Millie
“Well, this is it,” my brother sighed. “You’re going to walk down that aisle and throw your life away on Rick the Prick. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I smiled and cupped his face in my hands. “Javi, it’s going to be okay. Dean loves me, he’s good to me. And stop calling him Rick the Prick. Ricks is going to be my surname in less than an hour, are you going to call me that, too?”
“No!” Javi scoffed. “You’re not a prick for a start. He is.”
My younger brother, Javier, did not like my fiancé one little bit. It wasn’t that Dean was a prick, he was far from it. He was my best friend; we shopped together, he had a great eye for shoes and bags, his understanding of what suited my body shape was second to none – which I should point out is a big voluptuous bum, inherited from my Spanish mother, a trim waist, which is all mine, and much more than a handful of boobage, thanks to my grandmother, who I also happen to be named after. Dean also loved a rom-com, so what more could I want? Well, there was more that I could want – good old, down and dirty sex from time to time. That was the only fly in my beautiful relationship ointment; Dean’s desire to wait until we were married before we indulged. Okay, it wasn’t something I was happy about, what twenty-six-year-old woman in her prime wants to rely on her vibrator and a dirty book? Not me that’s for sure. Nothing is the same as having a man’s hands on you, but I had to respect Dean’s wishes.
“Javi,” I pleaded. “Just be happy for me.”
He looked down at his highly polished shoes and kicked at the cork matting in my mum’s hallway.
“Okay, but if he ever hurts you I will kill him, I swear.”
I laughed, trying to make light of my brother’s words, but what a visionary he turned out to be.
“Mierda,” my mother cried, returning to her mother tongue as she always did when she was cursing, despite having never lived there. “How could he do that to you, Armalita?”
While my mum screamed and cursed, I tried to shut out the noise and huddled into the corner of the sofa, clutching one of my mum’s throw cushions as if it was the lifebelt that would stop me from drowning. And at that point it truly was. I was numb from the heart down, unable to comprehend what had happened to me. It had to all be some sick joke, or maybe I’d been having a nightmare. Every bride has nightmares leading up to their wedding day; mine just wasn’t about me arriving at church wearing jeans and a ratty t-shirt.
I had stood at the altar next to a handsome man, who swore he loved me, only for that moment to happen that usually only occurs in films.
“Does anyone know of any just reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony?” will forever be the phrase that gives me nightmares.
At that moment, while I laughed at the stupidity of such a question, a booming voice echoed around the church that was packed with almost one hundred people.
“I do!”
We all swivelled around to see which of the local nutters had been let in, only to let out an en masse gasp as Dean’s bearded, tattooed, man-mountain friend, Ambrose, stood there clutching at his normally perfectly styled hair.
“Armalita,” my mother cried. “What have you done?”
Javier snorted like a donkey. “I don’t think it’s Millie.”
I snapped my gaze to my brother. “You don’t think what is me?”
He didn’t say anything but pointed towards Ambrose.
“Ambrose,” Dean groaned. “Not now.”
“Baby,” Ambrose whispered. “We have to tell her.”
I quickly looked back to Dean, who had tears in his eyes and was fanning his face with a perfectly manicured hand. It was that exact moment that it hit me, right smack between the eyes. The great fashion sense, the love of shoe shopping, his huge collection of Diana Ross CDs, and most importantly, the sex ban; he was just one big cliché.
“You’re having an affair…with Ambrose,” I whimpered.
“Millie.” He took a step towards me, his hand outstretched. “Sweetheart.”
“Do not touch me,” I hissed, and turned to look at Ambrose who was now walking down the aisle towards us. “I want the truth, Ambrose.”
He stopped a few feet away and, despite his humongous size, looked absolutely petrified that I was going to punch him; which I would have done had I not needed a box to stand on to reach him.
“We love each other, Mill. I’m so sorry.”
My breath hitched violently as I felt my champagne breakfast rear its ugly head. Slapping one hand to my mouth, I hitched up my dress with the other and ran as fast as I could along the plush purple carpet and out of the huge double doors. With half of Rickeby watching me in amazement, I ran and ran, only stopping when I reached my mother’s front door. It was then that I realized I had no key, so I collapsed down on to the step and sobbed, waiting for her and Javi to come home.
And so here we were, almost an hour later, me in a bedraggled white dress, and my mother and brother at opposite ends of the emotional scale; mum in tears and devastated for me, while my brother, while still consoling me, was trying to hide his happiness that I wasn’t marrying Rick the Prick.