Authors: Melissa Delport
“No,” I shake my head, stammering, “
they don’t know anything. Please,” I add, desperately, “please don’t say anything to them.” The thought of the wonderful couple being dragged into this sordid mess fills me with dread after everything they have done for Adam and I. A smug smile crosses Simon’s face, and, too late, I realise I have given him a weapon to use against me.
“You will call off this disgusting charade of a wedding,” he spits out the word, “immediately; or I will go outside and tell everyone what a revolting, despicable human being you really are!”
I close my eyes and hang my head in defeat. Simon holds all the cards. There is nothing for it but to do as he says. I hate him, I realise. I hate him for being him and not Adam. For one crazy moment I long for Kyle or even Jacob. Both of them I could have dealt with; I had come to care for them both. But Simon! Despicable, revolting, inflexible Simon!
Heaving a sigh I stand, resisting the urge to slap the smug smile off Simon’s face.
“I hate you,” I mutter as I pass him, but typically he doesn’t stoop to my level and just ignores me. I have lost, Simon has won and he knows it. My charade is over. Shoulders stooped, I make my way up the moss-covered path, feeling like I'm bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders. I do not cry, I refuse to give him that satisfaction. I can hear his footfalls just behind me and I can just imagine how much he is enjoying this. Just as we are about to exit the tree-lined path into the beautifully prepared garden I feel his hand on my shoulder. I whirl around, shocked that he has dared to touch me.
“Paige, where are you going?” Adam’s gentle voice asks and I feel my legs collapse beneath me.
I sob myself into oblivion; the sodden feather pillow my only ally. Adam accepted my feeble excuse that I was just upset about Simon appearing the night before my big day but I could see that he didn’t really believe me. It is the first time that he knows I am not being entirely truthful and it pains me to see the reproach in his blue eyes. Mr O’Reilly soon hauled him off and I retired to the cottage to lick my wounds and cry myself to sleep.
A sharp rapping on the door interrupts my self-absorbed breakdown and I sit up, sniffing. I glance at the bedside clock, it is only 8 pm. We all enjoyed an early supper and parted company. Not wanting Adam to see me like this, I quickly splash my face with cold water in the bathroom and then I try and compose myself as best I can. Before I can get to the door there is another knock, louder this time.
“Coming,” I call, which is completely unnecessary as I open the door only a second later. Shannon O’Reilly beams at me, her hands full. She is carrying a wicker basket, a hairdryer and three enormous, flower-patterned cosmetic bags.
“Mrs O’Reilly!” I exclaim, wiping my eyes frantically, “What... what are you doing here?” She ignores the question taking in my swollen eyes and red face.
“What on earth is the matter, child?” she asks, stepping into the cottage and closing the door behind her, concern etched on her kind, round face. I sniff and force a smile onto my own face.
“It’s nothing,” I reply, trying to pretend that everything is okay.
“Oh Blarney!” she declares, setting down her basket and other items and turning to face me. “You’ve got a face on you like a well-slapped baby’s backside!”
I turn to the mirror in the hall and I laugh humourlessly. She is right. My face is red and blotchy and my eyes are so swollen they are practically sealed shut. I ball my fists in my eyes and cry out in frustration and despair.
“Oh, Paige!” she grabs me by the arm and steers me from the hall into the kitchen. ‘Sit,” she orders, pushing me gently into one of the wicker chairs surrounding the scrubbed wooden table. After a minute or two, during which I hear her fetching her basket and bags and the kitchen tap running, she is back with a cool, damp face-cloth. I hear the screech of a chair on the tiled floor and then she sits down, facing me.
“Look at me lass,” her voice is gentle but authoritative and I lift my face to meet her steady gaze. Clicking her tongue, she sets about cleansing my face, wiping away all traces of my tears. I sit like a child, completely still and let the human contact soothe me. Eventually she ceases her ministrations and I have no choice but to open my eyes and face her. She regards me intently for a moment before she speaks.
“Out with it lass. It’ll do you far more harm in than out, trust me.” Taking a huge, shaky breath I nod in agreement. It is time to unburden my secret, I cannot carry it alone for a minute longer.
It takes almost an hour to get it all out and Shannon O’Reilly does not say a word the entire time. As hard as it is to admit the horror of what I’ve done, a part of me feels nothing but relief at getting it off my chest. When I am done, the tears fall freely and she holds me in her arms, stroking my hair and whispering sweet Irish words of comfort until eventually my tears run dry and I find the courage to look up and meet her gaze.
