Bridesmaid Says, I Do!

by Barbara Hannay

  And she had to ask why she’d insisted on an extension of their cooling off.

  Her initial caution, so soon after the cancelled wedding, had been sensible. But was her request to continue it really such a good idea?

  Suddenly, it made no sense to ration her text messages.

  She had to make contact with Kent. If he couldn’t be here, she needed to share her experiences by the only means she had. Opening her phone, she began to type.

  4.15 p.m.: It’s already dark and it’s snowing and I’m wearing a new red woollen hat I bought in Paris.

  5.45 p.m.: I’m in the Old Town Square. So many sounds. Church bells, a brass band playing carols, the chiming of the famous astronomical clock.

  6.01 p.m.: Now I’m walking across Charles Bridge. There’s a busker playing a violin. Magic.

  7.10 p.m.: Goulash for dinner with five white dumplings to mop up the yummy rich beef gravy.

  7.30 p.m.: Have just had my first drink of grog—a mix of rum and tea. Miss you heaps. Xx

  By the time Zoe went to bed she’d had no reply from Kent. She told herself this was to be expected given the time differences, but it didn’t stop her from feeling depressed and lonely and sorry for herself.

  She knew it was pitiful, but she couldn’t help feeling down. She cried herself to sleep, and she slept fitfully, waking often to check her phone for messages.

  There was only one, which arrived at 3.00 a.m. From her mum.

  Next morning, Kent still hadn’t replied, and Zoe found reasons—he’d risen early and taken off on his tractor without checking his phone. Or perhaps his phone’s battery had needed recharging. She knew there were all sorts of logical explanations.

  Just the same, she waited on tenterhooks. And to cheer herself up, she kept sending messages.

  8.05 a.m.: From my apartment window, I look out at steep rooftops covered in snow and I can see Prague castle.

  Don’t you wish you were here?

  8.35 a.m.: The cars are covered in snow. The statues have snow on their shoulders. The tree branches are sagging beneath the weight of the snow. There are children tobogganing.

  What’s it like at Willara?

  9.15 a.m.: I’m trying to catch falling snow in my mouth. Can you tell snow’s a novelty for me?

  10.00 p.m.: Kent, I’ve been in Prague a whole day. Where are you?

  At midnight, Zoe sat on her bed, wrapped in a warm quilt, staring forlornly at her phone. She’d written another message, but she wasn’t quite brave enough to press Send. Kent’s silence had made her desperate, but the message was so—revealing—and sending it was far too risky.

  Heartsick, she read it again.

  11.53 p.m.: Kent, I miss you so much. This cooling off isn’t working any more. When I get back home, I hope we can talk. I love you, Zoe xxx She’d changed the last part of the message a dozen times, had deleted and then rewritten those three telling words—I love you.

  She knew this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. How could she make such a rash confession? In the weeks since she’d left home, he hadn’t given her any fresh reason to hope.

  At twenty past midnight, Zoe was still huddled on the bed, but she decided she’d been too cautious for too long. What the heck? It was time to be brave.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, she pressed the send button, and then she slipped beneath the covers, and tried to sleep. Her heart was pounding.

  Next morning there was still no answer from Kent, and Zoe had never in her life felt as bereft as she did now.

  She stood at the window looking out at the postcard-perfect scene of Europe’s fairy-tale city. Overnight it had snowed again and all the rooftops and the streets were coated with glistening white. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be in Prague. It was almost Christmas and she was alone and heartbroken and on the wrong side of the world.

  How could she have been such a fool? How had she ever thought she could enjoy this alone?

  But even if she paid the extra money to change her flights in the middle of the festive season, she didn’t want to fly back to Australia if she couldn’t be sure Kent would welcome her. That would be unbearable. Better to stay here in Prague and try to make the best of a bad situation.

  She should try to put Kent out of her mind.

