Note: things are quite complicated for me lately, but I tried to squeeze in a bit of time and wrote this down. I'm still proceding tentatively, I hope you can be patient and still enjoy the ride. Leave a review, I need all the support I can get.
The light commotion she hears as sleeps brings her back to the little flat in the neighborhood of El Cairo where she lived in June, during the Eid al-Fitr, a festivity celebrated after fasting for the entire month of Ramadan which signifies thanks and gratitude for the Almighty Allah. Bonnie expects to open her eyes and see colored balloons in the sky, flying up from outside the El-Seddik Mosqua, as she looks out from the tiny window of the flat she rented. Instead her eyes barely catch a blonde breeze which tickles her nose as it falls above her on the bed. Caroline's voice is giddy and almost strident in her happiness as she hugs her just a bit too tight. Bonnie's eyes widen in the effort to breathe in and she can see Damon's face clearly as he watches the scene from the door. He's leaning against the jamb, arms crossed on his chest. One corner of his plump mouth seems slightly curved but she can't tell if he's smiling; at least, she can't tell if his mouth is, because his blue eyes are bright and they do smile at her, like they're telling her a secret.
"I'm so happy you're finally back! You need to tell me everything you did without me. I cannot believe you went on such a journey on your own, leaving me here behind like I'm an old woman!" Caroline laments. She smells a bit like freesia and musk. Damon doesn't say anything, just holds Bonnie's gaze, and if her own ever shifts away his remains. Damon's indolent pose and his look send a shiver running down Bonnie's spine as she pats Caroline's back with her hand to soothe her enthusiasm. Bonnie tries to cling to the notion that he is not a vampire anymore, that there's nothing about him that is a threat to her now – if anything ever was before – and yet the tingly feeling of an imminent threat is something she can hardly shake when their eyes meet. But, if her breath breaks inside her chest, she can blame it on Caroline. She closes her eyes to hide for a moment from his sight, to embrace and anchor herself to her friend. Damon remains as indolently beautiful and absolutely irking as ever.
Caroline grips her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position to look into her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were back? I had to find out by myself! Didn't you miss me?"; Bonnie just woke up and she barely knows where she is, she needs a few minutes for her brain to catch up but Caroline looks so bummed about it that she makes an effort.
"I swear I just needed to sleep off my jet leg before calling anyone to—"
"But you called Damon," she protests.
"Not really," he cuts in from the doorway, saving Bonnie the strain of speaking again. "Now, leave her be. She needs a minute to turn off her zombie mode, unless you're a fan of the grunting conversations, then she's your cup of tea right now." And whentheir eyes meet again there's no mistaking the smile on his face, amused, endeared. She can recognize the thrumming in her veins, that click inside, of a connection never severed, they are a team and they work like that. He knows when she needs her space, though he makes a point of invading it most of the time.
Damon enters the room and grabs Caroline wrist to drag her away while she pouts her way, and Bonnie waves her goodbye. Bonnie pushes the hair back from her face as she tries to rub the last traces of sleep away. She can hear the sound of her friends going downstairs and she knows she must be quick or Caroline will barge in again for round 2, she thinks with a light smile.
For a moment everything is light and warm. She can still feel Caroline's weight on her petite frame and can still feel Damon's presence undoing the space she's put between them for months. And yet, there was space, never distance. She doesn't know how she doubted their friendship in the first place. And there it comes, the sting of guilt, and she looks up to see the room taking a soft blue glow. She's about to speak, but Caroline's voice calling her from the head of the flight of stairs breaks the moment and every color comes back as it was before.
Bonnie drags herself out of bed, pulls back the curtain half covering her window and goes to take a shower.
When she joins Caroline in the sitting room she's her usual ball of energy, placed on an easel. She turns around with her big smile, bouncing on her heels like a jack-in-the-box and Bonnie can read the gigantic title of her new project, "Wedding Mission".
"I'm so ready for this," she says, excited like it's her own wedding, "Aren't you ready for this?"
"Yeah, sure," Bonnie replies faking enthusiasm.
"Me too," says Damon, with even less cheeriness, coming from the kitchen with two cups of coffee in his hands. He hands her one and they both sit on the sofa ready to witness Caroline's exposition of her plan.
"It's like I'm with Debbie Downer and her wet blanket," she pans, giving them a bad look.
"Who's the wet blanket?" Bonnie asks, turning towards Damon.
"What question is that?" he asks back, "Do I look like a Debbie to you?"
"I don't know what you've been up to since I went away," she jokes with a shrug, trying to keep a straight face.
"Mostly listening to depressing love songs and wetting your pictures," he explains candidly, "You wanna know with what?"
"Ohhhh, you're disgusting,"
"I clearly meant with tears," he protests, faking innocence.
"Yeah, right," Bonnie says, rolling her eyes before taking a sip of coffee.
"Bon, I think your assumption might be Freudian, think about it, you clearly fa—"
"I'm here!" Caroline interrupts them, raising a hand like a girl asking for permission to go to the bathroom.
"Yes."
"Sadly," it's Damon's reply. He was trying to have his fun with this wedding, but Caroline likes to spoil it.
