DISCLAIMER: All characters are borrowed from Libba Bray. No money is being made from the publication of this story.
Another Way – Chapter 4
The day of our wedding is the happiest day of my life. We are in India again, in a beautiful part of Bombay near the river. The wedding is outdoors, and children gather from the nearby houses to watch as the procession passes through. I sit atop my horse under a tree that has been decorated to serve as a natural arch, the place where we will bind ourselves to one another for eternity, in this world and the next. I am dressed in black fine clothes, a garland of petals around my neck, the traditional red mark of the bridegroom on my forehead. I cannot see her yet through the crowd of well-wishers and children carrying colorful banners, women throwing rose petals on the path that will lead her to me, men beating traditional drums and dancing to the music. Her friends, Felicity and Ann, stand next to her Father and Tom. All of them have come on the long and perilous journey from England to share this day with us. Felicity will return to Paris after the wedding is over to live her life, free and uninhibited. Ann will continue her successful career as an actress on the London stage. Tom, a practicing physician, will go back to his patients in London and the Hippocrates Society, which has become a source of pride for him. But Gemma's father will remain in India in a house not far from our own, to spend his remaining days with his beloved daughter.
I am heady with anticipation. The sights, sounds and smells are almost overwhelming, but it is the happiness I feel the most. Suddenly, the beat changes and I hear the traditional Hindu wedding march. My horse whinnies and I soothe her with an outstretched hand. In the distance, I see more children carrying banners, and they part to reveal the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She is wearing a brilliant purple sari and her delicate hands are painted with intricate henna tattoos that match those on her bare feet. Stacks of thin gold bangles dance on both of her slender white arms almost up to her elbows. Part of her sari covers her hair in a sweeping fold, but there is no hiding those sumptuous flaming curls that shimmer and turn gold as they catch the sun. The people on either side of the path look on in awe. Her radiance is breathtaking. Everyone's eyes are on her, but her eyes are on me alone. "A green-eyed goddess," I hear one of the children near me whisper in Hindi to his companion, and I look down at him and smile. She is indeed a goddess. My goddess. My Gemma.
She has almost reached me, and the music dies down. For a second, everything is silent, and she and I are the only two people in the world. I bring my horse forward to meet her, and she looks up at me and smiles. I offer her my hand, which she takes. A single word is all that is needed, for she knows that the two of us have been in this place before, if only in a shared dream. But this time, it is very much a reality.
"Hello," I say with a grin.