Читать книгу Winter's Fairytale - Maxine Morrey - Страница 9

Chapter One

There were whole chapters dedicated to the throwing of the bouquet in the very many books I had pored over in the run up to this day, all instructing me on How To Have The Perfect Wedding. Oddly enough, there wasn’t one sentence referring to the appropriate etiquette involved in throwing your first ever punch instead. In fact, there was also a conspicuously absent chapter on what to do if your spineless fiancé decides that the actual wedding day is the best time to tell you he doesn’t want to get married. Not that it mattered. It turned out I didn’t need tuition on how to punch – I was a natural, apparently. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on whose perspective you were looking at it from – my ex Groom To Be hadn’t even had the guts to turn up to the church at all. Which is why Rob, the best man, a perfectly nice bloke, was sat on his backside on the vestry floor, holding a hastily acquired wodge of tissues to his now bleeding nose.

‘I’m so sorry!’ I held out my hand to help him up and he, understandably, looked at it warily before opting to push himself up. I let my hand fall back down to my side.

‘I don’t know what came over me. That obviously wasn’t really meant for you. But honestly? It was either you or the vicar.’

We both glanced over at the vicar who had paled and was now the same colour as his crisp white robe.

Rob nodded. ‘You probably made the right choice,’ he pulled the tissues away and looked at them briefly before shoving them back on his nose, ‘I think.’

An awkward silence settled on the three of us.

‘I really had no idea.’ Rob said, his voice muffled and thick through the barrier of tissues.

I looked up at him from where I’d been staring at the crystals on my dress. Each one painstakingly sewn on by hand. My own hand. Rob looked wretched. Almost as miserable as I did. Almost. If he was lying then he deserved an Oscar. I didn’t think he was that good of an actor.

‘No. Me neither.’ I smiled, sadly.

Again there was silence. Eventually the vicar gave a polite cough. We both looked at him. He was looking at me.

‘How would you like to proceed, my dear?’

He was a sweet man. Steven, my fiancé, and I had met with him several times, going over everything, confirming to him that we were serious about our intentions. We’d sworn (not literally) that this was what we wanted, and that both of us knew that it was not something to be undertaken lightly. And yet, here we were. Groom-less.

How did I want to proceed? I’m pretty sure that the vicar didn’t really want an honest answer to that question as, right now, it involved a pair of nutcrackers, Steven and a soundproof room.

‘I don’t know. How do you, I mean, what happens normally if…’ I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question.

‘Well, I can go out and make an announcement that there has been a change of plan, and request that everyone be kind enough to understand. Or if you wish, you can do it. But only if you want to.’

Oh God. What I wanted to do was throw up.

Rob answered before I could. ‘I’ll do it. It’s supposed to be the best man’s job to get the groom to the church. I seem to have failed spectacularly in that task, so it should be me that goes out there to explain.’

The vicar nodded sympathetically.

‘What will you say?’ I asked, quietly.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Rob shrugged his shoulders, ‘it’s not exactly the speech I had prepared.’

I nodded, feeling numb. It all felt weirdly unreal.

‘I’ll think of something. Don’t worry.’ He gave me a half smile, trying to lighten the moment. An almost impossible ask right now, but I appreciated the effort. The vicar moved towards the door and Rob followed. I touched Rob’s arm.

‘Thank you.’

His hand reached out to mine and took it, squeezing gently, ‘I’m so sorry.’

That was a phrase I was going to have to get used to hearing a lot…