by Ana Simons
As soon as the choir finishes the entrance song, everyone rises, and the minister begins the ceremony. “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Holy Trinity for the marriage of James Burke and Linda O’Connell. This place in which we are now met has been…”
“…Marriage joins two people in the circle of its love. It is a commitment to life, the best that two people can find and bring out in each other. It offers opportunities for learning and growth that no other opportunity can equal. It is both a physical and emotional joining that is promised for a lifetime…”
Inevitably my mind wanders to Simon, sitting by my side. ‘Lifetime my ass’, he’s probably thinking. He loved his wife more than himself and look at him now. Walking around in a daze like a zombie, unable to turn his life around.
Fuck this, I think, not sure anymore if it’s because of Simon’s predicament or mine.
“Jimmy, do you take Linda to be your lawful wedded wife, to be loving, faithful and loyal to her for the rest of your life together?” the minister proceeds.
Jimmy nods enthusiastically. “I do.”
“Linda, do you take Jimmy to be your lawful wedded husband, to be loving, faithful and loyal to him for the rest of your life together?”
Linda gives Jimmy a warm, heartfelt smile. “I do.”
“It now gives me great pleasure to tell you both that you are now legally husband and wife. Congratulations,” the minister finally announces, and a roar of applause engulfs the church.
That’s it, my friend. Game over. I can’t help but chuckle to myself.
Minutes later, my father pulls Jimmy in for a tight hug and gives him a friendly, paternal pat on the back of the head. “Son, remember this: there are only two rules to make a marriage work. Simple as that.”
“You tell me, Mr Anderson.” Shrugging his shoulders, amused, Jimmy plays along. He knows Dad is about to tell one of his usual jokes.
My father puts on a crooked smile and gives away his infallible recipe. “Rule number one: your wife is always right. Rule number two: when you think she’s wrong, you slap yourself and think of rule number one again!”
We all laugh.
“Wiser words have never been spoken, John,” Linda says. There’s a glow of happiness on her face.
“A happy wife, a happy life,” Jimmy agrees, laughing and waving his hand at someone approaching from behind.
Swivelling my head slightly, I get a brief glimpse of the woman smiling back at him, walking against the stream of guests already heading outside.
Olivia?
Certain my mind is playing tricks on me, I turn to confirm it’s really her.
It is.
Something inside me breaks and a sudden dizzying sensation jolts through my entire body.
My eyes search hers in the middle of the half-crowded church and when they lock, she smiles.
A small nervous smile.
Surprised and confused, I’m unable to offer more than a nod.
With my heart threatening to hammer out of my chest, I keep my gaze riveted on her as she walks towards us with confident steps, her deep green eyes smiling, a distracted hand running through the long hair that tumbles over her shoulders, her hips swaying in a delicately sensual undulation.
I give myself a mental shake and step back, allowing for her to congratulate Jimmy and his bride. According to their conversation, she arrived early this morning on a direct flight from Barcelona.
Giving in to the urge, I keep my eyes riveted on her.
The natural friendliness and gentle expression from ten – eleven already? – years ago haven’t changed. As for the rest, let’s just say I can’t bring myself to stop gazing at her. She’s a naturally striking woman, beyond beautiful. And damn, she’s sexy as hell, with curves in all the right places.
I close my eyes for a few brief seconds, to cool off, and a whole host of memories invades my mind.
For some reason, I stumble upon the recollection of a young girl with an easy smile and positive attitude, her cute face sprinkled with freckles and her long hair held back in a bun, still wearing braces, always so full of energy and making me laugh like no one else has ever done.
And now she’s just so... drop-dead gorgeous?
I drag in a long breath, feeling helpless.
She’s wearing a one-shouldered, long dress with flowing skirt, sort of Greek goddess style or whatever the thing is. A stunning deep red gown that’s gracious and elegant, and damn sexy all at the same time. And her shoulder. I just can’t take my eyes off her naked shoulder.
