Today had been perfect. From the venue to the food to the flowers, everything had been thought through and executed. Now, all that was left was the clean up.
Belle French prided herself in being the most professional and cost efficient wedding planner in Maine. Her weddings had satisfied even the lowest budgets and a couple of her higher priced events had been featured in bridal magazines across the country.
Her business was booming, yet as she stood surveying the gardens where one Neal Gold had pledged himself to one Emma Swan, all she could feel was a bone crushing sadness.
It was her job to make sure peoples' happily ever afters were within their reach. Everything she did was to ensure their happiness, and ultimately, their money. But at the end of the day, that didn't matter, she was alone.
Being popular meant she was in high demand, there was no shortage of messages on her phone or computer begging her for a commitment. Belle couldn't remember the last time she took time for herself.
Once upon a time, Belle had been a die hard romantic. Growing up with her romance novels and dolls, every story had had a True Love's Kiss and a happy ending. This relentless pursuit of love had pushed her into opening her own wedding planning business ripe out of college. She had been absolutely sure that she'd find her soulmate and help others celebrate theirs.
That had been seven years ago. Now, at the age of twenty nine, Belle had resigned herself to her fate. She wasn't destined for love, she was destined for success. Two very different things. It was foolish of her to think she could have both.
Surveying the disaster in front of her, they'd held the ceremony and reception in the same space, she sank into an empty chair. The clean up crew would be along momentarily. She could wait for them.
The wedding had been intimate but beautiful, the love between the couple palatable. Belle felt tears well up in her eyes before she angrily shook her head. No. She was not going to sit around and feel sorry for herself. So what if she didn't have some prince charming, she didn't need one.
Besides, it wasn't like she was ancient yet anyway.
A firm humph later, she rose out of her chair and placed her pity party behind her. The sadness lurking in her soul was still present, but then again, it always was.
She moved up the isle to where the main flower display that had formed an "alter" of sorts stood, both Neal and Emma had requested she pick a few of the flowers and send them to their home.
As she reached the front of the isle she her a small sound from her left. Startled, she glanced in the direction of the noise, shocked to find a man sitting hunched over in his seat.
The noise came again, it sounded almost like, sobs? Belle wasn't sure but the anguish was rolling off this man in waves. Had he too much to drink? Had he missed the ceremony? Why was he still here? Everyone else had gone home.
She took a step in his direction, "Sir?" She asked softly.
The man jerked up as if she'd shocked him. "I'm so sorry." He muttered, light Scottish accent apparent in the few words. "I'll get out of your way."
He made to move off, a strange limp in his gait when Belle made up her mind, she couldn't let this man leave one of her weddings in such poor shape, today was a happy day.
"No, wait!" She exclaimed, embarrassed at how her voice rang out. "Um," She began again, much softer this time, "You don't have to leave just yet. The cleaners aren't here and it really is lovely."
The man didn't make full eye contact, but stopped trying to get away and Belle took that as progress. She sat down in the chair next to the one he'd vacated. "If you'd like some company, I have a moment."
He shuffled over and sat down. The silence between them sat, not exactly heavy, but not light enough to temp small talk. After a few minutes of such Belle was antsy.
"I'm just going to collect a few flowers to send to the bride and groom. They requested them to have as a decoration in their home." She said brightly, hoping by invoking the mention of the bride and groom, she could illicit a happier response from the man.
"I know," came his soft reply, "I suggested Neal do that. His mother and I took home wildflowers after our ceremony and preserved them so we'd always have a piece of our wedding."
Belle's mouth dropped open. Not only was that the most romantic thing she'd heard in a while, and she was in the wedding industry, but something he'd said struck her. Neal. Neal's mother. That could only mean…
"You're Mr. Gold. Neal's father." Belle stated. A little in shock and a little relieved. When Neal had approached her, he'd told of his father who was estranged, but trying to make amends. This absent father had been sending her money, covering any and every cost the wedding had presented, but he'd never appeared in the flesh. It made sense he'd be there on the actual day. Belle admonished herself for not connecting the dots sooner.
Mr. Gold finally raised his head enough to meet Belle's eyes. She smothered a gasp, they were the loveliest, warm brown. A little red rimmed from his obvious discomfort, but kind. Very kind. What had happened to drive this father and son apart?
"No matter what, Neal will still need his papa." She said quietly, taking a blind guess at what had caused Mr. Gold to be so upset.
At her words, his eyes filled with tears again, enough to brighten them, but not so much that they overflowed. "That's kind of you to say, Ms. French."
"Please, call me Belle."