by Holly Rayner
“Which we are…”
“Then we have to start in a place that makes sense. It doesn’t make sense for us to marry today, no more than five minutes after we’ve learned how to really talk to each other. I want a future with you that’s based on something substantial and real.”
“So do I,” I tell him. “And I’m not saying we should go through with the wedding. I don’t want to do that. I’m just having trouble seeing how we get out of it. There are reporters surrounding this place. How are we supposed to get out without having our picture taken? Or being stopped? We’ll have to answer a thousand questions before we reach the front door. No one is going to let us just quietly slip out on the day of our wedding.”
Magnus looks thoughtful, chewing on his lip for several seconds. It’s such an out-of-character mannerism for him that I almost laugh again. He’s normally so self-possessed, but now he seems equal parts anxious and excited, the way I felt standing at the top of the intermediate level ski hill. About to take on something he isn’t sure he’s ready for.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, finally.
“Didn’t we just cover that?” I say, a thrill of nerves shooting through me. I do trust him. Implicitly, completely, and perhaps nonsensically, I do. But it’s hard to have full confidence in someone who looks so uneasy himself.
Magnus nods. “All right,” he says. “I’ll take care of everything, then. Just stick with me, keep up, and don’t worry, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”
“Hang on,” I interrupt, and he pauses. “I should change out of the dress,” I say. “It’s going to grab more attention than anything else about the two of us, even your famous face. Besides, it’s impossible to run or bend or even move in this thing. If I have to get into a car, we’ll be stuck.”
“Do you have anything else to wear?” Magnus asks.
“The dress I was going to change into for us to leave on our honeymoon.”
I step behind the screen that was put up for me to change in privacy. The departure dress—a pale lavender floor-length sheath with spaghetti straps—is hanging on a hook.
Quickly as I can, I rip through the ribbons tying the bodice of my ball gown, drop it to the floor, and step out of it. I pull the sheath over my head instead. It’s still a fairly formal dress, but after the tight stiffness of my wedding gown, it feels like flannel pajamas. I kick off the heels I had planned to wear for the ceremony and step back into the flip-flops I wore on my way over this morning. Then I emerge from behind the screen.
“Okay. Ready.”
Magnus whistles, long and low. “People are still going to notice you.”
I look up at the clock. It’s now five minutes past the time our wedding was supposed to begin. “If we don’t get out of here, people are going to come looking for me. And you.”
“Right.”
He takes me by the hand and pokes his head out into the hall, looking both ways. A moment later we’re running, heading in a direction I’ve never been. I trail behind him like a toy, no idea where I’m going. I don’t ask, though. I trust.
After a few turns that seem random to me, Magnus pushes the bar to open a door, and I find myself outside in the afternoon sunlight. I look around, perplexed.
“Where are we?”
“Service entrance.”
He strides off across the parking lot and knocks purposefully on the window of a black car. A moment later, the window rolls down. A man with a paperback novel in his hand looks out at us.
“Mr. Johansen?”
“Fred,” Magnus greets the man, and I realize this must be one of his many drivers. “Leah and I could use a discreet ride to the airport if you don’t mind.”
The man marks his page in his book and gestures that we should get in.
The ride to the airport passes as if in I’m in a haze. It’s hard to believe that we’re no longer at our own wedding, that we got away.
“Do you think anyone knows we’re gone yet?” I ask Magnus anxiously. Every time we stop at a red light, I’m nervous. It feels inevitable that some official car will pull up alongside us and drag us back. Surely, we aren’t going to be allowed to have a second chance at our lives together. It’s too good to be true.
In response to my question, Magnus holds up his cell phone. I can see a long list of missed calls, some from names I’m not familiar with, others from names I recognize from the walls of his office. The meaning couldn’t be more clear—the wedding attendees know we flew the coop.
“What are they going to do?” I ask. “Are we going to get in trouble over this?”
“No,” Magnus says. He’s much more composed now than he was before we left, and I can’t help feeling that the worst is over. The peace radiating off of him is just so powerful.
“How can you be sure?” I ask. “What if they try to follow us?”
“I sent a text to my mother,” Magnus explains. “I told her I couldn’t have the wedding without the whole family there, and that we’d have to reschedule. I’m sure people will be angry, but they can’t very well question my integrity.” He meets my eyes. “I really do want to do it with the whole family there.”
“We’ll do that,” I agree. “That’ll be nice.”
Fred pulls our car through a chain-link gate onto an airstrip, and we get out. Magnus’ private jet is there, the motor already running.
“Are we going somewhere?” I ask him. “I don’t have any luggage.”
“The plane was already packed for our trip to Bora Bora,” Magnus points out. “Your bags are there. I thought we might as well go. If you’re not doing anything right now, that is.”
“I did take the next three weeks off work…” I acknowledge. “But Bora Bora was supposed to be our honeymoon. Aren’t you worried it would be bad luck to do the honeymoon before the wedding?”
He laughs and pulls me into his arms. “You and your bad luck. Do you still think that my seeing you in the wedding dress was bad luck?”
“I guess that did turn out pretty well,” I admit.
