“Thank God, you’re awake. Everyone else is in bits. I knew the party was a bad decision last night, I knew it. But God forbid anyone would listen to me.” She takes a breath, coming to a stop in front of me. “I need your help.”
“Sure.” I lead her away from my bedroom, where her youngest son better still be sleeping. “Is, um…” I clear my throat, pulling my hair back into a loose knot. “Is everything alright?”
“No. It’s a disaster.”
My stomach drops. “Is Annie—”
“Annie’s fine. She’ll be fast asleep like the rest of them. No, I mean the weather.”
She gestures frantically to the hallway window, which looks out over the parking lot. All I see is gleaming tarmac and a brilliant blue sky.
“The weather?”
“They say it’s going to hit thirty degrees today.”
“Okay.” I’m confused. “That’s like what? Eighty in Fahrenheit?”
“Exactly!”
“But… that’s a good thing, right? I thought they were worried it was going to rain.”
“Sarah,” she says as if speaking to a child. “We can handle a bit of rain, but a heatwave here is twenty-five, maybe twenty-six degrees. And that’s in the bit of the garden that gets the most sun. Certainly not thirty. And definitely not in a tent.”
“Can’t they just put on the air conditioning?”
“We don’t have air conditioning,” she says shrilly. “Everything on this island is built to retain heat not let it out.”
“There has to be something we can do. We’ll open the flaps. Get some fans in. The ceremony is thirty minutes tops. It will be okay.”
“They’ve already put out a weather alert,” she says faintly. “Status yellow. And the ceremony is at noon. Noon. My poor mother won’t be able to cope.”
“It’s going to be fine,” I say, grasping her hand between mine. “I promise. It’s just sunshine. Better this than a monsoon.”
“I suppose,” she says, still doubtful.
“Trust me,” I say firmly. “If the worst that happens today is good weather then I think we’ll be alright. But I really need to go check on Annie. Why don’t you ask them if they can bring some fans to the tent? As many as they can.”
It takes a bit more pushing but eventually I get her to go and I hurry back down the hallway to Annie’s room. The air inside is warm and stale. Annie is asleep in bed, her face buried in the pillows.
“Wakey, wakey,” I call loudly as I open the balcony door. The bucket is thankfully empty, the water glass drained at some point during the night.
I lean over her, wrinkling my nose at the smell.
Well, at least she’s breathing.
“Annie? Time to wake up.”
Unlike Declan, Annie immediately opens her eyes, only to decide she doesn’t want to. She groans and tries to roll away from me, but I pull her firmly onto her back.
“You’ve got to get up now.”
“Why?” she mutters, throwing an arm over her face.
“Because you’re getting married in a few hours.”
Her body stiffens. “That’s today?”
“Unfortunately.”
Her arm drops to the bed. “Oh my God.” And fortunately, I’ve seen that look on her face enough times to grab the bucket right before she needs it.
“Thank you so much,” I say, balancing the tray from the waiter with my right hand while I tip him with my left.
“Going to be a gorgeous day for it,” he says kindly. “It’s roasting out.”
“Roasting,” I agree, trying to back into the room without showing him what’s behind me. “Thank you!”
I manage to close the door, hopefully without seeming as rude as I feel, and turn to see Annie where I left her, sitting at the small glass table, completely miserable.
“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” she moans.
She’s showered and dressed in her white fluffy robe. It took more effort than I’d anticipated but we got through it and even managed to comb her hair in preparation for the stylist.
I set down her breakfast tray, a collection of everything from fried food to yogurt to bread. Lots of bread. And juice and ice water and a blissfully large pot of coffee.
“Eat. Drink.”
“I can’t.”
“Oh, but you can. You have to.”
Slowly she picks up a piece of bread and nibbles on the edge.
I find an energy drink in the minibar and open it for her. “I need to shower.”
“Okay,” she says, managing half a slice. “The headache has officially begun.”
“I have aspirin in my purse. I’ll bring them to you. Don’t get back into bed.”
She nods weakly and I rush across the hall to my own room before I can remember who I left there.
I hesitate in the doorway, nearly expecting Declan to be strutting around naked, but the room is empty. I’m surprised at the flicker of disappointment I feel but quickly dismiss it. I’ll deal with him later. For now, I need to hurry.
I don’t so much shower as I do step in and out of the running water before putting on fresh pajamas. It will be a while before I need to get into my dress, but I take it out of the closet and lay it on the rumpled covers of the bed. I’m looking for my shoes when I remember about the aspirin and then it’s back to Annie, who I’m pleased to see has moved on from the toast and is now poking at the scrambled eggs.
“Take these,” I say, pressing the pills into her hand. “And drink your vitamin C.”
She gulps back the orange juice with a look of distaste.
“You need glucose.”
“I need a new body,” she says thickly. “How do people do this all the time? I’m never drinking again.”
“Spoken like a true drunk.” I push the plate of bacon toward her just as someone knocks on her door. Hair and makeup have arrived.