  This morning she would go to the markets and buy Christmas decorations. She would school herself to live in each moment, to enjoy the ancient cobbled streets, and the old Gothic architecture, and the brightly decorated wooden huts selling handicrafts and wooden toys. Instead of dwelling on her misery, she would think of others. She would buy presents. Lots of presents. Her little brother, Toby, would love those cheeky wooden puppets.

  But as Zoe walked from stall to stall she was painfully conscious of the small solid weight of her phone in her coat pocket. All morning, even though she knew it was the middle of the night in Australia, she remained on edge, waiting for the phone to vibrate against her hip, to tell her there was an incoming call.

  In the afternoon, she joined a tour of Prague Castle and St Vitus Cathedral. The buildings were beautiful, and the history was epic and fascinating. The views of the city and the elegant bridges over the Vltava River were truly picturesque. Zoe soaked up the atmosphere and told herself how lucky she was to be having such memorable experiences. She told herself this over and over.

  Her phone didn’t ring.

  By the time she’d finished the walking tour, darkness was closing in, but she didn’t want to go back to her hotel room. She stayed out in the streets where the music and pretty lights were designed to lift everyone’s spirits.

  The air was thick with the warm smell of cinnamon and she admired the enormous, brightly lit Christmas tree which, according to the hotel concierge, had been brought down from the Sumava Mountains.

  Every ten minutes or so, desperation drove her to take her phone out just to check that she hadn’t missed a call.

  She hadn’t.

  By now, her legs were leaden and aching from walking all day in the freezing cold. Her stomach was hollow with regret and self-recrimination. Her last message had been too strong. Kent didn’t know how to answer her.

  Or worse …

  Kent had been in an accident. He was ill.

  Stop it.

  She would go mad if she kept this up. She should eat. The market stalls sold all kinds of wonderful hot food—corn on the cob, crumbed mushrooms and spicy sausages. Perhaps she should buy a cup of the hot mulled wine that everyone else seemed to be enjoying so much. The wine certainly looked and smelled yummy—spicy, with floating pieces of apple and orange.

  At least it would keep her warm.

  Slipping her phone into her coat pocket, Zoe gave it a small pat. Silently, she said: That’s it—I’m done with you for tonight.

  The thought was barely completed before she felt, through the soft kid of her glove, a gentle vibration against her fingers.

  Her heart banged hard against her ribs. And then her phone began to ring in earnest.

  This wasn’t a mere text message. On the tiny screen she saw a name.

  Kent Rigby …

  Her hand was shaking as she held the phone to her ear.

  Kent said, ‘Zoe—’

  And at that very moment a brass band struck up a noisy rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas', drowning out Kent’s voice as it blasted the carol into the frosty night air.

  ‘Sorry,’ Zoe cried to him, running across the cobblestones with the phone pressed to one ear and her hand covering the other. ‘I can’t hear you. Hang on, Kent. Are you still there? I’m going to have to get away from this music.’

  Around a corner, in a small, narrow street, she sank against a stone wall. ‘Sorry,’ she puffed. ‘That’s a little better. Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’ His voice was rippling with warmth and a hint of laughter.

  ‘Are you OK? It seems ages since I heard from you.’

  ‘I’m fine, Zoe. How are you?’

  ‘I’m OK. Ev
erything’s lovely here. But it’s so good to hear your voice.’

  ‘Are you homesick?’

  ‘I am a bit, yes.’ Nervously, she chewed

  her lip. ‘Have my text messages been getting through to you?’

  ‘They have.’ There was a tiny pause. ‘Thank you.’ His voice sounded deeper, rougher, thick with emotion.

  Zoe held her breath, wondering if he would explain his recent silence, or if he’d comment on her last message.

  At least I love you hadn’t frightened him away.

  ‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Where are you exactly?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s a little side street off the Old Town Square. Why?’

  ‘I was hoping you weren’t too far away.’

  She laughed. ‘Yeah, right. Like I’m just around the corner from Willara Downs.’

  ‘I’m not at Willara Downs.’