I guess less is indeed more. The less a woman reveals, the more a guy wonders, and right now I’m imagining her long, shapely legs beneath the loose, draped skirt. Her slender waist. The most beautiful breasts.
Before I know it, fragments of a distant dream invade my mind. The reflection of her perfect body against the New York skyline. Her mouth gasping at the sensations and murmuring my name. Her lips demanding my lips, her fingers digging into my skin, pulling me closer. Her body arching towards mine, her fevered breaths begging me to take her.
Inevitably, my body reacts.
Anderson, what are you? Twelve?
Get a grip, mate.
Damn it, why is she taking so long?
Raking an impatient hand through my hair, I raise my eyes to study her face.
Long, golden-brown hair is falling in subtle waves over her shoulders, framing her face. Her features are still as delicate as I remember them: smooth fair skin, amazing green eyes, always so full of life and intensity, and perfectly outlined full lips.
Damn, her lips. Those must have turned many heads over the years.
The thought makes my jaw clench, as an irrational surge of jealousy ripples through me.
“Now go. There’s someone there waiting for you.” Jimmy jerks his head towards me, the corners of his mouth turning into a mocking smirk – as though the bastard knows how much she still affects me, which he probably does.
Finally, she turns to me, smiling, looking perfect. Absolutely perfect.
“Brian.” She extends her hand to greet me, which feels weird, to say the least.
“Liv. How are you doing?” I take her hand.
After a brief hesitation, I pull her in for a loose hug, which she returns. Much to my surprise, she also leaves a gentle kiss on my cheek.
“It’s all so beautiful. And it was such a wonderful ceremony, wasn’t it?” Casting a glance around, she takes in the magnificent setting and vibrant mood that reigns in the church. “It’s so good to see you.”
Is it me or am I sensing a certain uneasiness, a hint of nervousness? There’s a sad expression washing over her face as she fixes her stare on the altar. Is she avoiding looking at me?
“Good to see you too, Olivia.” I try to break the lingering tension. “You’re looking fabulous… It’s been quite a long time, I’d say?”
“Eleven years already.” She steps back and assesses me from head to toe. “But you’re not looking too bad yourself… Ketchupito,” she mouths the last word and lets out a little chuckle. Immediately my whole body tenses. “In fact, you’re looking way better than that tall, clumsy boy I used to know.”
For some strange reason, probably just to mess with me, our friends used to call me that nickname sometimes. But I really hated it, apparently still do, and the idea she still remembers the stupid jest grates on my nerves.
“It’s Brian,” I tell her, putting emphasis on my name, my face certainly unamused. “Just in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Hey, don’t look so serious,” she says softly, laying her hand on my arm. “That was just a silly joke, I didn’t mean to–”
“Oh, my God, look who’s here!”
“Uncle Will!”
He hugs her effusively. “How are you, love? We thought you weren’t coming! What a lovely surprise!”
What a surprise indeed.
“I’m fine. Yourself? And how very handsome you look!” She adjusts his bow tie in an
endearing gesture. “Where’s Aunt Amelia?”
“Right over there! Come, she’ll be so thrilled to see you.” He grabs her hand in excitement.
“No, Uncle Will, wait. I’m talking to–”
Me.
But he doesn’t seem to care. He practically drags her across the church, she only has time to look back and ask, “We’ll catch up during the reception?”
Yes. Please. Let’s do that, I want to tell her, but the words get caught in my throat.
“Fine, then,” Olivia answers herself while wagging a scolding finger. “Now, don’t you even think of hiding another eleven years, will you, Brian Anderson?”
She gives me a playful wink.
And then she’s gone.
I don’t even have the chance to tell her yes. That I’m really looking forward to it, to knowing what she’s been up to in the last decade.
Actually, since the night she left me standing all by myself, with my heart broken to pieces on a deserted beach, desperately waiting to talk to her and say goodbye, before flying back to London the next morning.