“A vacation to an island paradise sounds like the best kind of luck if you ask me,” Magnus says. “But you decide. We’ve put enough focus on what I want, and I picked the last place we went together. Where would you like to go?”
“Bora Bora sounds great to me,” I say.
“Are you sure? If you’d rather go somewhere else, we can.”
“Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich when we get there?”
Magnus laughs. “If you can find one, I’ll get it for you.”
We board the plane. Magnus, as it turns out, has thick white robes hung in a small closet at the front of the cabin, freshly laundered, and he pulls out a pair of them. Moments later we are ensconced in our seats, comfortable in our robes, with the formalwear from the wedding hung at the front of the plane and glasses of champagne in our hands.
I wrap my ankle over his, snuggling in close. I’m not tired, and I’m so extremely comfortable and happy.
“How long is the flight?” I ask Magnus. “I’ve never been to Bora Bora.”
He laughs. “I know you haven’t. The farthest you’ve ever traveled is to Norway, right?”
“And I imagine this will be the complete opposite of that.”
“Something like that,” he says. “I haven’t been to Bora Bora, but I have been to Polynesian islands before. Fiji is nice.”
“Maybe we can go to Fiji on our real honeymoon, then.”
“If that’s what you’d like.”
“Although I suppose I’d better wait and see if you ask me to marry you before I start planning any honeymoons,” I say quickly. “And no giving me money this time,” I tell him sternly. “If you want to give me money, you’ll have to think of some other excuse.”
“I don’t think you’ll be needing my money once that app of yours grows some legs.” Magnus reclines his seat and looks at his watch. “It’s a thirteen-hour flight, in answer to your question.”
“Won’t the pilot need a b
reak?”
“There are three of them up there, and one’s always on break, so don’t worry. Besides, they’re getting a tropical vacation out of this too, so they’re happy.”
Magnus refills my half-empty glass of champagne and puts his arm around me. I lean into his shoulder and sigh contentedly. I’m still thinking about the fact that I’m not tired, that we have thirteen hours on this plane, when I feel the weight of the glass leaving my hand and the slight shift of Magnus sitting up a little so he can place it on the table.
“I have an idea what we can do to pass the time,” he says quietly.
I’m about to ask him what he has in mind when his lips crash against mine. I guess that answers my question.
I want to talk to Magnus. I want us to get to know each other in all the ways we never did, to make the most of this fresh start. We have all the time in the world to do that, though, and I think this is a fabulous way to begin.
Epilogue
Magnus
I edge my way into the small office that’s been transformed into a preparation room for Leah. She is not prepared. Her hair might be pinned up in an ornate updo, her makeup flawless, but she’s half-dressed, wearing nothing but her bra and flannel pants. She’s holding a mobile phone about an inch from her face, I assume so as not to smudge the work that’s been done on it, and pacing as she talks.
“Make sure the Japanese investors are met at the airport,” she says. “No, I don’t care if they’ve been to Seattle before—we want to show them that they’re our top priority, or we can’t be assured of their investment, can we? I would go myself if…send Robert, then. Tell him he should escort them to the hotel and make sure they have everything they need before he leaves them. I don’t care how weird a request they make, I want it met. These guys could take us to the next level.”
I make a little “hang up the phone” gesture, and Leah grins sheepishly. She wraps up her conversation, hangs up, and tucks the phone into the pocket of the coat that’s hanging on the back of the door.
“Sorry,” she says. “Big investors. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I do, and I know you don’t want to miss out on your wedding day because of it,” I say.
Over the past two years, Leah’s app has become a global success. It’s been incredibly rewarding to watch her grow into her role as CEO and learn how to manage her employees and her product, and I’m incredibly proud to have provided the seed money that allowed her company to take root in the first place. But when her friend and maid of honor Aimi poked her head into my dressing room to tell me that Leah wasn’t even close to being ready, that she hadn’t put down the phone in forty-five minutes, I recognized a bit of myself in her behavior.
Now Leah looks up at me in amusement. “Are we ever going to have a wedding where you don’t sneak into my dressing room before the ceremony?” she asks. “I suppose you’re here to suggest an escape route?”
I shake my head. “No escaping for me,” I say. “Not this time.”
“Not for me either,” she agrees. “I would kiss you, but…well, that actually does seem like bad luck this close to the ceremony.”
“You and your luck,” I say with a laugh. I want to pull her close and kiss her, but there isn’t much longer to wait.
There’s a knock at the door and my sister Marit peers in. “Leah? Magnus? It’s almost time.” Her eyes widen. “Leah, you aren’t even dressed yet! And Magnus, you can’t be in here. Get back to your own room. Morten is waiting for you there. The two of you need to get out into the church.”
Leah’s eyes widen. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m not even in my dress. Magnus, you have to go. I need to get ready.”
She runs to the door and pulls Marit inside. Unlike Leah, Marit is fully dressed in her lavender bridesmaid dress. Even six months pregnant, she looks lovely.
“Get going,” Marit says, shoving me toward the door gently. “And make sure Luka’s face and hands are clean, will you? We don’t want any chocolate on the ring bearer’s pillow.”
