A/N: All good things must come to an end...one more chapter to this one...20 chapters for 2020!
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Chapter 19
A morning wedding. A morning church wedding on a fine, cool and clear morning in Vegas. The church was small, red brick, built in the early years of suburban development of the city and had managed to retain a semblance of being set in a small park. Built with a high, domed ceiling; walls with native stones worked among the brick, small alcoves for flowers, and stained glass windows that made it appear to be much older than it was. As a result, in the past decade, it had become the place for elegant and lavish celebrations.
Sara was certain there had never been a crime committed on the property because she'd never heard of it before the wedding invitation.
Two men with enthusiastic smiles held the broad double doors open at the entrance to the church. A vast container of white flowers sat next to each door.
Gil Grissom lifted one eyebrow when his wife glanced at him; both were surprised at the old-fashioned beauty of the place. They smiled as they entered the church and Sara almost gasped at its loveliness.
Sunlight from high leaded windows scattered light over the intricately parquet floor like glittering raindrops. Dark wood walls surrounded rows of pews; the high ceiling was painted with figures resembling those of Michelangelo's ceiling. More fragrant white flowers hung from pews and along walls. A group of chamber orchestra musicians filled the air as Sara and Grissom slipped into one of the rows near the front of the church next to Doc Robbins and his wife. Catherine, Lindsey, Jim and Nick were seated across the aisle. Glancing around, Sara saw a number of people she recognized.
"You look beautiful," Grissom whispered as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Sara tugged a finger along the edge of lace of the scoop-necked dress. She could not believe she'd purchased a lace dress—a blue lace dress—for the wedding. Grissom had insisted, gone shopping with her, and selected this one that she'd probably never wear again. Her husband promised her that she would wear it again; he'd make sure to plan a date—a special occasion—for them. She had laughed.
Her hand moved to cover her husband's; he looked striking in his dark suit, impeccably dressed and handsome in an irrelevant way that few men possessed. She squeezed his hand, wanting to twirl one of his way-ward curls around her finger, but brought his hand to her lap instead.
"Don't worry," he whispered, "the kids are fine."
She smiled, nodded, softly saying, "Who gets married on Christmas Eve?" She knew the twins and their baby sister were well cared for by daughters of Catherine's housekeeper.
She felt his chuckle as the violins began to play 'Canon in D Pachelbel'; the air seemed to change and some unseen cue was given for everyone to stand.
Sara turned with everyone else as the doors to the church opened and Greg Sanders and Morgan Brody stepped inside. And suddenly, she knew why the wedding was Christmas Eve, in the morning. As the couple entered the church, a long beam of sunlight from high windows flooded the aisle of the church like a spotlight—only better. At this time, at this place, for a few days around winter solstice—like Stonehenge—the sunlight was 'right'. Biting back a laugh, she leaned into Grissom's shoulder thinking only Greg would know this bit of history about the building.
Greg had been secretive about their plans, saying he and Morgan wanted to surprise everyone with a retro wedding. He was wearing a cut-away suitcoat with gray and black striped pants looking as if he were ready for a royal English wedding. But he almost disappeared in the brilliant luminosity of Morgan's dress.
A collective intake of air seemed to occur as the two walked slowly to the front of the church. Morgan's dress, highlighted by the natural sunlight, was magnificent in cream colored silk with rows of lace around a circle skirt. Her pale hair was pulled back into an intricate roll where the veil was held by a cluster of crystals and pearls.
Sara knew little about vintage fashion but she would bet the dress was an original from the 1950s—or an exceptional reproduction—and from the reactions of the audience, no one had expected this.
There was no big wedding party of bridesmaids and groomsmen, only the bride and groom in a beam of sunlight that lit up the middle of the church. While the couple had walked up the aisle, their parents had come in and stood at the front with the church rector and a judge.
And shortly, in a ceremony as devoid of religion as possible, Greg and Morgan were married. Sara blocked out most of the words of the ceremony as memories flooded her brain of Greg; how he flirted with her for years continuing after he knew that she and Grissom were together, how they enjoyed the same music and had often gossiped about the same people, how he'd always had her back, always her friend. She loved him as much as she would have loved a brother.
Her dreaming was interrupted with the judge's words; a poem or a prayer she had heard before—an old Jimmy Stewart movie when he married a Native American girl. It finished with, "To enter into the days of your togetherness, and may your days be good and long upon this earth."
Everyone applauded as the rector announced the new couple to their friends; Greg and Morgan made their way to the open doors, shaking hands and hugging friends as they departed the church. Afterwards, Sheriff Ecklie reminded everyone of the reception. Sara knew this was the much larger celebration with several hundred people invited, a towering wedding cake, and food for a small army in the grandest ball room of the Eclipse Casino—for the popular sheriff, father of the bride, to provide his political well-wishers the symbolic assemblage expected of his office.