And suddenly I feel this inner conflict growing within me, part eagerness, part passionate despair.
6 HERE COMES THE BRIDE
WE’RE FINALLY AT THE RECEPTION VENUE, not listening to the instructions of some hysterical wedding coordinator named Paul, who’s bossing everyone around with his annoyingly screechy voice and effeminate mannerisms.
“Is this a fucking prank?”
“I’m afraid not, Rob.”
“Sweet angel of death, please, take me now.” Letting out a long puff of air, Rob leans against one of the marble pillars in the entrance hall.
Only a few moments later, we’re allowed to follow the newlywed couple as they enter the exquisitely decorated dining room and take their positions to a loud thunder of applause, the soft notes of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ playing in the background.
“Have you noticed that if you decrease the tempo a tiny bit, it’ll sound just like the ‘Funeral March’? Fucking ironic, don’t you think?”
I repress a grin. He’s got a point.
“Why is it all about the bride and her perfect day?” He snorts, unamused, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “If this is supposed to be the ‘best day’ of their lives, then I guess women aren’t aiming very high, are they? And why doesn’t the guy get a song too? Fuck me, ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ would make a great wedding song! ‘Highway to Hell’ wouldn’t be a bad choice, either.”
“Robert?” I hurl a sideways menacing glance, telling him without words that he still has to behave. “Found your table already?”
“I wish I hadn’t,” he snarls, jerking his head towards his wife. “Seriously, the only way I can tolerate this crap is with a few bevvies. I really need a goddamned drink.” With that thought in mind, he leaves.
*
“Look at Kate’s baby, Brian. Isn’t she adorable?” Susan asks, looking at her husband with a why-don’t-you-get-me-pregnant-asshole face. “I can hardly wait to hold my own…”
I grab the 3D ultrasound image, a close-up shot of a baby’s face, and look at it as if studying each feature. “I don’t know, she looks cute but… the nose is a tad too big, isn’t it? You sure it’s yours, Ethan?”
While the guys let out a hearty chuckle, Kate’s brows knit instantly in shock.
Outrage takes over Susan’s face too and her hand flies to her chest. “Brian! How dare you say such a thing to a pregnant woman? That’s not funny!” She shoots her husband an authoritative look demanding immediate backup.
“Come on, girls. You know I’m joking, right?”
I glance around the table. Mr Wimp and Mr Wuss, who must have lost their balls somewhere along the process, are unable to utter a single word. Beside them, Simon looks catatonic.
Honestly, we should kick ourselves for agreeing to sit at our married friends’ table, Simon and I. He’s shut himself off from the rest of the world around him and women are talking to me as though I’m a pompous, egotistic prick. All because I mentioned I don’t see myself settling down anytime soon. I guess they’re missing a very important detail here: I’d need to meet someone first. Otherwise, my plus one today wouldn’t be Simon, for sure.
I scan the room for the hundredth time, looking for Olivia. She’s already given me the wait-a-minute-I’m-coming gesture three or four times, but there’s always someone coming in the middle, wanting to greet and chat.
“She wasn’t supposed to come, you know? I heard it was a last-minute decision,” Kate leans towards me and says it under her breath, probably after reading the expression of disappointment plastered upon my face each time Olivia sits down at a different table.
“Excuse me? Who?” I pretend I don’t understand her remark and get up to grab the bottle for another round.
As I pour myself some more wine, my phone vibrates on the table with an incoming text. I check the screen. O’Crowley. My contact at the International Network of Investigative Journalists.
O’Crowley | Saturday, August 29 | 16:10
Let’s meet up next week. Got something that might interest you.
After the leak of confidential information of several high-profile figures earlier this year, O’Crowley has been working on a piece on how the elites dodge taxes and hide their money behind borders. I’m part of his network of anonymous sources.
I’ve been willing to help any way I can. Peter Rogers is about to be exposed, and there’s nothing I want more than to watch his life burn to the ground.
