The wedding car was a beautiful kit car, although I only knew that because the driver told me. He told me the make and the exact provenance, too, but I couldn’t recall them even a minute later. All that mattered was that it was shiny, old-fashioned and spacious, decorated with white ribbons and perfectly perfect. Dad and I sat in the back, Dad radiating pride, and the car gently drove off. Rachel and Mum followed behind in a similarly bedecked, slightly smaller car of the same make. We had our own little procession, and other drivers tooted their horns and waved at us as we drove through the sunny London morning.
The route was familiar and I guessed we were going off to Putney. My mind raced furiously over the possibilities and I suddenly guessed that we were headed for St Mary’s Church, Steve’s parish church right by the Thames. It was a gorgeous old church, squat, sturdy and solid. Sure enough, that was where the car pulled up after a swift and unencumbered journey, and my heart soared with joy.
Dad helped me climb out of the car without creasing my dress or stumbling over the veil. I straightened up and took a look around, taking in the gnarled old tree, still bare of leaves this early in this spring, but the blossoms of daffodils and crocuses dotted all over the lawn. Spring weddings, symbolic of new life, and life eternal. I was overcome all weird, but Rachel was by my side to give me final instructions. I took Dad’s arm and we moved slowly to the gate, him shortening his strides to match mine, me sticking out my knees first like a robotic doll, putting my feet down heel-toe as Jodie had instructed me. Rachel was chatting away next to me until we reached the church door where I was greeted by a kindly looking vicar, who did a lightning introduction, and—
Dan?
Rachel clapped her hands with glee, and Dan smiled broadly as he leaned across to give me a very chaste peck on the cheek.
I couldn’t get over it.
“What are you wearing?” I burst out before I could restrain myself. For Dan was clad in a traditional morning suit—except it was dusky pink.
“I’m your mate of honor!” he said seriously and Rachel laughed excitedly.
“Mate of honor? Get it? This was my idea,” she gushed. “Don’t you love it?”
Suddenly, I understood Dan’s odd attire. “Your suit matches the bridesmaid’s dress,” I declared, stating the obvious, and Rachel rolled her eyes with feigned impatience.
“She got it,” she said to Dan and Dad as though I wasn’t there, and I pretended to whack her with my bouquet.
“Watch out, you,” I mock-threatened her, “I might relegate you to the back of the church and have Dan do the whole bridesmaid’s job by himself.” I giggled. “He’d need a bouquet, though.”
“Oh yes, I left that in the car,” Rachel realized and shot off to fetch it.
“Mate
of honor?” I gently teased Dan. “And you went along with that? Aren’t you worried about your reputation?”
“I thought it was a fab idea,” Dan protested. “One hundred percent appropriate. Besides, don’t I look rather dashing in pink? When do I ever get to wear pink?”
“It does suit you,” Dad chimed in, and we all chuckled. Rachel was back, handed Dan a slightly slimmer version of her own bouquet, and we were ready to go. The vicar opened the church doors, the organ burst into life and we processed down the aisle, the vicar leading the way, then Dad and I, followed by Rachel and finally Dan.
I vaguely took in that the church was rammed with people and that there were beautiful flowers. I noted the color patterns on the floor and on the wall made by the sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows. I took in the church scent of incense and flowers and innocence. But mostly, I was focused on my wonderful groom, my thunderbolt-and-lightning man, Steve, waiting for me at the altar, his best man and childhood friend, James, by his side.
My wedding day passed full of love and colors, friends and family, food and wine. After the ceremony, we went on a riverboat down the Thames. Initially, I thought the reception would be on the boat but it turned out to be just a mode of transport for us, the happy couple, and all our guests. I had a small moment of worry about how Rachel would feel being here, on a boat, reminding her of everything that had gone wrong, but she appeared oblivious to the connection.
The trip took only about twenty minutes, but it was a welcome breathing space and an opportunity to meet all the guests. I was overwhelmed to find that Greetje and Klaus had made the journey; and of course I was ecstatically happy that they helped weave the run-away part of my life and courtship with Steve firmly into the fabric of our wedding day. It was lovely to catch up with Jodie, and to chat with James, the best man, whom I had met only very briefly a few weeks before.
The boat finally moored in Greenwich, right by the Cutty Sark, which was where a photographer appeared to take a few pictures. The reception itself Rachel had organized to take place in the Royal Naval Cottage, although apparently the choice had been mine.
“You said blue rather than green, and I know how much you wanted to get married by the sea. And you also said near rather than far. So this is the perfect answer because here the Thames is still coastal. So you are
technically
getting married by the sea,” she explained to me in a brief whispered conversation.
Our reception hall had been decorated by Rachel, Dan, Steve, James, Mum, Dad, Steve’s parents, and Greetje and Klaus, during the night before. They had done a grand job with dusky pink and silver table runners on white linen, balloons, streamers and flowers to pick up the color scheme, and little bags of freeze-dried raspberries and strawberries alongside white chocolates truffles adorning every setting.
“You said ‘both’ to ‘favors and flavors,’” Rachel supplied by way of explanation and I told her how beautiful everything was. She blushed deeply and waved my adoration off with an embarrassed flapping of her hands.
The food was inspired. Steve, Rachel and Dan had worked their way through many a tasting—God knew when they had fitted those in—and eventually decided on baked salmon in a creamy sauce with a potato dauphinoise to die for and crunchy green vegetables on the side. There was wine on every table but also plenty of champagne. Dan had told Steve that he wanted our wedding to be fueled by love and bubbles, and had provided several crates’ worth of the real deal.
