Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Why, Niko. You really must stop making sham proposals.”
He smiles despite the ice in my tone, as he holds me there, his eyes full of secrets and his body all restrained power. I give in. Sag. Make a point of how futile this is.
“Yes, fine. I’m ready to marry you because I can’t see another way out of this,” I add at last.
All for show and only half of the truth because feelings change whether you intend them to or not, and acceptable is a line that moves so subtly you don’t see the change until it’s already done.
37
Isla
The Jeep trundles over the unpaved road as we zip along a well-worn path through, what seems like, a jungle. Hugh stares out of the side window as Archie, placed between us, chatters happily about the layers of the rainforest canopy, but I’m only half listening. This is at least my third lesson on the composition of a rainforest, the first being when Hugh studied the topic a couple of years ago, the second when Archie did the same last year. I’m almost certain we still have the painted cereal box diorama. Anyway, my mind is on other things. Like this marriage. And what offense I seem to have caused the man at the wheel of the Jeep. Sergei. He of the football shaped head.
“Mummy, I think Hugh feels car sick.”
“No I don’t,” he protests, turning from the window.
“Well, you’re very quiet,” Archie replies.
“I was just thinking, that’s all.”
“You’re sure?” Leaning across Archie, I press the back of my hand to his head realizing that Archie is right. He’s barely said a word since we left the house.
“Mum, I’m fine,” he insists, though submits to the parental illness litmus test.
“We are here,” Sergei mutters abruptly, the engine of the Jeep ceasing just as fast. He heaves his bulk out of the car and, in an unexpected show of deference, pulls open my door, holding out his hand to help me out.
“Thank you,” I demur, turning to Archie. “Out you hop.”
“Mum?” I turn from finger combing Archie’s hair to find Hugh’s arms outstretched, holding a circlet of flowers.
“Wherever did you get these from?” I ask delightedly as I make to take it from his hand. But as he shakes his head, the sense of the situation seems to dawn. It’s not a bunch of flowers, it’s a headpiece.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Hugh says, the words falling quickly. “We like Uncle Van, but if you’re not sure, we could just drive home—he said we could.”
I press my hand to my face and laugh. I might also fight a few tears. My gorgeous, thoughtful little man, taking on the role of the anxious bride’s father.
“Have you been worrying about this?” He shakes his head, so I dip so he’s able to place the coronet of cream-colored blooms on my head. I’d worn my hair down and put on the dress that Niko has asked me to. Pale gold, long, and flowing, it’s the perfect summer evening dress. Strangely enough, it also lends itself to a beach wedding, and that’s what we’re here for, after all. “Not even a little bit in the car?”
“I was thinking about my speech,” he says with such proud solemnity that a tear slips down my face. But no time to dwell as Archie taps me on the back.
“Look what Sergei just gave me!” he says, thrusting a posy of flowers excitedly into my hands. “Are you getting married?”
“So it would seem.” What is it I feel as my eldest son offers me his elbow? Choked. Muddled. Sort of relieved that it’s here. That I won’t have to stress or fight fate anymore. I just have to… submit.
A not unpleasant shiver runs through me, but I don’t dwell on it as Archie reaches for my hand. We both end up giggling when we realize I don’t have a spare one.
“I should’ve been an octopus.”
“An octopus wouldn’t look as pretty as you in your dress.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” I dip a tiny curtsey and hold out my bouquet so we can both hold the flower stems.
“Ready?” I nod, unable to speak as Hugh nods his head and we’re on our way again. “This is the way Uncle Niko brought us to the beach,” he says as we emerge from the canopy of green to a scene that might’ve been stolen from the heavens. The sky is a wash of color—watermelon pink, hues of apricot and gold. It’s so beautiful that I find myself stopping just to take in the view. And that’s before I notice our venue.
“The beach didn’t look like this before,” Archie says. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Very.” My whisper is a touch awe filled. Was this Niko’s workday? Did he plan—oversee—this paradise? A wooden pergola has been set almost at the water’s edge, its roof heavy with tropical flowers and green, trailing foliage, its fine, pale drapes billow in the warm breeze. Lanterns make our aisle, our carpet a thick layer of petals. Four wooden chairs make our pews, two chairs placed either side of the aisle.