A/N: All my readers should head on over to the X-Men: Comics division and read Rosy-the-Cat's Don't Kid A Kidder, because there is a hysterical account of the destruction of the wedding cakes there...Virtual Toll-House cookies to Rosy!
My mother and I rode down on the elevator, me with my train caught up over my arm -- there was no sense in inviting trouble -- and holding my bouquet, she with my veil and the diamond wheat-ear circlet for my hair. It was the tradition for a bride's mother to put her daughter's veil on her head just before the groom leads her into the church, the last thing she will do for her as her child, before her daughter becomes a married woman.
We chatted a little, made nervous with excitement, about things like how people around her were adjusting to the fact that The Master was going to be her son-in-law. I was nearly trembling, thrilled with anticipation as I was.
We were supposed to rendezvous with Victor, the other members of the wedding party -- namely Boris and the bishop -- in the Great Hall, and as we entered, I dropped my train and gasped, "Oh," in purest awe. "Oh, how magnificent!"
Because Victor was magnificent. No, he was majestic. Clearly, he had taken at least as much trouble over his appearance as my bridal committee and I had taken over mine --. I had to stop in my tracks take a moment to drink in the sight of him.
Instead of his everyday, steel-grey armor, worn with a tunic and a cloak in utilitarian shades of olive green, his armor was matte black with engraving picked out in gold and silver, ornamental scrollwork and flourishes. The mask was not molded any differently than his usual mask, but it, too, was matte black. There the engraver, whoever he was, had confined himself to simply enhancing the angles and planes with a few delicate lines, turning what was normally rather harsh into something with grace, and yes, with beauty. No grillwork, I noted. Of course not -- not only was he going to eat lunch, but he would be called upon to kiss me. (Lucky me!)
His tunic was heavy white silk damask, embroidered in gold around the edges, and on the chest of it was the Von Doom crest -- a dragon and a griffin, back to back, reared up and ready for battle. The Order of the Knighthood of the Dragon hung from the massive gold chain around his neck.
His cloak had no hood, and while it was green, this green was so dark it was nearly black, and it had the shimmer only real silk velvet has. It had a six-inch border of ermine fur, white with touches of black, all around the edge, and a ermine shoulder capelet over it, nearly elbow length, completed the ensemble. (This was not the time to express my anti-fur opinions.)
He looked like the king he was.
"Thank you, my dear --." He had been talking to Stephen Strange and Robert Angevin, and now he turned and looked at me.
The rest the world did not actually melt away and leave the two of us together alone in space. It just seemed that way, at least to me. I was smiling so wide my face hurt. It was completely involuntary. I was so happy I couldn't help it.
He was staring at me just as hard as I was staring at him, and into our rapt silence, he murmured, for my ears alone, "My summer…" Then, for everyone's benefit, he said, "Magnificent? No more so than you, my dear. You look every inch a queen -- does she not?"
"Indeed," commented Doctor Strange politely.
"You make a lovely bride." said Robert Angevin. "Joviana, may I introduce you to my wife, Rafaella -- Ella, for short?"
"My pleasure," I said, looking at Robert's wife/niece. "I was hoping I would get a chance to meet Hugo's mother. I have tell you that I'm completely in love with your son." I saw immediately where Hugo Angevin's red hair and brown eyes came from -- she had given them to him. She was about my height, and she wore a sunny yellow dress. But she was horse-faced -- she had a long face, a long nose, and a long, squarish chin. It was kind of a shock.
"He has that effect on people. If he has this much charm at less than one year of age, who knows what he's going to be like when he hits twenty-one? I'm almost afraid to find out!" She smiled, and the warmth of that smile, the way it touched her eyes, made her very attractive indeed.
"Now, if you would be so kind as to step over to this table here, and if Mrs. Florescu, and Doctor Strange will act as witnesses, this will only take a moment." said my attorney.
