Then the sky exploded. Fireworks erupted across the horizon, cascading rivers of color that painted the night in blinding brilliance.
Yachts glided across the water in a slow procession, each one bearing an enormous illuminated sign: Happy Birthday to Mrs. Sanchez.
On the far shore, the same words blazed in towering letters across the face of a skyscraper, visible from every corner of the city.
Jocelyn stood perfectly still. The fireworks lit her face, but there was nothing in her expression at all.
The last time the sky had burned like this, she had gone from Miss Henson to Mrs. Sanchez.
But Ivor had never known that she hated fireworks.
When she was a little girl, her father had offered to set off fireworks for her birthday. She'd said no. All she wanted was a lamp that would stay lit.
Fireworks were beautiful, sure. But they didn't last. The moment they bloomed, they were already gone. You couldn't hold on to them.
Her father had laughed at her. So sentimental for such a little thing.
Now she finally understood. What she'd said back then had been a prophecy.
Her love hadn't even lasted as long as a firework.