It was after a short performance in our honor by Tuscq—including Dan, of course—that Greetje sought me out, taking me by the arm proprietorially and walking me gently but firmly out of the room.
“What is going on?” I teased her, but she shushed and smiled. She led me out of the college, but I ground to a halt at the gate.
“Where are we going?” I demanded to know, and she finally relented.
“It is a German tradition to abduct the bride from below her groom’s nose on the wedding night, so that he has to find her and rescue her. It brings good luck. And now I am doing that for you.”
I giggled. “You are abducting me?” I confirmed, slightly incredulous. “Where to?”
“I don’t know,” Greetje chuckled. “We will have to find a pub or something.”
“What, with me in my wedding gown?”
“Absolutely,” she assured me.
“But I will be so obvious. And anyway, how is Steve supposed to know?”
Greetje had the answer to that, too.
“Rachel has been informed. She will gently guide your husband to the realization that you are missing after a due amount of time, and Klaus will tell him that you have been abducted and need to be found. You see, all is taken care of.”
“Your husband is in on this?”
“Why, of course. He suffered this indignity at our wedding and has not missed an opportunity to pass it on. Of course, it was worse for him, as German men know that this will happen and swear they will not leave their brides out of their eyesight for even a second. And still…”
She smiled in remembered excitement.
“I was taken to a pub, too,” she explained. “But do you think my klutz of a husband saw me sitting in a bar? He walked in and asked…” Greetje paused to adjust her voice to mimic her husband’s, “‘Has anyone seen a bride?’ So of course everybody said no, even though I was sitting right there, and he walked straight back out.”
“No!” I gasped, and “Yes!” she repeated. Meanwhile, she had started walking me into downtown Greenwich, and we picked the third pub we stumbled across. We caused quite a stir when we walked in, but we played it cool and sat down at a table in the corner. I was quite enjoying this little jaunt; it was weirdly romantic. How long would it take to be found?
In actual fact, this was a welcome break. There was something I needed to do. I waited for Greetje to return to the table with our drinks, and excused myself to go to the ladies’ room, where I took a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. “This is it,” I told myself quietly. “This is it.”
I locked myself in a cubicle and hung my dolly bag on the back of the door. I was so nervous that I struggled to undo the string. But eventually I managed and gingerly received the stick. I had read the instructions at home and I knew exactly what I had to do.
Gathering up my skirts and positioning myself just so, I took a long pee, trying not to think what kind of figure I would cut if somebody were observing me.
Done.
I straightened up and flushed, closed the lid, and took a seat. Now for the wait.
As I had no watch, I counted to sixty twice, very slowly. All the while I contemplated the ornate ceiling light, looking anywhere but at the stick in my hand.
Surely, two minutes had passed.
I let my gaze slide down, down, down until I caught sight of the result window.
The door to the ladies’ room opened and a very worried-sounding Greetje called for me. “Sophie? Are you all right?”
I stuffed the pregnancy test back into my dolly bag and hastily unlocked the cubicle.
“’
Course!” I smiled, probably looking slightly goofy but I didn’t care. “I’m absolutely fine.”
By the time we returned to our table, the search party had arrived. Rachel, Dan and Jodie were talking animatedly, and Dan gave me a big, tender smile and a wink. Mum and Dad were at the bar, and Steve’s parents had just walked in. Steve was only a few steps behind with his best man and Klaus.
My close and extended family, my nearest and dearest circle of friends, had all congregated here for us, for me. I looked at each and every one of them, experiencing a rush of emotion such as I had never thought possible. I smiled radiantly at my new husband stepping in to reclaim me.
“You ran away again,” he admonished me jokingly. “This is the fifth dubious establishment we have searched for you.”
“I was abducted,” I corrected. “I had no choice. But you rescued me. You are officially my hero.”
I gave him a big kiss on the lips to the delighted cheers of everybody around us.
“Any time,” he said gallantly. “We’re a team for good now, you and me…”
I raised myself on my tippy toes and whispered in his ears, softly, so very softly.
“…
and now we are three!”
Love Me Better
(Sophie’s Song)
by Dan Hunter
Voice 1 (Me)
You and me / We were meant to be
Now it’s history / Why can’t you see
Voice 2 (Sophie)
You and me / Were never meant to be
Can’t you see / There’s no history
Chorus (Together, in harmony)
But the time we spent together / Was magic in every way
No one else could love me better / Make me cherish every day
Me
I let you go / You couldn’t know
That it would break my heart / Tear my life apart
Sophie
I sent you away / Miss you every day
I felt so strong / Now I know I was wrong
Chorus
Me
You and me / We were meant to be
I will get you back / I can’t leave it at that
Sophie
You and me / We were meant to be
Now the time is not right / But our future’s bright
Coming in September 2013
Rock Star Romance, Part 3
Sophie’s Encore
Welcome back, my friend!
Sophie writes
. Thank you for joining me in this, the grand finale of my rock star romance adventure. Hasn’t it been an amazing journey so far? In the first story,
Sophie’s Turn
, you met my boyfriend Tim, and Dan, my favorite rock star, and you supported me while I was trying to make sense of a bizarre double proposal from the two very different men. When I made my decision, I could practically hear you cheering; thank you!