"I'm planning your wedding," she reminds him a little on the edge, "It would be nice if you could collaborate."
"On a scale of—" Bonnie's hand lands on his mouth and his word become a muffled, intelligible sound.
"Thanks," Caroline says, before smiling at Bonnie and resuming her role of director.
"I already know how to do this," she says, turning to look at the board, her hair opening like a fan as she turns on her heels, "if we split the tasks and proceed in accordance to my schedule, this wedding is going to be epic. You'll have to make an effort, skip of a few hours of sleep, maybe do some handiwork, but it will be totally worth it."
Bonnie knows this side of Caroline. This side of Caroline is scary.
"What about hiring a wedding planner?" Damon asks, gaining a dirty look.
"What?"
"He didn't mean it," Bonnie rushes to say.
"I absolutely did," Damon corrects her, but Bonnie's elbow hits his side and "not" tumbles from his mouth.
"You think I'm so eager to invest my time in this, planning and supervising ever tiny detail until everything is perfect?" Caroline asks without waiting for a reply.
"Is this a trick question?" Damon whispers in Bonnie's direction, getting a "Shut up" in return.
"I'm busy with the twins and the school and managing my life of super-mom-slash-vampire-model, but Elena is my friend, and you – strangely enough – are my friend, kinda, and a wedding planner would never get my vision. I want you to have a magnificent wedding and you're going to have it. I will stop at nothing for you to have it!"
"I'd be so touched if it didn't sound like a threat," Damon comments, "And what is my picture doing on that thing anyway?" he asks, pointing to the picture of him pinned on one side of the board. It's a Polaroid, a close shot of his surly face, eyes red because of the dim light of the environment. Above it, written with a blue marker, stands out the term groom-to-be.
"It looks like a mug-shot," Bonnie comments, trying to hide the amused smile behind her mug.
"What is this, a police procedural series? Where's the yellow tape and the outline of the dead body?" he asks, sounding slightly offended.
"Don't be dramatic, there's Elena's picture too, see?" she asks, pointing at the opposite side of the board. Elena is smiling prettily in daylight, with flowers in the background like one of those pictures that come with the frame. The words bride-to-be are adorned with flying hearts and glitter.
"Now, back to the important things," Caroline says. "I was thinking about a classy afternoon ceremony, with the setting sun behind you and a couple of doves flying at the moment of the exchange of vows."
"I'm not sure how I feel about this," he says, trying to visualize the scene. It's too sappy for his taste.
"You feel great about it," Caroline assures him ignoring his reluctance. "It will look so romantic, you two standing on the stage in the garden—"
"There's no stage in the garden," he tries to remind her.
"Not now, but there will be. The construction workers will be here in two weeks, you need to make sure they do a good job with the lighting," she shushes him with a hand. "A string quartet will play during the ceremony and the party—"
"Not really my style," he tries to tell her.
"Of course it is," she insists.
He's about to tell her that she's clearly thinking about the tastes of another Salvatore, but he can't bring himself to pour salt on their common wound. He misses Stefan, too, and he died so that he could do this, marry the girl he's been trying so hard to conquer and keep, and maybe it is only right to do this the way Stefan would have liked, so that it will be like having him around that day. He's sure even Elena would like that.
"Whatever, sure," he gives in, trying to just relax and let her manage the wedding the way she likes it.
"Since you and Elena decided to be apart until the wedding and go with tradition I think she should arrive directly in front of the gate, which will be open and waiting for her. I'll tell the coachman to be very precise about it so she won't stain her dress on the grass before the beginning of the ceremony."
"Coachman? As in carriage, as in horses?" Damon presses, feeling like Caroline is about to turn him into a Disney prince.
"Exactly," she says with a nod. "And since we have such a nice mansion to take advantage of, she should have a gala. Elena will change into a beautiful evening dress but you can keep the same one. I mean, you're the groom. Nobody cares much about the groom."
"But my presence is still required, I suppose?" he jokes.
"How funny," Caroline replies bored. "I don't know how can you spend so much time together and not kill him," she says, looking back at Bonnie.
"It's not for lack of trying," Bonnie explains.
"But in the end she couldn't resist my charm and my cooking," Damon cuts in. The memory of last night, her tiny frame against his chest as they cooked together warms something inside. He can smell the scent of her hair still, the fragrant odor of myrrh and jasmine. The lack of that scent in the air had constantly put him off, like he was uncomfortable in his own life, but now things are back the way they were. He's used to moving from place to place, from century to century, and maybe it's something that comes with a human life, but he loves habits, now. Bonnie is like that, a habit. Like a glass of good bourbon he needs in the evening, like the smell of breakfast in the morning, like the brief moment he spends listening to the rumble of his car before going for a drive. She's like a habit, subtle, softly predictable, almost ordinary when she's around. But when she's not, it's like trying to walk with two left feet and…
Bonnie just clears her throat, like she'd like to disagree on that but doesn't want to get tangled into a pointless argument that will probably end up with them going in circles around private jokes that will irritate Caroline and make the morning even longer than what it needs to be.
"I picked a few caterers that might do, but you need to taste the cakes and pick one. Lately there have been lots of school meetings and kids parties and if I see another cake I might just throw up," she clarifies raising the palm of her hands dramatically.