  ‘Where—?’ she began, then froze as she heard the triumphant notes of a brass band. The music was coming from …

  Inside her phone.

  Surely she was mistaken?

  No, she wasn’t.

  ‘Kent?’ Zoe was so tense she was sure her skin had snapped. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Right behind you.’

  Heart thumping, she spun around.

  And there he was.

  On the street corner in a heavy winter coat, outlined by the bright lights from the markets.

  She tried to lift a shocked hand to wave, but already Kent was coming towards her, and then, as fast as her shaky legs would allow, Zoe was stumbling over the snowy cobblestones.

  Into his open arms.

  She buried her face in his shoulder and he held her. She was crying, laughing and snuffling with happiness.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked when she got her breath back.

  ‘Looking for you, of course.’

  ‘Kent, that’s insane.’ A huge sob burst from her. ‘Oh, God, I’ve missed you so much.’

  ‘And I’ve missed you.’ Kent wiped her tears with a gloved hand. ‘You wrote that you missed me on your first day here, and I jumped straight on the very next plane.’

  Stunned, she pulled back to look into his face. His dearly loved, beautiful face. And in that moment she understood exactly why she loved him.

  It had nothing to do with his farm, or his lovely homestead. Or his country shirts and his riding boots. She loved him for something else entirely. Something warm and powerful and steadfast and strong that she found shining in his beautiful brown eyes.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said softly.

  ‘Thank you for missing me,’ he answered, kissing the tip of her nose.

  Arm in arm and warmed by mulled wine and hot corn cobs, they walked through the snowy night to Zoe’s hotel. Kent was insanely happy. Insanely. Over the moon.

  They collected his backpack and went up the narrow stairs. In Zoe’s room, they peeled off their gloves, hung up their woollen hats and coats, and removed their heavy, damp boots.

  Zoe, looking all kinds of gorgeous in a soft crimson sweater and pale blue jeans, turned to him, her eyes shining with happy expectation.

  He wanted nothing more than to scoop her in to him, but he remembered, just in time, that he had something even more important planned for this moment.

  He said, with a rueful smile, ‘Can you hang on a tick?’

  ‘No, Kent, I can’t.’ Zoe was laughing and impatient, rising on tiptoes to nuzzle his jaw. With her lips against his skin, she growled, ‘I can’t wait another second.’

  OK, it was a whacky plan anyway, and Kent knew he couldn’t wait either. He needed this. Now. Needed Zoe wrapped in his arms, needed her sweet mouth locked with his, needed the soft silk of her skin under his palms, needed her eager and hungry and loving … Later …

  Everything else could wait till later.

  ‘So what was it?’ Zoe asked much later as she lay with her head cradled against his bare shoulder.

  Kent yawned. ‘What was what?’ ‘Earlier tonight, when we got back here to the room, you asked me to hang on. What was that about? Were you going to show me something?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said sleepily, and then he yawned. ‘But it can wait.’

  Gently, she ran her fingers over his chest. ‘Poor Kent. You’ve flown all this way and you must be so jet-lagged.’ ‘Mmm.’

  Kent slept, and Zoe lay awake. After the strain of the past few days, she should have been exhausted, but she was too happy and excited to close her eyes.

  Kent had come to her as soon as she told him she missed him. How wonderful was that? Faint moonlight spilled from the window across their bed and she watched him sleep and thought how amazing, how unbelievably perfect he was.

  Her happiness was astonishing, as if she’d been living in a grey world that was suddenly flooded with colour.

  Of course, in a deep corner of her heart there was still a niggle of disquiet. When Kent had swept her into his arms he hadn’t promised love or marriage. But perhaps it was time to put her dreams aside. Time to put Rodney behind her and to take another risk. Didn’t loving someone always involve a risk?

  Bella had taken a huge risk when she dashed off to Far North Queensland with Damon Cavello. Kent had taken another big risk by travelling over here on the strength of a text message.

