Free Falling

by Ana Simons

  I take a surreptitious glance at the woman sitting so upright next to me. Blondie crosses her legs in a very feminine way, left over right, and slightly turns her body sideways towards me, her already tiny dress riding up to mid-thigh.

  Delicate, fine-boned fingers adjust the golden bracelet on her wrist before she folds her hands in her lap. Inevitably my gaze lingers over the generous chest as it rises with a long intake of breath, which she releases slowly. Eventually, she turns her face towards me and offers a smile.

  I nod, in acknowledgement.

  She has a gorgeous smile, with dimples on both sides. Cute.

  “If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage they should declare it now,” the minister’s projected voice pulls me from my wandering thoughts.

  Lawful impediments? I can’t help but wonder if this isn’t the stupidest line there is. Come on, we’re two hundred souls here, people came from all over the country, from Spain even, for this. The wedding wish list is all covered and the insanely expensive reception venue is already paid for—so isn’t it a bit too late for the bloody question?

  A pause for the choir’s second performance. Schubert’s Ave Maria. I close my eyes and listen. They’re magnificent.

  “We haven’t met before, have we?” Blondie asks, leaning over me, with a smile peeking across her lips.

  “Don’t think so.” I shake my head, lips pulled into a thin line.

  “Gracie McClelland.” She extends her hands in greeting. “A cousin of the bride.” She lets out a muffled giggle before pursing her lips in a strange, awkward fashion.

  Goodness, is that a pout? What an instant buzzkill. Almost as annoying as baby talk and dumb acting.

  “Brian, a friend of the groom.” I straighten up in my seat, focusing on the altar.

  “Marriage joins two people in the circle of its love. It is a commitment to life, the best that two people can find and bring out in each other. It offers opportunities for learning and growth that no other opportunity can equal. It is both a physical and emotional joining that is promised for a lifetime–”

  My eyes wander to Pete, sitting on my other side. Lifetime my ass, he’s probably thinking. They dated for eight years—and that’s almost a lifetime—but it only took them eight months to find out there were irreconcilable differences they were unable to overcome.

  “Jimmy, do you take Linda to be your lawful wedded wife, to be loving, faithful and loyal to her for the rest of your life together?”

  Jimmy nods enthusiastically. “I do.”

  “Linda, do you take Jimmy to be your lawful wedded husband, to be loving, faithful and loyal to him for the rest of your life together?”

  Linda gives Jimmy a warm, heartfelt smile. “I do.”

  You’d better. Or you’ll have to deal with me!

  “It now gives me great pleasure to tell you both that you are now legally Husband and Wife. Congratulations,” the minister finally announces and a roar of applause engulfs the church.

  That’s it, my friend. Game over. A spontaneous grin breaks across my face.

  *

  My father pulls Jimmy in for a tight hug and gives him a friendly, paternal pat on the back of the head. “Son, remember this: there are only two rules to make a marriage work. Simple as that.”

  “You tell me, Mr Anderson.” Shrugging his shoulders, amused, Jimmy plays along. He knows he’s about to tell one of his usual jokes.

  Father puts on a crooked smile and gives away his infallible recipe. “Rule number one: your wife is always right. Rule number two: when you think she’s wrong, you slap yourself and think of rule number one again!”

  We all laugh.

  “Wiser words have never been spoken, John.” There’s a glow of profound happiness on Linda’s face.

  “Right: a happy wife, a happy life.” Smiling, Jimmy waves his hand at someone approaching from behind.

  Swivelling my head slightly, I get a brief glimpse of the woman smiling back at him, walking against the stream of guests already heading outside.

  Olivia?

  Certain my mind is playing tricks on me, I turn to confirm it’s really her. It is. Something inside me breaks and a sudden dizzying sensation jolts through my entire body.

  My eyes search hers in the middle of the half-crowded church and when they lock, she smiles. A small nervous smile.

  Surprised and confused, I’m unable to offer more than a nod. With my heart threatening to hammer out of my chest, I keep my gaze riveted on her as she walks towards us with confident steps, her deep green eyes smiling, a distracted hand running through the long hair that tumbles over her shoulders, her hips swaying in a delicately sensual undulation.

