Moncarapacho, Portugal
September 30
The steep path from Calliope’s parents’ home down to the village chapel was bordered by lanterns and bouquets of fresh flowers. As was the custom, the entire village, some three hundred people, followed along as the bride made her way down the slope. Twitch and Emily walked beside Calliope, protecting her gown from the terrain. The parade was a riot of color. Men passed bottles of homemade Ginja, a local sour cherry liqueur, through the crowd, and children danced and squealed. Calliope drew a breath as she glimpsed the entrance to the fifteenth-century chapel perched on a cliff. Cam, Steady, Ren, and Chat stood in dress blues waiting to escort the guests to their seats. She had known what the men would be wearing, but nothing could prepare her for the sheer awe of their appearance. She really couldn’t imagine anyone looking more handsome and dignified than these four men…until the doors of the chapel opened.
Emily and Twitch walked one-by-one down the aisle to stand across from Nathan, Miles, and Finn. Emily beamed. Twitch scowled then donned a neutral mask that could not conceal her flush. The music shifted. The guests rose from their pews.
Calliope stood still momentarily stunned.
Miller Buchanan was a dream come to life. No mere mortal could hold up the amount of hardware pinned to his chest. From the starched blue uniform, cover tucked under his arm, to the look of supreme confidence on his face, there wasn’t a doubt in Calliope Garland’s mind. He was hers.
She was looking at the man she wanted to wake up to every day for the rest of her life.
He was looking at the woman he wanted to go to bed with every night for the rest of his life.
The world disappeared as Tox’s vision tunneled, drinking in his soon-to-be wife. Wife. She didn’t look like a wife. She looked like every fantasy he’d ever had, and a few in the offing. The little lace shawlette that covered her shoulders for propriety in the church gave him a glimpse of what was to come. Her ebony mane hung loose over one shoulder. Beneath it, a strapless organza dress was cinched at the waist with a sash made of white rosebuds. The nosegay of pale blue brunnea and hibiscus matched her eyes.
The priest conducted the ceremony in Portuguese with a younger priest at his side translating to English. Tox understood most of the native language, his mind clinging to words like amar, love, devoção, devotion, and eternidade, eternity. After the traditional script, the priest added his own thoughts in cobbled English.
“Calliope shared with me that when she first met you, Miller, she feared that you were not compatible, that you were too different. I will tell you what I told her. Compatible does not mean the same. The busy hummingbird seeks the still nectar. Quiet melody and fast, exciting music come together to make symphony. The cold, dark winter works with the long, hot days of summer to make the earth grow. Compatible does not mean the same. Compatible means…”
The older priest whispered to the younger who finished the thought. “Compatible means each soul nourishes the other.”
The older man clapped him on the shoulder. “O que você está esperando? Beije sua noiva!” The guests laughed as the other priest repeated in English. “What are you waiting for? Kiss your bride!”
Tox didn’t need to be told twice. He had Calliope in his arms before the English translation was halfway out.
Elara and Clemente Acosta had hosted diplomats and royalty and heads of state at their sprawling estate, but never had the grounds looked so festive, never had the visitors been so jubilant. Guests could see the clear starry night through the transparent tent tops, fairy lights lit hundreds of trees, and the bounty of food and drink conjured the image of a Medieval banquet in a prosperous land. The first two bands had finished, and the third, more lively group, had taken over. Guests packed the constructed outdoor dance floor laughing and twirling. And in the middle of the merriment, Miller Buchanan spun his bride into the protection of his arms.
The most adhered to and devilish of Portuguese wedding traditions was the escape from the reception. Guests did everything in their power to stymie the couple’s departure. Children wrapped themselves around the groom’s legs. Young men hid their luggage and even stole their car. After an hour or so of fun and games and being dragged back for another dance or another toast, Tox executed his exfil.
“Ready to escape for real, Mrs. Buchanan?”
“I don’t know if we’ll make it. Your buddies are getting into it now.”
Tox glanced up to see Steady and Cam guarding the door like sentries. Chat and Ren were at a well-positioned table conducting surveillance.
“Like every op, this calls for planning and preparation.” He winked. “Follow me.”
Tox bolted from the dance floor and moved through the kitchen, then out the back door of the estate. Across the expansive lawn, the Sikorsky sat ready.
Calliope yelled through the darkness. “You arranged for a helicopter?”
“Your father did.”
As the Sikorski lit up, Calliope spied her mother and father waiting with her bags. Next to them, Nathan Bishop and Miles Buchanan stood while Finn McIntyre accepted Tox’s duffle from Nathan and returned to the pilot’s seat.
As shouts of “eles estao fugindo!” They’re getting away! echoed in the distance, Mr. and Mrs. Miller Buchanan exchanged hugs and back slaps and words of kindness and thanks with their families and climbed into the helicopter.
Calliope’s mother pulled Calliope back into another hug and spoke in accented English. “You’re my heart, precious girl. You taught me how to love.” Clemente came and stood with his wife and daughter and the three exchanged another embrace.
Calliope looked at her parents with a dawning realization. There were many kinds of love, different kinds of love, but each had its own importance, its own value. It wasn’t about more or less. It was about the heart’s infinite capacity.
She hugged her parents again and climbed into the helo as guests thundered across the vast lawn.
“Where to, husband?”
“The airport in Faro. Then it’s a surprise.”