Surprisingly, I do not see condemnation or judgement in her wise green eyes. Instead, she stands briskly, patting my shoulder.
“I think it’s high time for a cup of tea Paige,” she says, and then sets about making a pot. Only once we are both seated again, a cup of steaming brew clasped in our hands, does she continue.
“Well it’s a right mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” she smiles sadly, sympathy shining in her eyes.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” I begin, but she cuts me short.
“Well, of course you didn’t!” she exclaims, as though the very idea is absurd. “But what’s done is done Paige. It’s where you go from here that matters.”
I take a sip of tea, the liquid warming me from the inside. I suddenly wish Adam was here, holding me in his arms and reassuring me that everything is going to be okay.
“What should I do?” I plead. I'm so lost and I feel so out of my depth. I almost wish my own mother was here to take this burden from my shoulders. Even more so, I miss my father and his sage advice. He would know exactly what to say, how to help me.
“I think you already know the answer to that question, dear,” Mrs O’Reilly answers and I close my eyes. Of course I do. I have known since the moment I realised that Adam didn’t really exist.
“I have to tell him,” I breathe, the tears welling up fresh in my eyes.
“Yes, Paige,” she confirms gently, “you have to tell him the truth.”
“He’ll die,” I whisper, speaking the words out loud for the first time and she takes my hand, squeezing it gently, but she doesn’t contradict me. I put my hands to my temples, pressing against the pressure points, trying in vain to eliminate the tension headache that has been building for days and has now reached its peak. Dropping my hands I nod determinedly.
“Okay.” My voice sounds stronger than I expected. “You’re
right, I have to tell Adam the truth. I need to get him back to LA and to Doctor Sheldon.” I stand abruptly, almost knocking over my chair in my haste.
“Heaven’s child!”
Mrs O’Reilly exclaims, “Where on earth are you going?”
“To find him,” I answer obviously.
“What for?”
“To tell him the truth, what else?”
I ask, wondering if perhaps Shannon O’Reilly has been hitting the Guinness too.
“Why would you possibly do it right now, Paige, it’s the eve of your wedding? Of Adam’s wedding,” she sounds horrified and I open my arms wide in bewilderment.
“Mrs O’Reilly, haven’t you heard anything I’ve just told you? I have to tell him the truth. Tonight. I can’t marry Adam; he doesn’t exist!” To my surprise a small smile lifts the corner of her mouth and she looks almost smug.
“Exactly!” she declares triumphantly and I sit back down, intrigued.
Frustratingly, I have to wait for her to fetch her basket and all her bags which she dumps unceremoniously on the kitchen table before she continues.
“Let’s get started,” she beams, opening the various packages to reveal an enormous assortment of skin and hair care products, make-up, hairdryer, brushes and combs.
“Started on what?” I ask, mystified as to where she could possibly be going with this.
“Preparing you for your wedding day, of course!”
She sounds so convincing that it takes me a minute to find my voice. Feeling once again as though I've entered the twilight zone, I hesitate before finding my voice, but before I can say anything, she dons a floral apron and takes me by the shoulders.
“Paige,” she begins, looking me straight in the eye, “you're right. You need to tell Adam the truth and then you need to let him go. Simon needs to be able to live his life as hard as that may be for you to accept. But,” she smiles suddenly, completely disarming me and the argument that is on the tip of my tongue is silenced instantly, “if Adam is going to die, then why not give him this last gift? He loves you, any fool can see that. He is so looking forward to the wedding; marrying you is everything to him. So why not go through with it? Let him enjoy this one day with you before you have to tell him that his whole life is a farce.”
“But it would be illegal!” I protest. “I can’t marry someone against their will! Simon would have me arrested the second he gets back or worse!” I can’t even think of Simon without feeling sick to my stomach and it shows on my face. Mrs O’Reilly pats my knee, a knowing smile on her kind, open face.
“Simon would never know, Paige,” she murmurs, “and as to the legalities, this marriage will only be a marriage in your heart and Adam's. The ceremony won't be binding in the eyes of the law. It won’t be recognised as a proper union. You won’t even need to get an annulment or a divorce. The only record will be the memories that you carry with you after Adam is gone.”
I cock my head to one side contemplating this. She is right, I realise, hope flaring again in my chest. Shannon O’Reilly grins at me.
“You’re right,” I breathe.