Even though O’Crowley is a ferocious reporter, well-known for his ability to coax the truth out of less cooperative targets, they’ll all claim they’re innocent. After all, using shady schemes to avoid taxes isn’t necessarily illegal in this country; in fact, there’s quite a lucrative industry built around it so that everyone’s hands remain clean.
But as I won’t settle on mere suspicions and bad publicity, I’m doing some dirt digging on my own.
I want him destroyed.
Like he nearly destroyed my family.
Under the table, my hand balls into a fist; the memory of my father lying in a hospital bed makes my lungs feel restricted and small.
My body tenses even more when my mind wanders back to Olivia. Where the hell are you?
In a desperate attempt to soothe this dull ache in the pit of my stomach, I finish my wine with one long swig.
For a moment, I close my eyes and rub my temples, trying to shove my feelings away, to ignore how my heart began to thump like crazy when I first saw her walking up that aisle earlier today. I just couldn’t take my eyes off her, off her beautiful face and her naked shoulder, as my mind reeled from the shock. Seeing her so unexpectedly. The effect she still has on me.
Damn, her smile. And her perfect lips, my eyes became transfixed on them. I wanted to kiss them that very moment. I still do, the pang of longing, mixed with desire, stabbing at my chest, pulsing in my veins to the point I can’t take it any longer.
Enough, I scold myself, determined to put an end to this. It’s stupid, just plain stupid, to sit around waiting for… a stranger?
Yes, that’s what she is. She used to be everything, what I knew best. But now, she’s just that. A stranger I know nothing about.
“Hey, guys, look!” Kate yells in excitement and we all turn our heads to the middle of the reception centre.
They’re announcing the father-daughter dance, and everyone begins to clap their hands enthusiastically.
I throw my napkin on the table and get up to leave.
“Where you going, mate?” Ethan asks, probably wishing he could leave too. There’s a look of hopeless despair on his face.
“Heading to the bar.”
Just in time, before the waltz. And before everyone starts dancing to the usual badly played covers that I know beforehand I’ll hate.
Just as much as I’ll hate seeing her dance with half the wedding party. While continuing to ignore me.
*
When I arrive at the bar, I’m greeted by the heart-stopping vision of Linda’s cousin. Wearing a sparkling silver mini dress, she’s sitting with one leg so sexily crossed over the other it should be illegal.
I give her a nod of greeting and pull up one of the high stools. “A gin and tonic, please.”
“Hey, how are you?”
I have to ask myself what her name is. Rosie? Ruthie? I have absolutely no bloody idea.
“I’m good. Yourself?”
The blonde smiles charmingly and stands to move over to the bar stool next to mine. “Better, now you’re here.”
The bartender sets my drink on the counter and she clicks her glass to mine.
“So, enjoying the party?” she asks, languidly stirring her drink with a straw.
“I am. What about you? What are you doing here all alone?” Ice rattles in my glass as I take a swig.
“I don’t know. Trying to weasel my way behind the bar? Waiting to be rescued by a charming guy like you?” There’s an easy smile playing on her lips and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Or maybe I just don’t feel like looking at a dance floor crammed with gyrating lovebirds.”
I let out a small laugh, her relaxed attitude and her friendly manner making me smile for the first time today.
The moment is interrupted by a group of male guests invading the bar, their laughter and loud voices, along with the music coming from the dining room, filling the air.
“This is getting too crowded, how about we sit over there?” She gestures to the dark leather couches placed in a quieter corner of the bar.
Don’t think so.
I give her a tight smile. “Listen, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I–” My mobile buzzes from inside my jacket pocket and a feeling of momentary relief courses through me. “Give me a minute, I need to take this.”
It should give me time to find the best words to tell the woman before me that I just want to be alone.
Momentary, indeed.
Tension coils in my gut when I see it’s Josephine. Damn it, I totally forgot to return her bloody call from before the ceremony started.
