Hi guys! Apologies for my absence of late but I've had a writing drought. Seriously, my head is producing NOTHING. It's weird. So that's why AW has been abandoned for the time being. I have a good few half-finished chapters for it and I daresay they will appear at some point.
For the moment though, I know this is terribly random, but it was the only thing that wanted to be written at the moment. I suggest you have a read of 'All Too Soon' before you read this as it is a little snippet from Nikki and Harry's wedding from the chapter 'When the time comes'. For little bits of this to make sense it would help if you read the 'Unfinished Business' stories first. I just had to write it…in my opinion, we don't talk enough about Harry Nikki matrimonials!
And if you'd like a bit of ambiance, have a look for the 'ambient mix' of Deep Forrest's 'Sweet Lullabye' on youtube. That's what I was going for!
Hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think! Take care!
Technically, in old-fashioned terms, she now belongs to him, now.
Strictly, he knows she will never really belong to anyone.
She does, says, goes where she wants and that is unlikely to change because they signed a piece of paper.
Though he likes to think he somehow anchors her, in the way she does for him. When he is afraid, or on the edge of losing his senses she is there, silently reminding him of the good things, how much there is to be thankful for. The thought of being without her could be enough to make him do almost anything. These days he doesn't know much. Events of the year behind him have shaken his belief system. He doesn't know the boundaries between good and evil, he doesn't know the meaning of justice anymore, or luck, or truth, or destiny.
But he knows he loves her.
It is such an integral part of him, carved into the very essence of his being, that sometimes he almost forgets it.
He has given up therapy to replace it with her. She is his belief system now. She is the single beam supporting him and relying on her so heavily often makes him worry that one day he will take her for granted.
And so he is relieved when he finally finds her – after half an hour of searching through the lodge, their room, the bar, the dance floor, among guests – and he suddenly realises that this is the first place he should have checked. Of course she would be here; white lace dancing around her feet, golden curls dancing slowly in the breeze, hip balanced on a large rock, looking out to sea as the sun dyes the sky a romantic shade of orange and begins its decent.
He calms at the sight before him and slowly makes his way towards her, all urgency gone. With any luck, he has the rest of his life to find her, anyway.
Her eyes don't leave the sunset as he sits next to her, close, his hand steadying himself behind her. She smiles at the sound of his voice.
"Mrs Cunningham."
She quietly hums her approval. Her eyelids are hooded, protecting from the sun's glare, and yet she continues to look as if with some damaging fascination. Had she not been there, to distract him, he perhaps too would have found it hard to take his eyes from the horizon. He gazes out with her for a moment.
"Wow."
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"...You okay?"
Her smile is half sad, half wistful as she turns to him, touched by his concern. She lowers her head and nudges his shoulder with her forehead affectionately, a way of thanking him, before turning back to the sun.
"Yeah. I just…there's a lot of people in there and after a while I just gets a bit too much. I felt a bit…"
"I know darling. It's a lot of attention in such a short space of time and it is a little like being…"
The word they are both searching for seems to escape them both at the same time, as if they were one person, with the same brain and the same thoughts and when it does they share a smile of sheer bewilderment.
"Trapped."
A stronger breeze hits her curls and he reaches up in time to catch it, brushing them back behind her ear, tenderly picking out a few scraps of hiding confetti as he does so. Her eyes don't leave him for a long time, as if he too is her support system, on which she hangs on every word, documents every movement.
"Our wedding day is supposed to be about you and me, and yet I've barely seen you since I kissed you this morning!"
She giggles that low and sultry giggle that never fails to tighten his stomach. From the day he met her, making her laugh has given him a bizarre rush that can only be described as the feeling one might get when winning a prize or proving someone wrong. Pride in making her look more beautiful than he thought possible. He hopes he makes her feel it, too.
"You may kiss the bride, goodbye!"
She collapses against him in a fit of hysterics, her cheek against his collar bone. When the laughing has subsided, he continues to hold her there, hand anchored to her hip, and she moves the collar of his shirt aside so her skin is against his. Silence descends and with their fatigue, an impatience for peace and quiet and infinite time together rises within them. Eyes on the horizon, she gives an exaggerated sigh.
"We should make an appearance…maybe have a bit of a dance?"
"You know I hate dancing. Could we not just sneak off?"
He nudges her playfully until she looks up and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, eyes darting from hers to the flight of stairs leading to the second floor of the lodge.
"Our room is just up there. If we leg it, they wouldn't even notice we're gone!"
"Harry! They're our guests! They've come a very long way to see us do this today!"
He rolls his eyes melodramatically and she turns her back to him, leaning into his chest. Lifting her hair over one shoulder, he kisses her neck, making her roll her head back, reveling in the much craved affection as she speaks.
"It won't be for much longer. Then it'll just be me and you. And your patience will be rewarded, I promise!"
This thought fills him with undue excitement. It isn't like they haven't done it before. Strictly speaking it should be routine by now, but it's something about her being his wife now, as if having this new connection would open up a whole new side of her, perhaps it would open up a new side of him too.
"In that case –" he presses his lips firmly to her skin for a final time, inhaling her smell and enjoying feel of her soft skin under his lips "I can be fully trusted!" unexpectedly she turns round quickly to face him and he is hit with a flashback, equally as horrible as it is beautiful, as she had turned in his arms on the memorial steps in Budapest, the same look of trepidation, disbelief and discovery on her face, and he had been rendered speechless by the relief of holding her again.
"And I am trusting you, Harry."
She looks so vulnerable, perhaps more so than he has ever seen her, and he wants to protect her more than anything, only the nature of her vulnerability almost prevents him from doing so. She seems to search his eyes for any hint of doubt and he doesn't stop her, because he knows, deep down, that her insecurities are justified. A whisper merges with the noise of the lapping waves.
"I'm trusting you with everything."
It is a bold statement and with that comes a lot of pressure, though he had expected it when he saw the sincerity in her eyes – marred with tears - when she spoke away her life to him at the altar this morning.
And so he stands and holds out his hand to help her up and when she takes it, he places it against his heart. For a moment she stares at it, as if expecting something magical to happen…perhaps it does, because then she looks back to his eyes.
"Good. I'm your husband. I hope you always do."
What he says isn't terribly profound or romantic, but it is so sincere that it brings tears to her eyes for the second time today. Her next words are laced with a slightly snivelly, watery laugh.
"You're my husband."
Her disbelief makes him smile and wide eyed, he nods his reply.
And she wastes no more time, her hands finding his neck, pulling him closer, before her arms wrap tight around it and she holds him so lovingly and so tightly, pressed against her body, he silently wishes this moment never to end. In this moment, as the sun says its final farewell before sinking back behind the ocean, giving one last burst of colour, and they stand on this rock in silence, simply holding one another, he believes that they truly could be happy. Forever.
Her words don't make complete sense, but they do to him, as they are whispered in his ear, before she presses her lips to his neck, hiding her face. They spoil the moment somewhat, because he is made aware of how she has misunderstood them and their life together.
For him, what is based on love and desire and longing and fate and the most amazing friendship he has ever had, for her is based on endurance and desperation and alternatives and gratefulness and second options.
"Thank you."
One day, he thinks, she will understand that this most certainly is not the case.
I really hope this symbolises the end of my drought! Seriously lost without my writing!