  I give myself a mental shake and step back, allowing for her to congratulate Jimmy and his bride. According to their conversation, she arrived early this morning on a direct flight from Barcelona.

  Giving in to the urge, I keep watching her, observing her. The natural friendliness and gentle expression from ten—eleven already?—years ago hasn’t changed. As for the rest, let’s just say I can’t bring myself to stop gazing at her. She’s a naturally striking woman, beyond beautiful. And damn, she’s sexy as hell, with curves in all the right places.

  I close my eyes for brief seconds, to cool off, and a whole host of memories invades my mind. For some reason, I stumble upon the recollection of a young girl with an easy smile and positive attitude, her cute face sprinkled with freckles and her long hair held back in a ponytail, still wearing braces, always so full of energy and making me laugh like no one else has ever done.

  And now she’s just so... drop-dead gorgeous?

  I drag in a long breath, feeling so helpless. With my mouth hanging open like this, I’m certainly looking like a first-class idiot here. So thank you God for all your mercy, for everyone is busy and not paying attention.

  She’s wearing a one-shouldered, flowing long dress with light flying skirt, sort of Greek goddess style or whatever the thing is. A stunning deep red gown that’s gracious and elegant, and damn sexy all at the same time. And her shoulder. I just can’t take my eyes off her naked shoulder.

  I guess less is indeed more. The less a woman reveals, the more a guy wonders, and right now I’m imagining her long, shapely legs beneath the loose, draped skirt. Her thin waist. The most beautiful breasts.

  Before I know it, fragments of a distant dream invade my mind. The reflection of her perfect body against the New York skyline. Her mouth gasping at the sensations and murmuring my name. Her lips demanding my lips, her fingers digging into my skin, pulling me closer. Her body arching towards mine, her fevered breaths begging me to take her. Deeper. Harder.

  Inevitably, my body reacts. Anderson, get a grip, will you?

  Damn it, why is she taking so long?

  Raking an impatient hand through my hair, I raise my eyes to study her face. Her long, golden-brown hair is falling in subtle waves down her shoulders, framing her beautiful face. Her features are still as delicate as I remember them: smooth fair skin, amazing green eyes, always so full of life and intensity, and perfectly outlined full lips. Damn, her lips. Those must have turned many heads over the years, surely, the thought making my jaw clench as an irrational surge of jealousy ripples through me.

  “Now go. There’s someone there waiting for you.” Jimmy jerks his head towards me, the corners of his mouth turning into a mocking smirk—as though the bastard knows the effect she still has on me, which he probably does.

  Finally, she turns to me, smiling. Looking perfect, absolutely perfect.

  “Brian.” She extends her hand to greet me, which feels weird, to say the least.

  “Liv. How are you doing?” I take her hand. After a brief hesitation, I pull her for a loose hug, which she returns. Much to my surprise, she also leaves a gentle kiss on my cheek.

  “It’s all so beautiful. And it was such a wonderful ceremony, wasn’t it?” Casting a glance around, she takes in the magnificent setting and vibrant moo
d that reigns in the church. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Is it me or am I sensing a certain uneasiness, a hint of nervousness? There’s a sad expression washing over her face as she fixes her gaze on the altar. Is she avoiding looking at me?

  “Good to see you too, Olivia.” I catch her eyes with my gaze and smile, trying to break the lingering tension. “You’re looking fabulous… It’s been quite a long time. I’d say?”

  “Eleven years. Eleven too-damn-long years!” She steps back and assesses me from head to toe. “But you’re not looking too bad yourself… Ketchupito,” she mouths the last word and lets out a little chuckle. Immediately my whole body goes tense. “In fact, you’re looking way better than that clumsy, tall and lanky boy I used to know.”

  Ketchupito? What is this now? I’m a grown-up man, a respected architect. Who the hell does she think she is to speak to me like this?

  For some strange reason, probably just to mess with me, our friends used to call me that sometimes. But I really hated it, apparently still do, and the idea she still remembers the stupid jest grates on my nerves.

