as breathtaking as it ever was. Allison makes a little sound of awe as the estate comes into view. You failed to mention that Aunt Sarah married into wealth.

"This is your aunt's place?" she asks, a tone of wonder in her voice. The house is fairly massive, built in the early twentieth century from stone found on the property, and heavy leaded glass windows that overlook the surrounding meadow in front and the wooded area in back.

"Yup. Her husband, Billy, made a small fortune in horse husbandry. Or maybe it was horse betting. I forget," you say, as you park the car under the portico. "Either way, he lets her pretend she's some sort of blue blood, even though she was born in a shack during World War II."

She's taking in the sight of the front entrance with its massive columns as you add, "I lived here during high school."

"You did? Why?"

"My parents were still moving a lot with the military. My mom thought it would be good for me to have some stability during my teen years. Aunt Sarah was happy to take me in. She wanted to learn me some manners and good breeding," you say with an exaggerated southern accent, popping open the trunk as your aunt comes scurrying out to greet you.

Aunt Sarah enfolds you in a big, motherly hug and you spy Uncle Billy at the top of the porch steps, grinning at you with his jovial smile. That old feeling returns to you; the one that says you were cheated, that these people should've been your parents. Billy comes down and slaps you on the back as Sarah releases you, and then you are introducing them to your wife.

Sarah is eyeing Allison critically, and your stomach tightens like a finely tuned harp string. She always had a predisposition for assuming no female was good enough for you, as if you're some prize catch. But then she hugs your wife and waves you both inside, and you let out the breath you've been holding.

Billy offers a shy, "Nice to meet'cha," to Allison and nearly blushes when she smiles back at him. You have a feeling he'd be all over that if he were young and single. You can't say you blame him.

Allison grabs some things from the backseat and Billy hefts one of your bags from the trunk. You take the other and follow Sarah up the porch steps.

"Hope you packed a sweater," Billy murmurs as you pass him by. You have no idea what he means until Sarah pushes the front door open and a blast of frigid air smacks you in the face.

"Sarah's been having hot flashes," he explains, soft and low. "She keeps the A/C set on Subarctic."

"Ah," you say, with a little shiver, as you follow Sarah and Allison to the staircase.

The carpets are thick and immaculate; Allison immediately kicks off her shoes in deference to the carpet gods, picking them up to carry them up the stairs. You roll your eyes, but follow her example. You're sure Aunt Sarah has had the house cleaned more thoroughly than a hospital operating room. She and Billy are wearing house slippers, you notice, so as not to sully the rug.

"Oh, don't worry about your shoes," Sarah says, but the tone of her voice holds gratitude for Allison's thoughtfulness and you imagine the scorecard in Sarah's head now has another point in Allison's favor.

You let everyone else move ahead of you because you don't want them to see you struggle up each step. While their backs are turned, you swallow down two Vicodin and then begin your slow and clumsy ascent up the thickly carpeted stairs. Once you're at the top, you follow the sound of voices to the largest guest room and find Sarah fussing around, pointing out where the linens are kept and smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the duvet.

"It's a beautiful room," Allison says with a smile. "Thank you for letting us stay."

"Oh nonsense," Sarah replies with a pleased gleam in her eye. "This is Greg's home. You're always welcome here." She turns at that and pinches your cheek, much to your dismay, and says, "You two go on and get settled. Dinner will be about an hour."

When the door is closed, Allison drops her shoes and flops back onto the bed, spreading her arms. "This room is gorgeous."

"Yup, this is the best guest room in the house. Check out the bathroom."

She rises and makes her way into the adjoining bathroom, and you can see her running her hands over the marble vanity and eyeing the massive tub. Limping in after her, you put your arms around her and say, "We'll have to take that baby for a test drive after dinner."

"Sounds good," she murmurs, turning in your arms, cupping your face with her hands and kissing you quickly. Then she burrows into you and you hold her close.

A short time later, you're sitting in the dining room, having some dried out pork chops and a massive pile of mashed potatoes. Sarah always had a tendency to overcook meat; you can see that hasn't changed over time.

"So, Greg, are you going to tell us why you deprived us of the pleasure of attending your wedding?" Aunt Sarah starts, shooting you with little guilt bullets from out of her eyes. She never reminds you more of your mother than when she's laying on the guilt.

"Oh, leave the boy alone," Billy says, winking at you. "He's a bit too old for your guilt trips now."

"We didn't want a big fuss," Allison says, apologetically, holding her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth.

"Well that's ridiculous. Every young woman dreams of her wedding day, and it usually doesn't involve a quick trip to the Justice of the Peace," Sarah replies, astonished. As she speaks, Billy saws through his meat like a lumberjack through a Redwood, casting furtive glances at his wife.

Beside you, you notice that Allison's shoulders have drooped in an almost imperceptible slump of defeat. She hates disappointing people, and you are sure she feels as if she has already disappointed your family. Beneath the table you place your hand on her leg.

"I wanted to marry Allison and I wanted to do it quick, before she had a chance to think about it too much and run off," you say with a wink. "I'm sure you'll forgive us for that."

"Sure, we understand," Billy replies, smiling and nudging his wife. "Don't we Sarah?"

There's a pause and then you see acceptance in her smile. "Of course. I'm sure the ceremony was lovely, and I'm very happy for you, Greg."

"We could send you a picture if you like," Allison offers, and Sarah nearly beams with happiness and replies, "I would love that. Thank you."

Sarah then turns the conversation to the anniversary party for your parents, which you mostly tune out in favor of imagining Allison in that giant bathtub upstairs.