It was raining on her wedding day.
Sarah knew that was a bad sign.
“It’s July,” she exclaimed to her maid of honour and sometime-best friend, Harriet as they adjusted Sarah’s veil atop her head. “I specifically booked it in July so there wouldn’t be any rain!”
“And yet,” Harriet muttered under her breath. She look beautiful in her green dress, even though Sarah had wondered if the style wouldn’t show how chubby her friend was. But she managed to pull it off, even though the tight bodice showed her rolls of fat and love handles.
Looking back into the mirror, Sarah sighed dejectedly. She was wearing a princess gown and the stiff bodice hid her own love handles, but the skirt stuck out far too widely for her liking. Plus all the sequins – was it too much? A little ostentatious? She knew Mark wanted her to look like a princess, but did she? Or did she look like some sort of fat, sad loser?
“Wipe that look off your face,” Harriet warned. “We need to move now if you want to get to your place on time.”
She looked over at her friend one more time, biting at her lip even though she knew she’d ruin her lipstick that way. She was hesitating. Why was she hesitating?
“Sarah,” Harriet said with an exasperated sigh. “Would you quit? You love Mark, he loves you. What’s the problem?”
“No problem,” Sarah murmured, glancing at her reflection one more time. She adjusted the blonde curl at her ear, straightened her veil again and took a deep breath. Then she smiled.
The walk down the corridor was cold; she had a strapless dress because she hadn’t wanted to sweat through it and have pit-stains on her wedding day, and she had expected it to be in the mid-20s. Instead, it was barely in the 10s and she was covered in goose-pimples as she walked. Well, she decided, it was better than smelling bad. She turned the corner and came to a stop at the doors that would lead her to the aisle – and to her groom.
Her father was waiting there for her, wearing a black tuxedo with a red rose. Mark’s decision, because he wanted the whole thing to be as romantic as possible. Sarah had been so overwhelmed by the whole thing that she hadn’t said a word – not that she wanted to, of course. Mark was always better at being romantic than she was.
“Ready, kiddo?” her dad asked, offering her his arm with a cheeky smile.
Sarah smiled back, still somewhat nauseous but hiding it well (at least she hoped), and threaded her hand through his arm. He gave it a quick squeeze.
“You look beautiful, kiddo,” he muttered and she leant up on tiptoes to peck a kiss onto his cheek. Then the doors were opening and they were stepping forwards.
The walk up the aisle was a blur. The room was beautiful, of course, classically elegant with its Grecian pillars and the flowers that wound around them, her entire family and friend group there dressed in their finery. But Sarah could barely focus on that as the music swelled around her, the traditional refrain dancing from the harpist sat in the corner. She was consumed, instead, by the overpowering stench of flowers. It was a lovely smell, but so strong that she had an instant headache as she took her first breath in. She barely contained a wince as she tried to ignore it.
Then she was no longer moving and she blinked, realising that she was there, standing opposite – Mark.
And he. Well. He was stunning. His dark hair was brushed away from his face and he was smiling, eyes only on her. The way he looked in his tux, the square lines of his shoulders wider and broader as he stood, taller than her by half a foot but still smiling as he looked down on her diminutive form. In that moment, Sarah decided she’d never seen anything more beautiful.
And then he said, “Shall we?”
The day of her second wedding, it was also raining, but Sarah – well, this time she didn’t mind. She woke up in their shared bed, her fiancé’s warm body curved behind her and she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. Arching her back, she clicked her neck as she dragged herself upright. Her body ached, in the way older bodies do when they’ve been still too long. Her muscles and bones resisted moving again.
Forty wasn’t that old.
Was she too old to get married again?
Before she could work herself up, though, warm hands circled her waist and a body nestled itself against her black, soft blonde hair tickling her neck as her fiancé nuzzled her neck.
“Stop worrying.” The husky voice still set Sarah alight, but these days the warmth in her belly was more a soft glow than an inferno. “I can hear you thinking.”
Sarah smiled, twisting around to see her fiancé head on. The other woman’s eyes were still shut, but her face was relaxed and they fluttered a little as Sarah pressed closer, lightly pressing her lips to the corner of her mouth. They’d gotten passed caring about morning breath after six years of waking up just like this.
“Mm,” Sarah murmured, nestling in closer and letting the other woman hold her up. She could have another few minutes in bed, she supposed.
Then there was a jingle-jingle-jingle and a soft thud of warning before she had a lapful of fluffy kitten, worming her way in between the two women and mewing insistently. The women broke apart, both laughing as Sarah tried to frown down at the cat. But the orange ball of fur was just too cute to discipline.
“Well,” her fiancé said with a wry quirk of her lips. “I guess that answers my question about a morning quickie. So how about we get up and get on with turning you into Mrs Rachel Evans?”
Sarah glanced at her and said, “Only if you’re up for becoming Mrs Sarah Johnson.”
Rachel smiled widely, her whole face lighting up in a way that still caught Sarah’s breath. “I think I could live with that,” she said nonchalantly, biting her lip in an attempt to control her smile.
Yeah, Sarah thought. She could probably live with that too.
Words from Wales 
Leave a comment