George's hands are clasped at your waist, guiding your movements as the two of you dance through the reception. There's a lot more love present than just the newlyweds. Couples dance all around, but for you and George, your eyes are only on eachother.

"I could get used to you in a suit," you murmur, cheeks blushed from his touch, but also the buzz of wine.

He hums low, pulling you even closer, one hand settling firmly at the small of your back while the other slips up to cradle your waist. His breath brushes your ear as he leans in, the scent of something sweet and spiced lingering from dinner. “Careful, darling,” he murmurs, voice laced with playful warning. “Keep looking at me like that and I might start planning our own wedding right here, right now.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, heart fluttering beneath the fabric of your dress.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, honey-brown and unwavering, no joke behind them now. “Not saying I’m proposing,” he adds with a lopsided grin, “not here... not like this. You deserve something better than me dancing around with wine on my breath and cake crumbs in my tie.”

Your hand rests gently over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart.

“But,” he continues, voice low and sincere now, “when it happens, when I ask you to marry me, it’ll be something you’ll never forget. And not because it’s flashy or perfect… but because it’ll be us. Somewhere quiet, somewhere warm. Just you, me… maybe a field full of wildflowers, if I’m feeling romantic.” He smiles again, smaller this time. “I’ve thought about it. Probably more than I should admit.”

The music fades into something slower, something softer, and George doesn’t stop holding you.

He presses his lips gently to your temple and murmurs, “Just so you know, love—I already think you’d be the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”