by Shenda Paul
"Your Mom and I are hoping you'll agree to walk down the aisle to it," I eventually said because Angelique didn’t speak after the music stopped. She threw herself at me then, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.
"It's beautiful…" She sobbed and moved to kneel beside Grace.
"Thank you, Mom," she whispered.
"Do you remember?" Grace asked.
"St. Patrick's blessing; he'd recite it to me, and he'd always kiss my forehead after."
"He did," Grace agreed with a watery smile, and they held onto each other for quite some time. When Angelique returned to my side, she whispered a broken, "Thank you, M'fhíorghrá."
"There's more," I said, kissing her temple. "I thought we could have this performed before you made your entrance."
"Performed?" she asked.
"What you've just heard and the rendition we're about to listen to were specially recorded by musicians from the Boston Conservatory of Music. I've engaged them to perform at our ceremony; and this," I pointed to the prettily wrapped package in Grace’s outstretched hand, "is a gift from your Mom and me on behalf of your dad."
She mouthed a silent, "Oh," as she held up the CD case and became teary-eyed when lovingly stroking her finger over the photograph of Rory looking down at her young self, both their faces scrunched up in mirth. Grace found the photo she told me had been one of Rory’s favorites and had a copy printed to place in the CD cover.
They’d composed themselves by the time our wedding party arrived, and rehearsals went smoothly. Mom and Dad hosted a casual dinner after, to which they'd also invited Jodi, Nic, Flynn, Josh, and Aaron, Samantha's boyfriend. Their dining room overflowed, but no one seemed to mind as we tucked into copious quantities of food and enjoyed the happy and often boisterous company.
Yesterday, when it was time to leave Angelique, I came close to saying to hell with tradition. She clung to me as tightly as I held onto her, neither of us wanted to let the other go. I leaned down to give her yet another searing kiss.
"I hate not sleeping in the same bed as you," I grumbled.
"Me too," she murmured, our lips still touching when Cait and Matt walked through the connecting door.
"For goodness sakes, Adam, it's just one night," she huffed.
"I'm going to change the locks on that damned door," I muttered against Angelique’s mouth, and she burst into a bout of giggles.
"You'd better go. I'll miss you," she said with an exasperated, yet amused glance at my sister.
"The only thing that's making this bearable is knowing that when I see you next, you'll be moments away from becoming my wife," I said and kissed her once more.
Our clothing for the next day had already been delivered to Mom and Dad's, and Matt and I left with an overnight bag each because, for some reason, Cait decided that he too should be kicked out of his home.
I hosted a quiet dinner for the males in our wedding party that night while Cait held a dinner for Angelique. Mandi, Samantha, Nic and Flynn, Mom, Grace, and Sharon attended. My guests included Matt, Jon, Dad, Samuel, Josh, and Aaron. We spent a pleasant night at the Capital Grille, parting company at around ten-thirty. Mom was already home when Dad, Matt, and I got in.
"How's Angelique?" I asked anxiously.
"She's fine, darling, just filled with nervous anticipation like you," Mom replied with a teasing grin. She kissed me on the cheek and announced that she was going to bed. I followed her lead, and not wanting to disturb Angelique, sent her a text telling her I love her and couldn't wait to see her. I expected to toss and turn but fell asleep almost instantly to thoughts of the wonderful possibilities of our future.
It's six a.m. now, and the sun's barely risen. I snuck downstairs a while ago, thankful to find that Mom had set the timer for the coffee machine. Cup in hand, I returned to write a letter to Angelique.
There's so much in my heart; I can't possibly get it all down on paper. I can only hope that I’ve adequately communicated what I'm feeling right now.
Angelique, A mhuírnín, Mo shíorgrá,
I hope this letter finds you as excited as I am about being joined for the rest of our lives and beyond. For me, there can be no greater joy.
From the moment I laid eyes on you, my body, even if my brain stubbornly denied it, recognized you for what you are—my eternal love. I've told you hundreds of times that I love you, but no words can adequately express the enormity of what I feel.