I find my nephew running back and forth in the hallway, and sure enough, his hands are covered with chocolate. “Come on, Luka,” I say, taking him by the hand and steering him toward the room where I’m supposed to be getting ready, where my brother Morten is supposedly waiting for me. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Luka obeys me without question. He knows me as his uncle Magnus now.
It’s taken us a while to develop the relationship we should have had throughout his life. I’ll never stop regretting the fact that I took so long to get to know him. But Leah and I make frequent trips to Norway now, as often as we can get away from work, and our trips have given us the chance to get back on good terms with my sister and brother and to grow close with Luka. I won’t make the same mistake with Marit’s second child. I’m going to know him or her from the moment of birth.
And now my brother and sister are here for my wedding, the way they should have been at the first one. I have no regrets about going through with today. My family is here around me. Leah and I know and love each other. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
Marit and her family are staying in one of the guest rooms of the home Leah and I bought last year. Morten and his girlfriend are staying in the other room. It’s been nice having them around the house for the past week. We’ve played family games together, watched movies, and made dinner together every night.
Tonight, though, Leah and I will leave for our honeymoon—our real honeymoon—and my brother and sister will be in charge of house sitting for us. They’ll collect the mail, take care of Leah’s dog, and make sure the house is taken care of. It makes me feel better about going out of town knowing someone will be there to handle anything that might come up, and there’s no one I’d trust it to more than my family. It’s amazing how far we’ve come in the course of just two years. I have a real relationship with them now, and I appreciate it more than I ever could have, had I not almost lost it.
It was Marit who gave me the idea for how to propose to Leah. I was having lunch with my sister on one of our trips to Norway and decided to show her the ring I’d chosen and see if she thought I’d made a good pick. Marit approved of the white gold band and the square-cut solitaire diamond, but when I described how I planned to take Leah to an expensive dinner, she shook her head.
“You haven’t been paying attention, have you?” she asked. “Leah likes a personal touch. You need to ask her in a way that shows you listen to her.”
I pondered her words for a few days, revising my proposal in my own mind. Then, on the night before we were to leave Norway and return to the States, I took Leah for a picnic under the Northern Lights. Most of the time, Oslo is too far south to see the lights, but we got in the jet and flew up to the village of Tromsø. Dressed in warm coats and wrapped in blankets, we ate grilled cheese sandwiches under the rippling lights in the sky. And it was there that I proposed to her, unable even to look at the celestial phenomenon taking place above me. I only had eyes for Leah.
Since then, wedding planning has taken over our lives. Marit’s husband Sven finds my involvement funny, reminding me constantly that my role as groom is simply to show up, look handsome, and say I do.
“You don’t need to pick out flower arrangements,” he says laughing. “That’s for the woman to do. She’s better at it, and she’s not going to agree with anything you say anyway.”
But I like making wedding preparations with Leah. We had a wonderful time putting our wedding registry together. It was fun figuring out how our tastes meshed, how her love of delicate stemware went together with my need for a sturdy glass to hold in my hand. I think it brought us closer together and taught us things about each other that we wouldn’t otherwise have had the chance to learn.
We chose our cake together too. If Sven missed out on that experience, I feel sorry for him. So many different flavors, and all of them available for tasting. Ours is vanilla with strawberries and buttercream frosting, and I can’t wai
t until after the ceremony when I’ll be served a proper slice of it instead of just a bite.
But first, we have to get married. It’s finally time.
I take one more look in the mirror, brushing invisible lint from my shoulders. Morten, my best man, straightens my bow tie. I’m so glad to have my brother here, standing by my side for this.
Morten leads the way into the chapel as Sven, my other groomsman, follows. I follow both of them, feeling more than a little anxious. Leah and I have had such an unpredictable journey. What if something goes wrong?
The tiny chapel is packed with wedding guests. I know from our meeting with the pastor that this is the same venue in which Leah’s grandparents got married. It means so much more to her than that lavish but soulless ballroom in which we had originally planned to marry. The walls are made of warm wood with sconces holding actual candles. The pews are carved from what looks like teak. The whole thing looks like the belly of a friendly ship. I take my position at the altar, and the organ starts to play the song Leah and I chose together.
The doors at the rear of the church open and my mother and father walk in together looking pleased and proud. I shift a little, feeling nervous, and Morten closes the distance between us as if to remind me that I’m being watched.
The doors open again. Marit walks down the aisle, smiling and radiant, clutching a bouquet of white roses in front of her swollen belly. She reaches the front of the church and takes her position on the opposite side of the altar, throwing me a little wink.
Coming down the aisle behind her is Leah’s maid of honor, Aimi. She looks almost unbearably excited, like a kid on Christmas morning, and I get the feeling she’s been looking forward to this wedding almost as much as Leah and I have.
My nephew Luka is next to emerge through the doors, solemn in his role as ring bearer. His hands have been cleaned up, and he clutches the ring pillow as if afraid it might be stolen. As instructed, he walks straight to his mother, who bends down to help him untie the two rings from the pillow. She hands them to Aimi, who passes one to Morten.