D iana

James wasn’t kidding about everything coming at us fast. Not sure I’ve slept since our trip to Bird Kingdom. I’ve tasted so many cakes I’m starting to hate buttercream, done a bridal shoot for some magazine whose name I never caught, held my breath while an ancient seamstress stuck pins in my bodice, and I’m still not sure who the guests are going to be. Kate’s coming, and James’s friend Tom, who doesn’t seem to like me—but whose asses are going to fill the rest of those two hundred seats, I can’t imagine .

I’ve barely seen James himself: he said something Friday night about meeting with the caterer, and since then, it’s been glimpses across bustling rooms, brush-bys in hallways, and one awkward conversation outside a church bathroom, while we waited for the priest to come out .

And now it’s just me and Kate in a chilly little room, trying to sit perfectly still so we don’t mess up our hair. It’s harder than it sounds: those ringlets that looked so gorgeous in the lookbook are tickling the hell out of my cheeks, and the combs holding the orchids along my brow are digging into my scalp. I just want to shake it all out, send pearls flying everywhere—and kick off these shoes, while I’m at it. Who’d have thought satin slippers could pinch this bad ?

“You don’t have to do this, you know .”

I look at Kate in the mirror, so I don’t have to turn my head. “I know .”

“I mean, I was just kidding, when you called—about changing your marriage like a mattress, and all. If this isn’t what you want ....”

I wish I could peel off my glove, look at that ring, let the winking opals remind me of that perfect moment under the palms. But it’s buttoned to the elbow, tight as a second skin. James is probably at the altar already, waiting expectantly, in front of...whoever .

I can’t let him down .

“I’m doing this.” I can only dare a tiny smile, for fear of cracking the makeup that took an hour and a half to apply, but Kate seems to relax .

“Well, if you do change your mind, just, I don’t know—make a face at me. We’ll go running down the aisle like a couple of vagabonds, take our own little girl-trip round Europe .”

“Uh-huh....” The music’s starting. I can hear shuffling feet, a whole lot of them. “Just get me down that aisle without tripping.” I’ve only had one chance to practice walking in this dress, with its layers and layers of petticoats and sweeping train. And I’m supposed to dance in it later ?

“You’ll be fine .”

There’s a knock at the door: an usher I don’t recognize. “Are we ready ?”

Kate and I exchange glances. I nod. “Lead the way .”

Somehow, the church is full. I recognize the lawyer from the signing, and a couple of people who were drifting around Dovecote, but the rest of them...paid seatwarmers? Co-workers? The flower girl looks like a child model, strutting down the aisle like it’s a runway, scattering white petals in my path .

Kate unpins the veil, and it tumbles over my face. Everything goes distant, hazy—this must be the real reason brides wear veils. So they can’t see their lives changing, everyone looking on ....

I take a deep breath and start to walk. The aisle feels both a thousand miles long and far, far too short. Maybe I should turn back ....

But James is beaming down at me. Even through the veil, I can tell it’s a real smile, eye-crinkles and all. I take another step, and another, and soon, we’re clasping hands. He doesn’t let go of me once, doesn’t break eye contact, as we repeat our vows. I let everything else fall away: the chill of the church, the pinch of my corset, the questionable crowd. This is a performance, but what comes next could be real .

The kiss certainly feels like the genuine article, the way he lifts my veil so carefully, cups my face in his palms as his lips brush mine. He doesn’t linger, but a thrill ripples through me all the same .

I don’t want the moment to end—it’s the first one in days that hasn’t felt like a dream—but next thing I know, we’re ducking confetti and flashbulbs as we race for the car. To add to the sense of unreality, we don’t even drive off right away. Once the videographer’s caught our mad dash for the back seat, we get back out for photos—dozens and dozens of them, some by ourselves, some with the guests. We pose on the steps of the church, leaning against the car, raising our hands to catch confetti and streamers. James helps me out of my gloves, so one of the photographers can get a picture of our twined hands, with the rings .

It only ends when he sweeps me into his arms and carries me back to the car, shouting something I can’t hear over the shutters—But whatever the pretext, I’m glad to get out of there .

I’m even more relieved to see his shellshocked face in the car. He’s shaking his head, laughing. “What the hell was that ?”

“I don’t know—You arranged it !”

“No, I didn’t!” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Tom said there’d be photos, some kind of press, uh...whatever—But that was ridiculous !”

“No shit! Who were all those people?” I’m laughing too, now, despite the corset squeezing the breath out of me .

“I have no idea!” He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “I mean, the first couple of rows, they were from work—and the flower girl, that was Tom’s kid. But the rest of them...shareholders? Press? Your guess is as good as mine .”

“Oh, my God! And they’re all going to be at the reception ?”

“Every last one of ‘em.” James lets his head flop on my shoulder. “I am so tired—are you tired? Have you slept ?”

I shake my head. “Not in recent memory .”

“Ugh... I could sleep a week. In fact, let’s do that. Let’s—let’s blow off our honeymoon, go into hibernation. Rest of the winter should do me just fine .”

“Sounds blissful....” I let my eyelids droop. Sleep does sound good. The adrenaline of the ceremony’s starting to wear off, and James is a warm weight against my side. It’d be so easy to drift off, push the world away ....

“Mm... We can’t.” James unfolds himself with a groan. “Let’s get some coffee—hey!” He knocks on the privacy screen, and the driver tilts his head. “Could you stop by a Starbucks, grab us some espressos ?”

I don’t want coffee—I want blankets and pillows, fuzzy pajamas, a slow heartbeat next to mine—but it’s not meant to be. We barely finish our espressos in time to spill out into another round of photos, a meal I barely taste, a first dance under glittering golden stars, hung from the ceiling on invisible strings. We’re congratulated a hundred times, and I dance with what must be the entire board of Dovecote, one after another. By the time I sit down, I can’t feel my feet .

James nudges me under the table. “Just the bouquet toss, and then...sweet escape !”

“Where are we going?” I realize we never talked about this—where we’re going to live, what we’re going to do .

“On our honeymoon.” He winks .

“Wait—we’re actually having a honeymoon ?”

“You did get the week off work, right ?”

I nod, stunned. I thought that was, I don’t know—so I could settle into my new life. Didn’t think we’d be jetting off somewhere... Then again, it makes sense. All today’s theatrics have been about one thing: making this look good. Making it respectable. Of course we’re having a honeymoon. “ Where — ?”

“San Gimignano. Figured we could use the quiet after this .”

A silly thought occurs to me. “Your dog’s going to bite you .”

“What?”

“You said he gets mad when you leave him alone overnight. A whole honeymoon—he’s going to bite you .”

“Nah... I’ll bring him some jerky. He’ll forgive me.” James yawns. He’s cute when he’s tired, all loose and cuddly. Keeps leaning against me, nuzzling up on my neck. His accent seems thicker as well, like even his tongue’s having a hard time staying upright .

I try to aim the bouquet Kate’s way when it comes time for the toss, but some old lady darts out from nowhere and carries it off .

“That’s my aunt,” James says. “Wanted to introduce you two, earlier, but... All these people keep getting in the way !”

“She’s not married yet ?”

“She’s a widow .”

“Mm... Maybe she’ll meet someone here .”

Every moment seems more surreal than the last. I’ve reached that stage of exhaustion where everything’s dazzlingly bright, and I’m starting to see things at the edges of my vision, floating sparks, darting shadows. I let James lead me to the car for one last round of photos, a long wave goodbye, and then it’s over .

We don’t even try to stay awake for the ride to the airport. Last thing I’m aware of is collapsing in a companionable heap, his head in my lap, my hair falling wild .

I can think of worse endings to a wedding day .