My Naughty Little Secret (30 page)
My hair was pinned back from my face, rolled back either side, but left flowing in soft curls down my back, creating a dramatic contrast to the ivory dress. I wore no veil, but the hairdresser had woven some angel’s breath flowers into the sides of my hair.
The make-up artist was wonderful. Never having been a big wearer of make-up, I had warned her that I wanted it natural at the trial, but that was before I’d had sleepless nights and pregnancy taking their toll. Now I was all for heavy foundation; the heavier, the better! Somehow, she managed to make me look fresh-faced and as if I was barely wearing any make-up, but I knew different; there was a ton of the stuff on me. She then did Mam’s and the girls’ make-up. Amazingly we were all dressed and ready on time. I wasn’t doing any of the bridesmaids lark, as I wanted as little fuss as possible.
Even though it was only a five-minute walk to the church, I wasn’t willing to walk up the street dressed like a dog’s dinner, so we had organised a limo to come and collect us. As we were waiting, Dad popped a bottle of champagne. I have to admit pregnant and all as I was, a very small drop seemed like an excellent idea as I was a bag of nerves.
“Does this mean I’m finally getting rid of you?” he asked, laughing as he filled the glasses.
“Not a hope in hell,” I warned with a mischievous tone.
“Good, that’s what I like to hear. You look a million dollars, I’m so proud of you, Shiv.”
“Shit, Dad, don’t make me cry, I’ll ruin my make-up. Margot’ll kill me if she has to start over.”
“A toast to the beautiful bride, Michael is a lucky man.”
“And I’m a lucky woman,” I added. “A toast to my fantastic family and my wonderful husband-to-be.”
We drank our champagne; a quarter of a glass was all I would allow myself as I wanted to be able to have a small glass later too. With my husband. Jesus, that was a funny thought. My husband. Feck!
I exercised the bride’s privilege and took five minutes to calm myself. As I approached, I saw Michael was standing waiting for me at the altar, looking uptight. I didn’t want the traditional wedding march; I chose to walk in to “Music of the Night” from
Phantom of the Opera
, a tribute to our first date. Luckily the vicar was extremely flexible about the music. Michael hadn’t known my plan and when he heard the music start, I could see a smile spread across his face. He turned and saw me and held out his hand as I approached.
“I was afraid you’d change your mind again. You look so beautiful, I wish I could capture this moment forever.”
“Don’t worry, the photographer will,” I teased. “You look really handsome.”
And he did, dressed in tux; he had let his hair grow a little, and the curls sat softly on his head. His smile was relaxed and happy. There was no sign of the tension I noticed from the door. All that was written on his beautiful face at that moment in time was love. We exchanged our vows, which we had kept basic and traditional.
“I promise to love, honour, and respect you all the days of our lives.”
We signed the register and that was it. We were Mr and Mrs Henrii with a lifetime of hopes and dreams ahead of us.
The End
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