  Anyway, why should she worry now simply because Kent hadn’t actually told her in so many words that he loved her? He’d flown all this way to be with her, and he’d made love to her with a passion that made her blood sing.

  Really. On a night like this, just having him here was enough.

  Kent kissed Zoe awake. ‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty. I’ve brought you coffee.’

  To her surprise it was already past ten.

  ‘Gosh, you’re the one with jet lag. I should be bringing you coffee.’

  Kent smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Did you know you’re at your most beautiful when you’ve just woken up?’

  ‘I can’t be.’

  ‘But you are. I love the sleep-tumbled look.’

  For a moment she thought he was going to say he loved her—no matter how she looked.

  It doesn’t matter. I don’t need words.

  Outside, the day was sunny, crystal clear and gleaming white, but they stayed in until lunchtime, making leisurely love. When they eventually went out, they ate food from a market stall, then took a train ride to Karlstejn Castle.

  The castle was stunningly beautiful, and Zoe decided that Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty had all spent time living within those spectacular walls at the top of a snowy mountain.

  From the castle ramparts, the view was truly majestic. They could see for miles, and Zoe wondered—just briefly, as she had earlier that morning—if this setting might prompt Kent to tell her he’d changed, that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  It didn’t happen.

  But that was OK. Nothing could spoil her happiness as they took the train back to Prague, or as they walked to Wenceslas Square to a café that served coffee and sensational apple strudel with home-made ice cream.

  ‘Save room for dinner,’ Kent warned her. ‘I’m taking you somewhere special.’

  So they walked off the strudel, then went back to their hotel to change. Kent had made reservations at the most gorgeous restaurant where the food was so divine it could easily have inspired a brand-new ‘Bohemian Rhapsody'.

  Over dinner they talked about Prague and what they knew of Czech history, and the whole time Kent’s eyes were lit by a special light that kept Zoe’s heart zinging.

  All right, all right …

  There was no talk of love. But who needed words?

  Back at the hotel, Zoe took a long hot bath and told herself that she had to stop waiting for Kent to say something.

  He was a farmer, a doer, a man of action, not words. He’d bought her a bracelet and he’d sent her goldfish and flowers and given her a book. He’d rus
hed to the airport to farewell her. And he’d flown all this way from Australia.

  Why would he do all that if he didn’t really care for her?

  Just the same … tonight, she would pluck up the courage to mention her last revealing text message. She needed to know how he felt about it.

  After drying herself, Zoe rubbed moisturiser all over her body, then slipped into the luxuriously thick towelling robe supplied by the hotel. She opened the bathroom door.

  And gasped when she saw their room.

  Candles.

  Candles everywhere. Candles on the coffee table, on the bookcase, on the bedside tables, on the deep stone window sills. Candles on every available surface. Dainty, little candles.

  Candles that looked strangely familiar.

  Kent was standing in the middle of the room, watching her. In the flickering light, he sent her a shy, crooked smile. ‘This was supposed to happen last night.’

  ‘Wow.’ Zoe pressed a hand to the jumping pulse in her throat. ‘They look so lovely.’

  The candles were more than lovely. They were gorgeous. Dazzling. The room danced and glowed with romantic light, while darkness hovered outside and white snowflakes fell soundlessly against the window pane.

  Kent grinned. ‘You probably recognise these little guys. I have to confess I borrowed your smart candles.’

  Of course. Now she knew why they were so familiar. They were the same candles she’d planned to put in sand-filled paper bags for Bella’s wedding. ‘You brought all of them? All this way?’

  ‘Yes. Four dozen smart candles in my backpack.’ He smiled boyishly. ‘I brought them to help me.’

  Help him? Why? Zoe held her breath. Her heart began to thump.

  Kent stepped closer and reached for her hands. ‘I wanted to tell you how special you are, Zoe, but I wasn’t sure I could convince you with words alone. The candles are my back-up.’ His eyes shimmered. ‘They stand for everything I love about you. They’re bright and—’

  ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Please, don’t rush over that bit.’

  ‘What bit?’