Everything begins to move very fast. Her parents show up at the same time as the photographer and the room is suddenly full of people. There’s a lot of hands in my hair and brushes on my face as the air becomes clouded with hairspray. The maid of honor dress, a floor-length light-blue gown, is so beautiful I’m scared I’m going to sweat through it out of sheer excitement but I’m nothing compared to Annie, who looks like she stepped right out of a magazine. It’s a simple enough design as wedding dresses go but it’s from a local designer and, at Annie’s request, subtle Celtic patterns are woven into the veil and the long lacy sleeves.
Once the photographer is finally happy, I leave them alone for some family time. The guests have arrived in their numbers, and from the hallway window I can see downstairs to the tent. Voices drift up from the gardens, laughing and talking.
With a couple of minutes to go I slink down the back stairs to where we’ll make our entrance and catch a dangerously warm breeze coming from the open doors.
I’d almost forgotten about the heat.
But despite Mary’s concern there’s a still a line of sleek umbrellas lined up next to the entrance.
“You never know,” one of the staff mutters when he catches me looking.
The rest of the bridal procession has already gathered by the doors and I watch as Annie’s mom tries to calm the overexcited flower girls as they twirl in their skirts.
“Have you seen Mary?” she asks as she wipes a smudge of chocolate off one of their faces. “I think she went to get some tissues.”
“I’ll find her.”
I slip into the adjoining hallway and follow the sign for the restrooms, almost tripping in my heels as I turn a corner and stumble back, spying two people up ahead.
Mary stands beside Declan, tutting as he fiddles with the sleeves of his tuxedo. He looks good. His dark curls have been tamed so that they almost look respectable and a white flower is pinned to his lapel. The tux fits him well. So well that despite his mother standing right next to him, it suddenly has me wondering if the suit is rented or if we can go for round three with him wearing that and me we
aring… well, now I’m blushing.
“Shit,” he mutters, ruining my sudden image of us, and I smile as his fingers slip over his cufflinks. I’ve never seen him flustered before. It makes him look younger; his usual confident air stripped away.
“Language,” Mary chides. “Let me do it.”
He offers no resistance, holding his arm out as she fastens them. Neither of them have noticed me yet and I’m just about to leave them alone when she speaks again.
“You’re doing very well,” she says, glancing up at him. “Both your father and I think so. We know how difficult it must be to—”
“Don’t,” Declan says. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’ve been sulking since you got here.”
“Sulking?” He sounds amused. “You just said I was doing well.”
She drops his wrist. “You know what I mean.”
“You were worried I was going to ruin this for Paul, weren’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“You did. Because he’s your favorite child.”
“I don’t have a favorite child.”
“Liar.” Declan smiles fondly at her as she raps him on the shoulder before smoothing the fabric down.
“All I meant to say was that I’m very proud of you,” she says, her voice catching. “I know it’s not easy.”
“Are you crying? We haven’t even started the ceremony yet and you’re crying?”
“I’m fine,” she says. “I have to get tissues. Go get into place. We’re probably holding the whole thing up.”
She runs into the restroom opposite and I turn to leave, but as I go I bump into the table next to me, sending a vase wobbling. At the sound of it, Declan’s head snaps my way, spotting me instantly.
Busted.
I open my mouth to apologize for eavesdropping but freeze as his gaze sweeps over me, taking in my dress, my hair, me. I brace myself from some teasing words, some flirtatious look like I’ve come to expect from him. Instead, the smile slips from his face.
He frowns.
He frowns at me.
“Declan.” Connor emerges from a side door and Declan turns without another word and follows his cousin, disappearing from view.
Confused, I turn to the grand mirror in the lobby, checking my reflection, looking for something amiss. But there’s nothing. I look okay, I think. The dress fits me perfectly and my hair looks neat and my makeup is good and I… I look nice. Right?
Beautiful even.
So what the hell was that?
I mean, okay, I didn’t have a soft spotlight behind me, or birds chirping at my shoulder, but I look hot.
Not that I care what he thinks but who looks at a woman in her bridesmaid dress and frowns.
I could rip that pinned bowtie off his stupid shirt and shove it up his—
“Sarah!” Mary emerges from the restroom, tissues in hand. “I’m late. I know I’m—” She stops as she takes me in fully, one hand fluttering to her chest. “You look beautiful,” she says. “Annie is so lucky to have you.”
See? See?! That is the right reaction.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, Mrs. Murphy.”
“Oh, this old thing,” she says. “I’ve had it for years. Cotton,” she whispers. “Very breathable.”
“Ah.”
She squeezes my hand and leads me back to the lobby, where Annie stands looking just as I’d hoped she would. Her hair is pinned up, her makeup subtle, her grandmother’s pearls her only jewelry. She looks stunning, regal and calm. Only when I get closer do I see the barely concealed panic in her eyes.
“Where did you go?” she whispers when she sees me.
“Oh my God, the strangest thing happened. Paul tried to escape?”
“Sarah.”
“I think I’ve convinced him to go through with it, but you better marry him quickly because—”
“I hate you.” She laughs.
“Can we have the maid of honor, please,” someone calls gently to the group.
“Are you good?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, her eyes focused on the tent behind us. She is good.
“Your collarbone looks amazing.”
“Would you just go already?”