I love you with every fiber of my being. My heart is no longer mine; it stopped being that from the moment I admitted my love for you. It's yours, Darling, everything I am, everything I own is yours. Today, I'll proudly and publicly acknowledge that fact.
These gifts, which I hope you'll honor me by wearing, are mere tokens of my love, as inadequate as words to express the depth of my feelings. I missed waking with you in my arms, and I long to see you. The next ten hours will seem like an eternity.
Yours always,
Adam.
"I thought you'd be awake," Mom says from my doorway. "How are you feeling?"
"Happy… excited," I reply, smiling back at her.
"This is what I've dreamed of for you, Adam. From the moment I first caught sight of you, I wished for the happiness I see in your eyes now," Mom replies as she moves to stand beside me.
"You made me happy, Mom; you, Dad and Cait, by accepting me as part of your family."
"I know, sweetheart, but there was always something missing. I feared you'd never find it, but when I saw you with Angelique, so smitten and protective, I knew you’d found what you were waiting for. If Eleanor were here today, she'd be as proud of the man you've become as your dad and I are," she says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Thanks, Mom." I swallow the lump in my throat, my mind instantly drifting to the event we held for Eleanor’s Place two weeks ago. The day was a huge success, and I hope that, wherever she is, Eleanor can see that she isn't forgotten, that some small part of her lives on in me and in the charity created to honor her short life.
We've been inundated with people calling to express interest in our services and activities since then. Angelique and Mom are, naturally, ecstatic at the level of interest shown in their stranger-danger initiative; and Angelique’s ballet classes, scheduled to start two weeks after our return, are already fully booked. After much discussion, I managed to talk her into hiring a permanent assistant dance mistress because the last thing I want is for Angelique to take on too much.
"How about some breakfast?" Mom interrupts my mental wandering.
"Shouldn't we wait for Dad and Matt?"
"Your dad's in the shower, and Matt will wake as soon as he smells bacon," she replies with a light laugh.
"Just let me seal this letter, and I’ll be down. Where should I put it and the gifts for Angelique and her bridesmaids?"
"On our bed next to the little suitcase; that way I won’t forget it," she says, referring to the fact that she and Dad will be dressing for the wedding at Cait and Matt's.
"Do you have your luggage?" she asks.
"Yes. I'll check in and put them in our suite later this morning. That way, we’ll be able to go straight to our room tonight."
"A honeymoon's a very special time," Mom says, sounding nostalgic.
"I'm really looking forward to it. Our relationship started in an unwanted spotlight, so the time alone and away from everything is so much more than a honeymoon for us."
"I know, darling, and Angelique’s going to love it," Mom replies, leaving me with a kiss on the cheek.
Angelique still doesn’t know where we’re going. We’ll be spending our wedding night at the Ritz-Carlton before flying to New York. She'll find out about Italy as soon as we check in at New York, and I’ll tell her about our week at the villa then. Our next week will be spent in Paris, and the last in Ireland, with a weekend in London before we fly home. I intend to reveal each destination only once we
’re on our way there.
I'm looking forward to every part of the trip, but I'm particularly excited about taking Angelique to the area where Rory’s family comes from. Grace was quite overcome when I told her about my plans. "Oh, Adam, Angel will love it. Rory always talked about us all going there, " she exclaimed.
"I know how much Angelique misses him, and I'm just as anxious to learn all I can about her heritage," I told her.
"You're a good man, Adam Thorne," she tearfully remarked.
"I'm a man in love," I responded. "Besides, it’s something to share with our children one day." She smiled broadly then, just as I’d wanted her to.
.
.
"Nervous, son?" Dad asks when he joins Mom and me in the kitchen.
"Why does everyone think I should be?" I reply with a hint of exasperation because every one of my dinner guests asked the same thing the night before.
"Probably because it's what's expected?" he suggests.
"I'm not nervous, just impatient," I insist.