"And you trust me with such an important decision?"
"Not really, but that's why Bonnie is coming with you. That way, you can't fuck up so bad," she says.
"Is that a challenge?" he asks, his interest seeming finally piqued.
"No," she frowns at him, and looks at Bonnie with pleading eyes. "But I still think that you should be a bridesmaid."
"Nope," Damon says, arm reaching out, stretched in front of Bonnie like a barrier.
"We're friends, we should do this together," she insists.
"You are," Damon adds.
"But it's not the same—"
"Don't care," he replies flatly.
"Bonnie—"
"—is mine, back off, now, and let's move along with this, shall we?" he asks, annoyed with her insistence. Bonnie stays silent, befuddled with their little argument. With herself, for letting Damon speak in her place like he has a right to it. But she promised him to be there, be next to him when he says the words, so she can't go back on him, now.
"The color palette for the wedding is fuchsia and gold, so remember that," Caroline is still sulking about it when she says "About the open bar—"
"Definitely need it," he groans without missing a beat.
The blonde girl checks the open bar on the list written on the board.
"I'll think about the florist and the musical entertainment," she says, listing that under the bride's tasks.
"We need to send out the invitations, immediately, because our guests need time to clear their schedules, pick the dresses and the gifts," she informs them. "I've had Elena going through a few samples," she says, reaching for her large shoulder bag abandoned on a chair. "Here's what she liked the most." she explains, handing a pile of invitations each.
"So, she liked them all?" Bonnie asks confused.
"Of course not. She was all difficult and I had to take out a few of her choices because they didn't match the palette…"
"They look all the same to me," Damon says, giving a fast look to the samples on his lap.
"That's because you can be such a man. You don't pay any attention to details," she reproaches him. "Some of them have a silver engraving, some are golden. This one has a frame around it," she says, showing him the card, "While this one has an oval, see?"
"Right," he nods, mostly to not have her breaking down in front of him. They still need to have breakfast.
"I'll find the coat check and the valet parking," she says, writing it down under Elena's picture.
Damon turns to Bonnie looking perplexed, and she does the same, mouthing, "Don't even ask."
"Did you write your vows already?" Caroline asks suddenly, making him turn abruptly.
"What?" he asks, confused for a moment. "No."
"Oh, well, there's still plenty of time for that," she decides. "Maybe you could talk about the first time you saw her, and what you thought, and how beautiful she looked. That is always so romantic."
"Yeah," he agrees with a nod, "Really beautiful, under the moonlight," he almost sounds dreamy. "I thought she was Katherine," he explains flippantly, and Bonnie's lips twitch as he continues the walk down memory lane. "It was quite the bummer discovering that she wasn't."
"You're killing the romantic vibe, here," Caroline deadpans.
"That explains the mug-shot," Bonnie comments, taking a sip of coffee to hide the smile.
"Nevermind, you two," Caroline frowns at them. She turns around with a patient sigh, the way she does when she needs to help and she ends up being a substitute teacher for a class of rambunctious kids.
"You'll have to pick the photographer, and of course Elena's gift—"
"She gets to keep me at the end of it, isn't that enough?"
Caroline shakes her head. Bonnie can't bother rolling her eyes. She knew something of the sort was about to leave his mouth. She should have put money on it.
"I'll choose the one for the guests, and the bridesmaid. Singular bridesmaid," she adds, turning to him with an accusatory look.
He blinks unimpressed, "I'll pick the one for my best man," he says smiling at her to rub it in a bit more. Damon turns to Bonnie looking pensive. "I was thinking something timeless, artistic, that will be passed from generation to generation of feisty Bennetts, an unique piece like—"
"I don't want a portrait of you," she interrupts him, flatly.
"I was thinking more like a statue. Something like the Barberini Faun," he adds, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Bonnie is not a connoisseur but she remembers that piece from a college class. She remembers the asymmetric pose, the contradiction of the graceless stance of a graceful figure, the nudity, the irreverence of the drunk satyr, reclined and seductively devilish with his double tail, languidly laid down on a coarse rock, seemingly innocent but powerful and compelling, with his spread legs and thrown back head. She can easily picture Damon like that and the image sends her heart speeding up and warms her cheeks.
"An engraved lighter will do," she says, trying to not sound frustrated with the picture in her mind.
"You don't even smoke," he says, displeased with such a boring suggestion on her part.
"Yeah, but if I set you on fire I need to explain how I did it to the police," she replies starkly. He's just so unbearable, so cheeky. She would like to slap that insolent smirk off his face.
"I'll make the hair and makeup appointments," Caroline interrupts her, now used to aimless wandering of their conversation, "and think about the guest book. You should go pick the wedding bands and your dresses. Remember the colors, it's important."
"Blue and silver," Damon says, just to spite her.
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"
"Yes, he is," Bonnie says, while Damon smiles lazily.
"Thank God you're his best man," Caroline decides, finally seeing the irreproachable logic of his choice. "I don't even want to think about what he'd do without you".
Damon knows what she means by that, but for a moment sometine inside realizes that, not him nor Caroline has any idea how right she is.