It did not take long for the motorcade of guests to arrive at the casino; having the sheriff lead the wedding guests meant flashing lights and several escort motorcycles to stop traffic on the way. When Sara and Grissom arrived, the party was in full swing—the sound of fifty conversations as hors d'oeuvre and drinks were provided by an unending number of servers—gave Sara the impression that some of the guests had been there for hours.
The reception was an extravaganza with music, a video of Morgan and Greg that could have competed with best movie at Golden Globes, a Vegas style buffet, and tables covered in white cloths and silverware. The sheriff welcomed everyone; Greg and Morgan gave short speeches, thanking everyone for making their day unique.
Sara was not sure how this had come together. Morgan no longer worked as a CSI but in the district attorney office; a job she'd taken after Greg had been promoted to lab director. She knew the couple had lived together for two years before finally deciding to marry—and after their announcement there had been a period of negotiations involving Morgan's dad; his political ambitions thriving at the thought of an extravagant wedding for his daughter.
Grissom took Sara's arm and led her further into the room, which was so crowded they brushed against shoulders, and hands were extended to shake hands. "What a crush," Sara said. Leaning closer, she said, "Everyone remembers you!" Finally, they found the law enforcement side of the ballroom and spent an hour catching up with dozens of former co-workers while eating a variety of foods from soups to salmon, sweetly seasoned baked apples and savory stuffed zucchinis.
The hum of conversation receded as music in the ballroom swelled and the glittering crowd adjusted to clear the dance floor for the newlyweds. What followed was the traditional and beautiful dance of the husband and wife, with their parents, step-parents, and with grandparents taking their turns to dance with the bride and groom.
The music changed again as guests went to the dance floor; Catherine was one of the first, dancing with Nick in what appeared to be an easy, familiar rhythm. Grissom's elbow touched Sara.
He said, "Look at that—those two look like they've been dancing together for years!"
Grinning, Sara said, "I think they have."
The music changed to a slow waltz and Grissom stood, taking her hand. "Let's show those two they aren't the only ones who can dance." He brought her close and they were quickly lost in the midst of dancers, circling with the grace of a bird's flight. They felt at ease, moving together as if they'd done it every day. When in reality, they had danced together on a dance floor three times in twenty years. In private, they had danced a thousand dances in their bedroom, in the living room, on the boat, on the beach.
It was effortless and natural as they had known it would be from the first time they had danced. Sara smiled as her husband pulled her into a hug, his mouth near her ear.
"Do you remember the first time, dear?" He asked.
She laughed and said, "Yes, I do! The policemen's Christmas party—the second—or was it the third—year I was in Vegas. I had a fantasy of taking you upstairs and making love to you all night."
Backing a half-step away, Grissom looked at her with a mischievous grin and said, "I left the party after the dance. I had to—I knew I'd be in trouble if I stayed."
Sara's mouth curled in a smile. "You left me!"
"I did. Took a cold shower when I got home."
Leaning into him, her head rested on his shoulder. The crowded ballroom seemed to disappear and she felt as if they were dancing alone in some private place. The touch of warm breath on her cheek, the press of his hand on her back, the kiss of his lips against her hair; she whispered, "It's been a while since you've had to take a cold shower."
A moment later, the music stopped and Greg and Morgan appeared beside them, both laughing as the tempo of music changed.
Greg said, "You are great dancers—now it's our turn!" He took Sara's hand as Grissom, with a slight shrug of amusement, turned to Morgan.
He said, "I'm a one dance guy, Morgan. What do you say about letting these two dance a foxtrot or the shuffle—whatever it's called—and we'll find something to drink?"
"I am thirsty—and I would love to sit one out in a quiet corner."
"I'm the man for that," he said as they hooked arms and walked away.
Dancing with Greg was an entirely different experience from dancing with Grissom. Over the years of their friendship, the two had partied and danced together multiple times. And to a modern swing, Sara followed Greg's lead around the dance floor, getting her feet crossed up several times as his comments made her laugh. When the song ended, he guided her to the table where Grissom and Morgan waited, both drinking champagne.
Morgan said, "I must dance with others—thank you, Gil, for rescuing my tired feet."
"You are both good sports about all of this," said Sara as she waved a hand at the crowded ballroom.
Greg laughed as Morgan said, "We are—all part of politics—and we are wrapping this up in an hour. Cake gets cuts in ten minutes if I can arrange it." She pointed two fingers at Sara and Grissom, adding, "Tomorrow morning—Christmas at Catherine's with Jay and Will—and little Ellie—we are looking forward to the excitement." With a wave, the newlyweds left them for another round of dancing.
"She's a nice young woman," Grissom said as the couple disappeared into the crowd. Looking at his wife, he chuckled and added, "Good thing I didn't squash him with a mannequin years ago." Placing his arm around Sara, he whispered, "I wasn't sure Greg would ever find another woman to love."
Sara smiled before she kissed him.
A/N: Thank you for reading! We appreciate hearing from you! One more chapter!