Marion Lennox - The Australian's Desire

‘How come you’re not a bridesmaid?’ Alistair whispered as they settled in their back pew, and Georgie poked him in the ribs.

‘Shh.’

The wedding hadn’t started yet. Céline was singing ‘My Heart Will Go On’ at the top of her lungs, courtesy of Mrs Poulos, who was in control of the volume button. There was time for a brief conversation, even if Georgie didn’t want it.

‘But everyone else is,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be a shoo-in.’ Then he frowned. ‘Isn’t this the song from Titanic ?’

She giggled. ‘Nothing stops our Sophia. No little iceberg could get in the way of this wedding.’

‘So why aren’t you a bridesmaid?’

‘Mike has three sisters and two cousins who, according to Mrs Poulos, would be offended enough to cause a rift in the family for generations to come if they’re not bridesmaids. Em had already asked Susie so that made six, and enough was enough. However, one of Mike’s sisters left coming here too late—the storm’s stopped her—so Gina’s taken her place. This is amounting almost to a plague of bridesmaids. I’m going to be Gina’s bridesmaid and that’s one bridesmaid experience too many in my book.’

‘But you are Em’s friend,’ he said, watching the clutch of men around Mike at the altar. There were almost more wedding party participants than guests.

‘I come from the other side of the tracks from Em,’ she said, and he blinked.

‘You mean there’s a reason you weren’t asked?’

‘No, I …’ She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Em doesn’t care.’

‘That you’re from the wrong side of the tracks.’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean you’re illegitimate?’

‘I mean my family’s dole bludgers and petty crims.’

‘But you’re not?’

‘Maybe not,’ she whispered dully. ‘But you can’t escape your family.’

He thought about his mother. And then he thought he’d rather not think about his mother. ‘That’s a hell of a chip on the shoulder you’re carrying,’ he ventured cautiously.

She glowered. ‘Deal with it. I know when people are patronising me.’

‘I’m not patronising you.’

‘Right.’

‘You know, I’m not exactly blue blooded either,’ he said, eyeing her with caution. ‘I’m not so far from the other side of your tracks that you’d notice.’

‘Says the eminent neurosurgeon.’

‘To the eminent obstetrician.’

She tried to glower. He smiled. She tried a bit harder to glower. He glowered for her.

She giggled.

It was a really cute giggle.

The bride was about to make her entrance. Mrs Poulos did her worst with the control button. Whitney at her finest. ‘I will always love yoo-oo-oo …’

The church was festooned with apricot and white ribbons, flowers and bows as far as the eye could see. It was …

‘Very tasteful,’ Georgie said, still giggling, and they rose to their feet as the priest motioned them all to stand. ‘Someone should tell Sophia this is a farewell song. Why are you from the wrong side of the tracks?’

‘Um … my parents didn’t have much money.’

‘Is that all? That’s not the wrong side of the tracks. That’s shabby genteel.’

‘My dad went to jail. Embezzlement. He stole to feed a gambling habit.’

That made her pause. Her smile died. ‘Your real dad?’ she asked cautiously, and he nodded.

‘Golly. You almost qualify.’

‘Thank you,’ he said dryly. ‘So where’s your real dad?’

‘He lit out when I was four.’

‘Mine lit out when I was fifteen. With a waitress from a burger joint, and a year’s profit from AccountProtect First Savings.’

‘Wow,’ she said, and almost as a reflex she touched her face.

‘He never hit me,’ Alistair said. ‘Did yours?’

‘I … My stepdad did, yes.’

‘So does that put you further on the wrong side of the tracks than me?’

She stared up into his eyes. Her gaze held. Suddenly her lovely lips curved at the corners and she chuckled again.

It was a good sound. A really good sound, he thought. And he felt pleased with himself. For just a minute she was putting aside her terrors for Max and her pain from her injured face, and she was enjoying herself.

And who could not enjoy this over-the-top wedding? Mike was standing at the end of the aisle, looking stunned. Nervous as hell, despite the array of assorted males supporting him.

This was ridiculous, Alistair thought. What a production.

And then the great front doors swept open. ‘I Will Always Love You’ had segued into a full orchestral rendition of the Bridal March and the guests turned as one to see the bride make her entrance.

Emily. The bride.

This was crazy. She was a powder puff of brilliant white sweeping into the church, with Charles Wetherby in his wheelchair beside her. Charles looked proud fit to burst.

Emily was seeing no one. She looked straight ahead until she saw Mike and faltered in mid-step.

Alistair turned to look at the bridegroom. And he saw the look that flashed between the pair of them …

The whole ridiculous bridal production faded to nothing. This was what it was all about, he thought, stunned. One man and one woman, committing to each other, with all the love in their hearts.

It was no wonder Em hadn’t put her foot down over the apricot tulle. The apricot tulle was nothing.

This man and this woman loved each other.

He had been right to break it off with Eloise, Alistair thought suddenly with a flash of absolute certainty. Eloise would never have looked at him like that. And the way he’d felt about Eloise …

No. This was loving. Out-of-control loving, letting go, a leap of faith—and who cared about apricot tulle? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they belonged together.

He didn’t belong here, he thought suddenly. He felt like an impostor, an outsider privy to emotions he hardly understood.

Embarrassed—or maybe not embarrassed but caught in some emotion he couldn’t begin to fathom—he turned away. He didn’t want to intercept that look again.

He turned to Georgie.

She’d caught the look as well. Her face had changed. Her hands had risen to her cheeks as though to drive away a surfeit of colour.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

‘Georg,’ he whispered, but she shook her head fiercely, denying him the chance to say a word.

He wasn’t going to say a word. He couldn’t think of a word to say.

But tears were slipping down her cheeks. He felt in his pocket, produced a handkerchief and handed it over. Then, as she wiped her face, he took her free hand in his and held it.

What sort of man still used handkerchiefs?

It was a bit of an errant thought but it helped.

Why was she crying at a wedding? This was dumb. It was the stupid analgesics, she thought. It had nothing to do with the way Mike was looking at Emily.

She didn’t do weddings. She didn’t even do relationships. The only relationships she’d ever experienced had led her to disaster.

It was her own fault. She didn’t know who she was herself. She was dumb. She’d go out with a lovely gentle fellow doctor. He’d treat her as if she were Dresden china and she’d feel … empty.

Did she want to be slapped around, as her mother had been?

Of course she didn’t. But there were times when she’d be drawn into a relationship with someone … well, someone her stepfather might have thought a mate. Someone who treated her as she’d learned to expect. She hated that, and it never lasted but, still, at least she knew where she stood.

So she’d never fall in love with a good man?

That thought slammed home, alarming her. She’d been sitting a mite too close to Alistair and now she edged away. He turned and looked at her and he smiled.