Nice Day For A White Wedding. A. Michael L.
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you answered your own question there, babe.’ Chelsea laughed, then winced, stretching her arms above her head and twisting her neck. She hadn’t opened her eyes.
When she did, Kit was standing in front of her, holding out a glass of water.
‘Don’t regret saying yes now, do you?’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and bounced on his heels, a cheesy grin on his face. But his words were soft like his eyes.
‘I regret that last bottle of wine,’ she laughed, standing up to wrap her arms around his neck, still holding the glass of water in one hand, ‘and that I think I may have fallen asleep on this massive rock on my finger and indented my face forever.’ She stretched her mouth out and rubbed her cheek, laughing.
She took in the deep blue of his eyes, the light stubble around his chin and the strength of his arms around her. He seemed to glow, even with the sleep in his eyes and the creases from the pillow on his face. ‘Did you think I would regret it?’ she asked quietly, putting the glass of water on the side table, and curling her fingers around the hair at the base of his neck.
Kit looked at her, head tilted as if he wasn’t sure how to answer.
‘No, but…you tend to draw back when I get close. It’s like a dance we do.’ He shrugged, and Chelsea knew exactly what he meant, those parts of her life she didn’t share freely, like he did, those times she changed the conversation or wordlessly shrugged. A small part of her yelled, ‘then why marry me, if I’m so cold and distant?’ but she knew there was no way to get into that. At least not yet. In time she would share her history with him, the real one, not the one she’d sewn together like a shroud made from assumptions and silence.
‘Well, maybe that should be our wedding dance.’ She winked and made a face, watching as his face fluttered through emotions.
‘We’ll meet in the middle, I know we will,’ he shrugged, his arms still encircling her waist, ‘as long as you’re here, I don’t care. As long as you’re here.’
She held him tightly, suddenly afraid and overwhelmed with love at the same time, as if the idea of not being there tore at her chest. This was what it felt like, being vulnerable. Making a promise you intended to keep.
‘Yesterday was the best day of my life,’ she whispered, half to him and half into the dull room, only a shred of sunlight threatening the shutters, ‘and I could never regret it.’
Kit pulled back and stroked her cheek, smiling. ‘You say that now, you haven’t met my family.’
She stepped away to retrieve the glass of water, downing it in one and feeling no more refreshed, although the pounding in her head was receding. ‘Are you nervous?’ She laughed, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous.’
‘I was nervous that first day I asked you out for breakfast,’ he grinned, dimples appearing suddenly, making him look like a naughty child.
‘Only because I’d just asked you out to dinner and you were a cheeky bastard!’ she laughed. ‘You were lucky I didn’t deck you!’
‘Ah,’ he nodded, ‘that’s right. I was scared. Scared was the word I was looking for.’
Chelsea thought back to that night, in the living room of her friend’s new flat, where they all sat round a sad fondue set because it was ‘ironically post-70s revival chic’, listening to a man with pretty eyes and a sharp jaw tell her she looked like someone who had something interesting to say. She’d told him he could stick his smooth chat-up lines up his arse, and if he wanted a real conversation, he knew where to find her. She’d waltzed out to the balcony with a bottle of wine. He’d followed with two glasses and no more stupid lines, and they sat there for the rest of the night talking about everything and nothing.
‘Who are you embarrassed of?’ she said suddenly, pausing at the door of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. ‘Them or me?’
Kit raised an eyebrow. ‘Them, obviously. They drink too much and they’re loud and obnoxious and seem to care about pointless, trivial shit that doesn’t matter.’
Chelsea rolled her eyes. ‘I promise you, however bad they are, I’ve grown up with worse.’
She started brushing her teeth, eyes on the ring on her finger, a little smile threatening to send toothpaste foam flying everywhere.
‘Oh really? So when do I get to meet your family?’ Kit laughed, carefully straightening the bed sheets before he opened the case up. ‘Not until the wedding, I bet?’
Chelsea sighed, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing. ‘About that – how do you feel about eloping?’
A few hours later, Chelsea found herself looking at the bluest water she’d ever seen. The train had been much like any other train in any other city, cramped and uncomfortable, filled with driven commuters and confused tourists. Kit seemed like a natural amongst them, his loose-fitting white linen shirt rolled up to the sleeves, his blond hair slicked back, looking out from behind his Ray Bans as he held on with one hand, holding a book in the other. Chelsea had tried to match him, to look like someone who would be right with the perfect man who stood next to her. She had picked her favourite white sundress with the blue floral pattern on it. Her own dark sunglasses covered most of her face, and she tilted her head back like she was Audrey Hepburn or Jackie O. But the truth was, her hair was sticking to her neck, the sun was beating through the window until she was sure her fair skin was crisping and the dress was stuck to the back of her knees, where sweat droplets occasionally rolled down her calf.
When they stepped off the train platform in Desenzano, Chelsea felt herself breathe for the first time in hours.
‘How do you still look so fucking cool?’ she frowned as Kit carried over the bag, taking a deep breath and grinning at her.
‘Because I’m awesome,’ he shrugged, ‘and looking cool when you feel like Satan himself is licking your balls is a talent a lawyer has to have. Come on, the next bit’s the best bit.’
They trundled down the hill from the station, the wide roads and tall trees offering shade, but looking so obviously different from the cobbled streets of Venice.
‘It’s…not what I was expecting.’ She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. Sure, it was sunny, but these houses could be on a suburban road back home.
‘Just wait,’ Kit shook his head, handing her a bottle of water, then grinning at her as the road became narrower and narrower at the bottom, until the wheels of the suitcase were suddenly bumping along cobbles and the large houses turned into narrow, tall buildings that seemed to loom at unusual angles.
‘Welcome to the Lake,’ Kit grinned, holding out his hand to her as they walked into the town square, where tourists roamed slowly, reaching out to touch leather handbags in bright colours, staring at the latest fashions in glossy shop windows. They walked around a corner and Chelsea suddenly saw a wide expanse of blue, vibrant and brighter than she could ever remember the sea being. Even the way the sun had sparkled from the canals of Venice as she had looked down at her ring couldn’t beat this.
‘I’m not being funny, babe, but that doesn’t look like any lake I’ve ever seen.’
Kit grinned. ‘The question now is, have we made it in time for the boat?’
‘The boat?’
‘Up to my parents. They’re in Malcesine.’ She heard as his voice inflected the ‘ch’ sound in the name.
‘And that’s not where we are?’
He shook his head.
‘And we have to get a boat?’
Kit laughed. ‘I love how you’ve actually let go and trusted me with this. Can you imagine any other situation where you don’t actually know which city you’re in?’
‘Not one that ends well,’ Chelsea huffed, fanning herself.
Kit