“I usually am, love,” she boasts. “Although Conor wouldn’t admit it even if his life depended on it,” she frowns before continuing. “The love that the two of you share is special, Paige. I've seen more couples come through this place than I can count and I've never seen two that are so perfect for each other, so in tune with each other’s needs. I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be for you; the least you deserve is to enjoy this wedding. You deserve it. Both of you do.”
I take a deep breath.
“Shall we get started?” I ask, gesturing at the mish-mash of items cluttering up the table. She rubs her hands together excitedly.
“Let’s make you a bride!”
I wake up slowly, stretching my arms and legs luxuriously. There is a calming drumming noise that I can’t quite place and I burrow deeper under the covers, about to go back to sleep before I realise what it is, and I throw off the covers, jump from the bed and rush to the window. It’s raining! It’s pelting down; so hard that I cannot even see the main house. I clutch myself delightedly. It’s like a good omen; and for the first time I feel that I am truly making the right decision. Pushing aside any nerves and reservations, I tell myself that today I will do the thing that scares me the most; terrifies and exhilarates me, scares me to death, and at the same time makes me feel more alive than I ever have before. And the rain just makes it so right and so perfect. I smile, thinking that most bridal couples would curse a rainy wedding day. It just goes to show that Adam and I are hardly a normal bride and groom. I am fairly certain that there has never been anything like us before.
I spend almost an hour in the bath scrubbing my skin until it is red and tingling. I shave my legs and put a calming mask on my face. Eventually I let out the water and step into a cool shower to wash all the remnants of soapy water from my body. My toenails are painted a gorgeous, muted coral and my fingernails are beautifully french-manicured, courtesy of Mrs O’Reilly’s ceaseless beauty regime last night. As if on cue there is a knock at the door, and, without waiting for an answer, she bustles in looking delightful in a beautiful sage green skirt and matching jersey top.
“I hope you’re decent Paige!” she calls over her shoulder as she shuts the door.
“I am,” I laugh, safely ensconced in my gown. “I was just going to make a cup of tea, would you like one?”
“
Pish-tosh love!” she scolds, “I’ll make the tea, you go and sit down and relax. It’s your big day after all!”
I flop onto the sofa, putting my warm, slipper-clad feet up onto the coffee table. At some point during my self-indulgent bath it has stopped raining. Oh well, at least I won’t need an umbrella for my walk down the aisle.
“How’s Adam?” I ask as she pours the tea and she beams up at me.
“Oh, he’s full of the joys of spring, as you can well imagine!” she says. “And doesn’t he clean up nicely? He’s a fine thing, your Adam,” she concludes and I smile proudly at the compliment.
“Right,” she sets the tea down in front of me and takes a minute to look me over. “Time to get started, I think,” she glances at her wristwatch and I can see her doing the mental calculation in her head. “We have plenty of time,” she adds, “but we don’t want to be rushing.”
An hour later she finally lets me look into the mirror and I do a double-take. Any reservations I may have had about allowing Shannon full control over my hair and make-up are forgotten. The woman is clearly a genius! My dark hair is pulled back at the nape of my neck and falls in heavy tresses over my left shoulder. It is braided with wildflowers, an Irish tradition, and a few soft curls frame my face. My eyes are almost luminous and seem enormous, beautifully shaded in soft taupe and ringed with smoky black kohl. My lips are painted the same coral as my toes and are finished with a shimmering gloss. I look amazing, even if I say so myself; serene and wistful and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined possible.
“Oh!” I whisper, tears springing to my eyes. Impulsively I turn and throw my arms around Mrs O’Reilly. “Thank you!” I murmur in her ear, trying to convey all the meaning I can with those two little words. She laughs, patting my back.
“It’s my pleasure dear,” she mutters before clicking her tongue briskly.
“Now! No crying or you’ll ruin it!” I step back, taking a huge, calming breath and risk another vain glance in the mirror as she continues, “Let’s get your dress on it’s almost time.”
I leave my shoes off although I don’t dare tell Mrs O’Reilly. I know I'll never navigate the grassy oasis of the garden even in the low heels and my dress is just long enough that she won’t notice. The caress of the soft moss on my feet feels wonderful and I really don’t care that the soft hem of the dress is catching on the wildflowers; I'm far too preoccupied with what awaits me. Even the gorgeous, porcelain horseshoe that I'm carrying along with my posy of wildflowers doesn’t seem odd. This is an Irish wedding after all. I pause for a moment behind a small copse of trees and Mrs O’Reilly turns to face me. Nobody is walking me down the aisle; no-one will be giving me away. I gave myself to Adam a long time ago; I don’t need anyone’s permission or blessing.