  “It’s Brian,” I tell her, putting emphasis on my name, my face certainly unamused. “Just in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Don’t be silly, of course I haven’t,” she says softly, gently laying her hand on my arm. “Hey, don’t look so serious. I was just–”

  “Oh, my God, look who’s here!”

  “Uncle Will!”

  He hugs her effusively. “How are you, my dear? We thought you weren’t coming! What a lovely surprise!”

  What a surprise indeed.

  “I’m fine. Yourself? And how very handsome you look!” She adjusts his bow tie in an endearing gesture. “Where’s Aunt Amelia?”

  “She’s right over there! Come, she’ll be so thrilled to see you.” He grabs her hand in excitement.

  “No, Uncle Will, wait. I’m talking to–”

  Me.

  But he doesn’t seem to care. He practically drags her across the church, she only has time to look back and ask, “We’ll catch up during the reception?”

  Yes. Please. Let’s do that, I want to tell her, but the words get caught in my throat.

  “Fine, then,” Olivia answers herself while wagging a scolding finger. “Now, don’t you even think of hiding another eleven years, will you, Brian Anderson?” She gives me a playful wink.

  And then she’s gone.

  I don’t even have the chance to tell her yes. That I’m really looking forward to it, to knowing what she’s been up to in the last decade.

  Actually, since the night she left me standing all by myself, with my heart broken to pieces on a deserted beach, desperately waiting to talk to her and say goodbye, before flying back to London the next morning.

  And suddenly I feel this inner conflict growing within me, part eagerness, part passionate despair.

  6 Here comes the bride

  “Is this a fucking prank?”

  “I’m afraid not, Rob.”

  We’re finally at the reception venue, not listening to the instructions of some hysterical wedding coordinator named Paul, who’s bossing everyone around with his annoyingly screechy voice and effeminate mannerisms.

  “Sweet angel of death, please, take me now.” Letting out a long puff of air, he leans against one of the marble pillars in the entrance hall.

  Only a few moments later, we’re allowed to follow the newlywed couple as they enter the exquisitely decorated dining room, and take their positions to a loud thunder of applause and the solemn notes of Here Comes the Bride.

  “Have you noticed that if you decrease the tempo a tiny bit, it’ll sound just like the Funeral March? Fucking ironic, don’t you think?”

  I repress a grin. He’s actually right.

  “Why is it all about the bride and her perfect day?” He snorts, unamused, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “If this is supposed to be the ‘best day’ of their lives, then I guess women aren’t aiming very high, are they? And why doesn’t the guy get a song too? Fuck me, Another One Bites the Dust would make a great wedding song! Highway to Hell wouldn’t be a bad choice, either.”

  “Robert?” I hurl a sideways menacing glance, telling him without words that he still has to behave. “Found your table already?”

  “I wish I hadn’t,” he snarls, jerking his head towards his wife. “Seriously, the only way I can tolerate this crap is with a few bevvies. I really need a goddamned drink…” With that thought in mind, he leaves.

  *

  “Look at Kate’s baby, Brian. Isn’t she adorable?” Susan asks, looking at her husband with a why-don’t-you-get-me-pregnant-asshole face. “I can hardly wait to hold my own…”

  I hold the 3D ultrasound image, a close-up shot of a baby’s face, and look at it as if studying each feature. “I don’t know, the nose looks cute but… she seems kind of dark-skinned, doesn’t she? You sure it’s yours, Ethan?”

  While the guys let out a hearty chuckle, Kate’s brow knits instantly in shock.

  “Brian! How dare you say such thing to a pregnant woman?” Outrage takes over Susan’s face and her hand flies to her chest. “That’s not funny!” She shoots her husband an authoritative look demanding immediate backup.

  “Come on. You know I’m joking, right?”

  Why do you all of the sudden lose your sense of humour? Is it a fuse that blows on your wedding night or something?

  I glance around the table. Mr Wimp and Mr Wuss, who must have lost their balls somewhere along the process, are unable to utter a single word. Beside them, Peter looks catatonic.