"You will be by the time four o'clock comes 'round," Matt declares, making his entry just as Mom predicted.
"I highly doubt it," I brush him off and tuck into my breakfast.
"I've left a platter of sandwiches in the refrigerator," Mom tells Matt and me after we’ve cleared up.
"Thanks, Mom; are you and Dad leaving now?" I ask.
"We are. I want to get there before the caterers arrive."
"Brett will probably be there already. He wants to make sure nothing in the garden gets damaged during set-up." I get up to kiss her cheek.
"Thanks for doing all this," I say, including Dad, who’s just entered with their bags.
"It's our pleasure, Son. See you soon," he replies and leads Mom out.
Jon arrives soon after I return from the Ritz-Carlton, and he, Matt and I pass the time catching up and watching replays of a recent baseball game. At around eleven-thirty, Matt announces that he's hungry. I excuse myself to go up to my room before joining them in the kitchen.
"I have something for you," I announce, handing them each a gift-wrapped package.
"Why’d you get us something when it's your special day?" Jon questions.
Matt lets out an amused snort. "There speaks a man who hasn't experienced the rituals of getting married!"
I expected Jon to make some quip, but he refrains; in fact, he looks decidedly sheepish. I resist the temptation to grill him for information, pointing to the gifts they’re holding instead.
"Thanks, Adam, these are great," Jon says, holding up the opened box in one hand and extending the other.
"It's just a token of my appreciation for standing up with me," I tell him as we shake hands.
"I didn't expect anything; I feel privileged to be here," he tells me.
"It's my pleasure, Jon. Besides, giving gifts is only one of many wedding traditions you'll discover when your time comes," I can't help pointedly adding.
"Thanks, Adam," Matt gets up to give me a hug before I can pursue the matter with Jon, who’s chosen to ignore my little dig. "I’m honored to be your best man; you know you've always been like a brother to me, don't you?"
"I do, and the feeling's entirely mutual." I return Matt’s bear hug warmly.
Jon asks, and Matt eagerly regales him with the story of how we met. He exaggerates all the embarrassing things about our childhood escapades to make me look bad, of course, but I'm too happy to allow it to bother me.
At twelve-fifteen, I declare that I’m going to have a shower and shave. "Matt, will you show Jon the guest bathroom?" I ask.
"Sure. I left something for you on Cait’s bed. It's from Angelique," he adds slyly. I practically fly up the stairs, ignoring the laughter and verbal taunts that follow me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I set the gray and silver wrapped package aside, opting to open the white envelope first. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and, I swear, my hand trembles as I start reading Angelique’s letter.
M'fhíorghrá,
Our bedroom is a lonely place without you, but I comfort myself with the reminder that tomorrow I'll be your wife. Even now, just eighteen hours before it becomes reality, I feel the need to pinch myself. How did I get so lucky? I ask.
In my solitude, things have crystallized. I remembered a conversation I had with my dad shortly before he died. "I'm scared," I said. "What of?" he asked. "I don't want you to go away like old Mrs. Jones," I told him. He took my hand in his and drew me close to kiss my forehead. "A Stór, I don't know what God plans, but I know if he needs me, he'll make sure you're not alone. God will send you someone who'll love you almost as much as I do. He'll love you with all his heart and soul, and you will love him the same," he said.
Somehow, he knew you'd come into my life, Adam. Dad, God, the universe, whoever we wish to believe in, has sent you to me. I can accept that now. Instead of fearing that this happiness will disappear, I welcome our love in all its beauty, the vast expanse and the bottomless pit of it.
I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love, and I promise to show you in every way, every day, how much you mean to me. Tomorrow I'll walk down that aisle and into my future with you without looking back. I'll do so with confidence, eager to become your wife, your partner in all things.
My gift is a symbol of the unity I see our life together being.
Yours only and always,
Angelique.
Emotion churns within me, threatening to boil over. I wish she were here so I can take her in my arms and tell her just how much her words mean to me. I read them over and over, letting each one soak into my soul before finally undoing the wrapping on my gift.