“Good luck, Paige,” she whispers, brushing a tear from her eye. I wish for a second that my own mother was here but Mrs O’Reilly has come to mean so much to me over the past week that the thought is gone almost as quickly. I blink and she is gone and I am standing alone in the beautiful setting. I glance up through the trees at the sky and then I hear the first bars of the Irish wedding song. That’s my cue. It’s time. I hold my head high, pushing away my nerves as I round the corner.
There are only a handful of people seated on the wooden benches; all of the guest house’s patrons have come out to celebrate with us and a few of the O’Reilly’s friends, including Mr O’Reilly’s uncle Arthur who drinks like a fish and has already fallen over three times since I met him on Wednesday. I lose my breath as I catch sight of Adam standing under the wedding arch. He is dressed in a suit, not a kilt, which I must admit I had been seriously worried about and he looks like something out of every girl’s fantasy. He is so gorgeous, his eyes alive with excitement, gleaming sapphire in his strong, tanned face. His black hair is not quite as scruffy as usual and he is standing tall and proud. His face, when he sees me, splits into a dazzling grin and his eyes open wide in wonder.
All my life I have dreamed that a man would look at me the way that Adam is looking at me right now. It’s as though everything else fades away and it is just him and I; nothing else exists. My knees go weak with love and I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. And then, finally, I am standing right in front of him and I reach out my arm, almost to assure myself that he is real. He does exactly the same and I giggle.
“You're exquisite,” he murmurs touching my face and the Minister clears his throat loudly, bringing us both back into the present. I tear my eyes from Adam’s face to look at the elderly clergyman and Adam does the same, although throughout the entire ceremony I feel my eyes drawn back to his face. His voice breaks more than once as he recites his wedding vows, and tears stream down my cheeks as I do the same, inwardly thanking God for Mrs O’Reilly and her waterproof mascara.
Finally I hear the words that I've been waiting for, “You may kiss the bride” and Adam grabs hold of me like a man possessed, dipping me over his knee and kissing me long and hard. I do not want the moment to end; it is only when the Minister eventually hisses, “that’s quite enough” that we both come up for air; Adam’s throaty laugh warming my already racing heart.
We turn to face the smiling, clapping congregation and I duck as an old shoe
comes whizzing over my head. I turn to face Adam, confusion on my face, and he laughs, pulling me close against him and whispering in my ear, “It’s an Irish thing.”
The ceremony is a riot of colour and music, and of course, Guinness. Uncle Arthur falls over twice more and Adam doesn’t leave my side, dropping kisses on my bare shoulders and squeezing my waist. I drink champagne and we dance until my shoeless feet are aching. Mrs O’Reilly has organised traditional Irish dancers, resplendent in their full regalia, who entertain us with a glorious display and I clap until my hands are red. When Adam starts murmuring sweet nothings in my ear and I feel my insides squirm in anticipation of my wedding night, I realise it is time for us to take our leave. I kiss and hug every member of our wedding party, most of whom I do not even know by name, but who already feel like family, having shared this special day with us. We are already on the mossy path to the cottage when we hear Mrs O’Reilly calling us back and we turn to find her rushing down the path toward us, her beautiful beaded skirt flapping around her ankles. Panting slightly, she holds out a beautifully wrapped silver box.
“Your wedding gift, from the both of us,” she gestures up the path to where Conor O’Reilly is standing, smiling at us knowingly.
“Oh, Mrs O’Reilly, you shouldn’t have!” I scold. “You've done so much already!”
“It’s tradition, dear,” she smiles knowingly and Adam takes the box as I give her a tight squeeze.
“Thank you for everything,” I whisper in her ear.
“It’s my pleasure,” she smiles and then she takes a step back grinning, “now shoo! I'm sure you have better things to be doing on your wedding night!” She winks as I blush, and then Adam takes me by the hand and leads me back down the path.
“Paige, wait,” he murmurs as we approach the cottage and I turn to face him expectantly. “You are...” he trails off, running his gaze up and down my body. “You're so beautiful it hurts,” he finishes and I smile lazily up at him, curling my arms around his neck and pressing my body against his.