  Honestly, we should kick ourselves for agreeing to sit at our married friends’ table, Pete and I. Women are talking to me as though I’m a pompous, misogynist prick, only because I mentioned I don’t see myself settling down anytime soon, and Pete has shut himself off from the rest of the world around him.

  Poor guy: a practical example of what a woman can do you. He shouldn’t have come, really. This wedding is killing him, and I suspect that after tonight he’ll be crawling after his ex-wife again, definitely throwing his self-respect and dignity into the gutter.

  I scan the room for the hundredth time, looking for Olivia. She has already given me the wait-a-minute-I’m-coming sign three or four times, but there’s always someone coming in the middle wanting to greet and chat.

  “She wasn’t supposed to come, you know? I heard it was a last-minute decision,” Kate leans towards me and says it under her breath, probably after reading the expression of disappointment plastered upon my face each time Olivia sits down at a different table.

  “Excuse me? Who?” I pretend I don’t understand her remark and get up to grab the bottle and fill the glasses for another round.

  *

  In a desperate attempt to stop the dull ache in the pit of my stomach, I finish my wine with a long swig and fill my glass again. After almost two excruciating hours of food that’s not worth the price and music so loud you can’t possibly have a conversation, I draw my most important conclusion of the day: going to weddings isn’t healthy. I have already drunk more today than I do in a whole week.

  I throw the napkin on the table and run a hand over my stubbled jaw, trying to calm the frustration simmering deep within me. I’m a mess. A goddamn mess.

  For a moment, I close my eyes and rub my temple, trying to shove my feelings away, to ignore how my heart began to thump like crazy when I first saw her walking up that aisle earlier today.

  I just couldn’t take my eyes off her, of her beautiful face and her naked shoulder, as my mind went on reeling from the shock. Of seeing her so unexpectedly. Of the effect she still had on me.

  Damn, her smile. So warm and inviting. And her perfect lips, my eyes became transfixed on them. I wanted to kiss them that very moment. I still do, the pang of longing mixed with desire stabbing at my chest, pulsing in my veins to the point I can’t take it any longer.

  Enough, I scold myself, determined to put an end to this.
It’s stupid, just plain stupid, to sit around waiting for… a stranger? Yes, that’s what she is. She used to be everything, what I knew best. But now, she’s just that. A stranger I know nothing about.

  “Hey, guys, look!” Kate yells in excitement and we all turn our heads to the middle of the reception centre. They’re announcing the father-daughter dance and everyone begins to clap their hands hysterically.

  Okay, I’m done here. Moving on. I empty my glass with one long gulp and stand.

  “Where are you going, mate?” Ethan asks wishing silently he could leave too. There’s a look of hopeless despair on his face.

  “Heading to the bar.” Just in time before the waltz. And before everyone starts dancing the usual badly played covers I know beforehand I’ll hate. Just as much as I’ll hate seeing her dance with half the wedding party. While continuing to ignore me.

  *

  When I arrive at the bar, I’m greeted by the heart-stopping vision of Linda’s cousin, sitting with one leg so sexily crossed over the other it should be illegal. I rack my brain trying to remember her name but give up eventually. Rosie? Ruthie?

  Frankly, I don’t care.

  A curt nod and I pull up one of the high stools. “A gin and tonic, please.”

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m good. Yourself?”

  “Better now that you’re here.” The cute blonde smiles charmingly and stands, straightening her tiny fuck-me-dress dress before moving over to the bar stool next to mine.

  I subtly bring her into focus and fix her with a long, assessing look. Damn, her dress and her heels, what a lethal combination. What I wouldn’t give to see a certain woman putting those on, only for me. The idea makes my heart take an extra beat.

  The bartender sets my drink on the counter and she clicks her glass to mine, bringing my wandering mind back to reality.

  “So, enjoying the party?” she asks, languidly stirring her drink with a straw.

  “I am. What about you? What are you doing here all alone?” Ice rattles in my glass as I take a swig.

  “I don’t know. Trying to weasel my way behind the bar? Waiting to be rescued by a charming guy like you?” There’s an easy smile playing on her lips and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Or maybe I just don’t feel like looking at a dance floor crammed with gyrating lovebirds.”