I kiss her on the cheek. “See you on the other side.”
The flower girls have switched from excitement to terror and need to be gently pushed and pulled into position as a kind man in an impeccable suit hurries me forward, reminds me to smile and gives me a gentle nudge on the shoulder.
Showtime.
12
Oh my God, it’s hot.
What did the waiter say before? Roasting?
It’s a perfect description. I am roasting. I am being roasted alive in this tent. And I am not the only one.
We’ve only been inside twenty minutes but already most of the guests are visibly sweating, furiously fanning their faces with the wedding booklet. The only people who seem to be coping are Annie’s parents, used to the Florida heat. But the Irish? Not so much.
Not that I’m one to judge. Mary’s right. I’m used to heat with functional air conditioning, not the dozen weak desk fans they’ve plugged strategically around the room that do little other than provide a pleasant tickle at people’s ankles.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, slipping in my heels as the celebrant reads out a poem in Gaelic. I zone out immediately, the words, while pretty, meaning nothing to me and not for the first time, I let my eyes drift to Declan, who faces studiously to the front, a look of polite concentration on his face. He hasn’t looked at me once. Or maybe we’re doing the whole “we keep missing each other thing,” but I don’t think so.
It’s like he’s purposefully ignoring me. Like we didn’t just spend the night together.
And I know a part of me should be relieved about it. Especially since I broke my number one rule of don’t get too attached to people, but now, I feel almost insulted.
And really, really hot.
I squirm as a bead of sweat trickles down my back, fighting the urge to wipe my upper lip as the poem finally ends.
The celebrant smiles at the crowd, her voice rising over the soft whir of the fans. “Paul and Annie have chosen to mark their union by making their own unique and shared promises to each other. Will you both now please stand and face one another. We’ll start with Paul.”
“I have to confess,” Paul says with a nervous smile at the crowd. “Annie already knows what I’m about to say because she made me run it by her. I promise I’ll keep it short.”
I smile with the rest of the guests, but Annie doesn’t react. I glance at her, noticing a damp sheen creeping through her makeup. She swallows thickly and my smile drops. Maybe the hangover isn’t exactly over.
Paul doesn’t seem to realize as he turns back to face her, eyes glimmering with the beginning of unshed tears.
“Annie,” he starts, his voice already shaking as he glances down at the small written card in his hands. Mary muffles a sob behind me. “You are more than my best friend. You are my soul mate. And there are some days I can’t believe I was lucky enough to find you. I promise to stand beside you always, to listen and to learn and, whatever we face in the future, I promise you we’ll face it together.”
The celebrant turns to Annie, who sways imperceptibly beside me. “And now for the bride.”
She draws a breath but no words come out.
“Annie?” I mumble when she doesn’t speak.
“I’m okay.” She clears her throat, wiping a hand against her dress.
“Use your notes dear,” the celebrant whispers and Annie nods, blinking down at her card. Nothing happens.
I shouldn’t have made her eat the eggs.
Paul grows concerned as the silence stretches and the celebrant suddenly straightens.
“Stage fright,” she says, and laughs.
Annie sways again.
“Why don’t we move on to—”
She’s cut off as a collec
tive gasp fills the tent and Paul’s arms shoot out to catch Annie as she crumples to the ground.
“Annnd big smiles!” The photographer waves madly to get a flower girl’s attention as we stand in one big group outside the tent. “Look at me, Sinead! Look at me!” The girl, who can’t be more than five, pouts toward the front.
“Big smiles, big…” He exhales noisily, wiping his brow. “Can we get this girl’s mother?”
“I’m so embarrassed,” Annie mutters for the millionth time as I adjust her skirts. Her fainting spell lasted for only a few seconds but had set off another woman in the middle row, who had to be brought outside.
“A fierce attention seeker,” Mary had muttered to me afterward. “That’s not the first time she’s caused a scene. Always trying to take away from the bride.”
“It was the heat,” I say to Annie now. “Everyone knows that. It’s not like you left Paul at the altar.”
“Though you looked like you wanted to,” Paul says beside her. “I’ll take fainting any day.”
“I was like a sickly Victorian lady,” Annie mutters.
“You were hungover,” Paul says and only grins at her glare as Sinead’s mother stands beside the camera, gesturing to an exaggerated smile on her own face.
“Just like me, Sinead! Smile for Mummy!”
“Are these the last ones?” Annie asks, stretching her neck.
“The last group one,” I say a little smugly. “Then you’re doing individual shots.”
“Can’t we take them after we eat?”
“You’ll be bloated. Hey,” I say as Annie groans. “You’re the one who wanted to be a bride.”
The rest of the guests mill around us, chasing children with bottles of sunscreen and drinking the glasses of ice water being passed around by waiters. An ice cream truck from the village had spotted its opportunity and is parked nearby with a line of people waiting their turn.
“And that’s it,” the photographer calls as we smile once more. “Thank you, everybody.”
I make my excuses and step away, wanting to freshen up before it’s time for the speeches but the photographer stops me immediately, and gestures to Declan who’s lingering at the side of the group.
One Night Only: An absolutely hilarious and uplifting romantic comedy Page 10