Without warning, he scoops me up in his arms and makes his way to the front door, kicking it open and carrying me over the threshold, my laughter ringing out into the night.
As Adam sets me on my feet and pulls the door shut behind him, I turn and give a gasp of surprise. There are candles everywhere; hundreds of them, all casting the most gorgeous warm light throughout the room.
“Oh, Adam!” I breathe, walking further into the room. “It’s so beautiful!” I exclaim, turning to face him and my heart skips a beat when I see the look on his face. It is hungry and sexy and I feel my insides go weak. He advances slowly holding my gaze intensely. Taking my hand he raises it slowly to his lips then he heads for the bedroom pulling me behind him, his fingers entwined with mine.
The bedroom is also filled with candles flickering on the bedside tables and the dresser. The room is pristine; there is no sign of the mayhem that I left behind this afternoon getting ready for the ceremony.
“Do you want to take a bath?” Adam asks, his eyebrow raised, but I shake my head swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat and licking my suddenly dry lips.
“No,” I shake my head at him, “I just want you.”
Adam's eyes are liquid with desire and he needs no further invitation. Taking two strides he stands right in front of me and my body trembles in anticipation. Dropping a kiss on my shoulder, he puts both hands behind my back and slowly undoes my zipper. He hooks one finger under the thin strap of my dress and slides it slowly across my shoulder so that it falls down my arm, then he repeats the process on the other side. The hairs on my neck stand up and my legs feel unsteady. Slowly, he runs his hands down both of my arms, pulling the straps of my dress with him, so that the bodice peels off of me like a shedding skin. I am not wearing a bra and Adam draws in a deep, unsteady breath before exhaling. The air on my naked breasts sends a jolt of lust through my body and my nipples harden with desire. His hands at my waist give a gentle tug, then my dress is lying discarded and forgotten on the floor at my feet. Threading his fingers through mine he fastens first one and then the other hand behind my back, his hard torso pressing against mine and grazing my already over-sensitive breasts. I moan, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt as, leaning forward, I trace a lazy circle on his chest with my tongue, tasting the saltiness of his skin. Dropping my hands he cups my neck with his hands and lifts my face to his, kissing my mouth softly before opening my lips with his tongue and exploring my mouth more intimately than ever before. I put my arms around his neck, more for support than anything else, I am so dizzy with lust. The kiss deepens and a hungry moan emanates from Adam’s chest. I raise my hands and ease his jacket from his shoulders, dropping it to the ground. Adam's tongue is still exploring; his kisses slow and languorous; there will be no rushing tonight. Tonight we have all the time in the world.
I undo the rest of the buttons of his shirt slowly forcing myself not to hurry, but my body feels like a ticking time bomb; it is taking a huge amount of willpower not to give in to the frantic desire that is beating between my legs and my whole body is trembling with anticipation. Eventually I ease off his white shirt and feast my eyes on his naked chest, his flat stomach and the fine, dark hair trailing downward below his belt. His hand cups my breasts and I feel a fire ignite deep in my belly. Taking hold of his leather belt I give a tug towards me and he raises one eyebrow challengingly. I undo his buckle and pull the belt and it slides around his waist, slithering like a snake to the floor. A moment later his pants follow and we are both naked. The heat that the candles are giving off has warmed the room and I see tiny beads of sweat forming on his bronze chest.
I dip my head and kiss him right over his heart as he runs his fingers up and down my back, gooseflesh rising wherever he touches. I curl my lips around his nipple and bite down and Adam shudders. Feeling empowered, I bend my knees, kissing his chest, his flat stomach and burying my face in the soft hair below his navel.
“Paige,” he warns, through clenched teeth, burying his hands in my hair. I ignore him, moving lower still and taking him in my mouth, kissing and sucking until he suddenly pulls me back, a pained expression on his face. “You seriously test my self-control love,” he admonishes and then lifts me in his arms and throws me down on the bed. “My turn,” he adds huskily, and before I can even grasp the meaning of this, his mouth comes down and his lips are at my breast. I arch up to meet him, his hot, wet tongue lapping and biting at my hypersensitive skin, leaving a blazing trail of heat that moves steadily lower, until I am squirming beneath him in desire. When he finally lowers his head between my legs I cry out, my hands grabbing fistfuls of the sheets beneath me and my head rolling from side to side. It feels as though my whole body is on fire and I don’t know whether I can stand it. I grab Adam’s hair with one hand, pulling at him frantically.