I lovingly trace the contours of the entwined A’s on the cufflinks. They signify everything I'm hoping for our future; Angelique and I united as a single entity, together always.
Carefully refolding the letter, I place it in the inside pocket of the jacket I'll be wearing and the cufflinks on my dresser, ready for when I get dressed. I long to speak with her but settle for sending a short text instead.
I love you. Thank you for your beautiful words and gift, I type and sign off with the thought that's been consuming me since waking. Soon.
A while later, I receive a return message. Your love and generosity leave me speechless. Thank you for your beautiful gifts. I love you. Can't wait.
.
.
Jon, Matt, and I arrive just after two to find Dad waiting in Angelique’s and my living room. He’s dressed, except for his jacket. Mom and Cait enter soon after and gush effusively, telling us how handsome we look. "How are you feeling?" Mom asks, and I tell her I'm fine. Then, despite having heard our exchange, Cait repeats the question only a moment later.
"I'm really fine," I say, wishing everyone would just believe me.
I compliment them, telling Mom she looks like a movie star. She smiles delightedly. "Wait till you see Grace," Cait chimes in, "both she and Mom have gone vintage Hollywood."
"You look beautiful too, Sis," I tell her, gently touching her rounded belly.
"Thanks, big brother. I'm so happy for you." She hugs me tightly until Matt untangles her with a warning not to cry on my suit.
The garden, when I step into it, exceeds my wildest dreams. Lights, which will be turned on at dusk, are strung on either side of the central path leading from the house. An enormous canopy draped with billowing, white fabric presides over the area designated for our reception dinner. The ceiling’s adorned with crystal chandeliers, also to be switched on at dusk—for now, they reflect the sunlight, casting prisms of light around the area.
The tables with their gold-rimmed settings look elegant, just as Angelique wanted. I smile as I take in the floral arrangements. No discussion about flowers had been needed. "I'd like peonies everywhere," she told the florist. "Blush pink," I added, eliciting an appreciative smile from
Angelique.
Nearby, a second canopy’s been erected over a specially constructed dance floor; white sofas and armchairs have been arranged in informal groupings around its perimeter. More crystal chandeliers hang above, and groups of flameless candles adorn the side tables.
The gazebo with its pillars draped with sheer, white fabric spilling onto the ground and dressed with garlands of peonies is, in my mind, the most stunning feature. Only Angelique herself, I believe, will outshine its splendor. Guest seats flank the aisle, littered with thousands upon thousands of white and blush pink petals.
"This is incredible…" Jon enthuses, and Matt emits a low whistle as he looks around. "Wow!" he finally says, uncharacteristically lost for words.
"It is," I agree, as amazed as they are. I check my watch. It's two-fifty.
The musicians are setting up near the gazebo, so I stop to greet and introduce them to Matt and Jon. They're delighted when I tell them how much Angelique loves the CD, and we chat for a short while before leaving them to their tasks.
"Your guests will start arriving soon," Dad announces at three-fifteen as he, Mom, and Cait approach with Reverend Simon Edmond. I leave our little group to greet the minister.
"Who's greeting them?" I hear Jon ask, and then Dad tell him that Dan, the master of ceremonies we engaged, will. He'll no doubt also learn about the ushers who'll escort guests to the area where our marriage will take place.
I greet Simon Edmond warmly. He’s an ordained minister who favors leaving what he calls stuffy protocol behind, yet it's blatantly obvious to anyone he meets that, despite his open and relaxed approach to ministering, Simon’s faith runs deep. His church, he assured us when we met, welcomes all. Those characteristics instantly drew Angelique and me to him, and we were both delighted when he agreed to marry us.
"Do you need anything else?" I ask, showing him to the small table he requested be set up out of sight in the gazebo.
"No, thanks, Adam. Why don't you mingle, and I'll let you know when it's time to take up position?" he suggests, just as the string quartet starts playing.