He had several copies of the pre-nups, and Victor and I signed and sealed three of them, after which my mother and Doctor Strange signed, too. Victor and I each got a plain copy, unsigned, for our personal records, Victor got one of the witnessed copies, and as my attorney, Robert took the two others, one for his files, and one to go on record in a neutral place.
Boris broke in, saying, "Aren't you ready? It's time! Oh, what a lovely girl!" He kissed my cheek. "No time to waste!" He was all energy and enthusiasm. No cane today -- he was feeling his best.
"Good morning, Boris," I greeted him. Boris was wearing his nice new black suit, with a fresh white shirt, and what was unquestionably the gaudiest waistcoat I had ever seen. It was cerise, and it had peacocks embroidered on it, in gold and iridescent blues and greens. I blinked, slightly dazzled. The bishop was standing behind him, in full ceremonial robes. We were going to be quite the wedding party!
We got ourselves organized, and split up into groups -- not counting Robert and his wife, or Doctor Strange, who went out to take their seats. My mother and I went off to the right gate tower, while Victor and Boris went to the left tower, and the bishop went down to meet us in the middle.
I had not yet gotten a look at the assemblage of guests -- I didn't want to get stage fright. My mother and I paused before we opened the door to step outside, and I asked, nervously, "How do I look?"
"Oh, my darling! Like a white rose." She took my face in her hands, very delicately. "This is a day a woman starts thinking about from the moment the doctor says 'It's a girl!' And now it's here... How I love you!"
"Is it any use to tell you not to cry?" I said.
The big clock on the Doomstadt Town Hall began to strike the hour of ten. I nodded to the footman, who opened the door to the castle yard. Sunlight and a cacophony of voices poured in -- but when they saw the door opening, the crowd outside fell suddenly silent.
I had to blink as I stepped outside. Three girls, ranging in age from about four to about twelve, sprang into action, and started scattering rose petals in front of me. I recognized the little girl who had been all sticky from candy when she gave me her little nosegay of flowers, on our return from America. Rather than scatter her rose petals, she seized them by the handfuls and threw them into the air as if she was trying to throw a softball. I liked her spirit.
The crowd, Latverian citizens all, filled the back part of the castle yard and reached halfway back down to Doomstadt -- all except for the carpeted pathway ahead of me. I could see Victor standing at the other end of it, and there, in the center, stood the bishop, at the juncture of the T-shaped carpet, which would then lead us up the center aisle, through the invited guests, and into Castle Doom. At the sight of Victor and myself, they let out a collective gasp.
I began walking, keeping my head up, my back straight, and kicking the hem of the dress as Bisitra had instructed, I went forward to meet Victor.
We reached the bishop simultaneously, and the ceremony began.
"Why have you come here to me today, my son?" asked the bishop, not of Victor, but of Boris. This was part of the best man's role.
"I come on behalf of -- my friend's son, that he might be betrothed to this maiden, with the blessing of the Church." replied Boris, his chest nearly bursting with pride.
"Is this so, my son?" The bishop asked Victor.
"Yes." Victor answered him.
The bishop then turned my mother, "You, who are kin to this maiden, what say you of this match?"
"It has my blessing." replied Galina Florescu, who truly was my family, all the family I had. I turned and stooped a little, so she could slide the wreath into place and arrange the veil around my shoulders -- not over my face. I was going into this marriage without even the slightest obstruction to my vision -- symbolic or literal.
When I straightened up, the bishop asked me, "Daughter, do you come here to be betrothed to this man?"
"Yes." I said, loud and clear and definite.
If this were taking place in a church or a cathedral, this part of the ceremony -- the betrothal-- would take place in the vestibule. The invited wedding guests, all of whom were turned around on their benches, were watching and listening with the greatest interest, and those who could not speak Latverian had been provided with ear buds that supplied simultaneous translation.
"Have you the rings with which they shall pledge to one another?" the bishop asked Boris and my mother.
"Yes." "Yes, I have." They replied, and produced them.
He took both, and blessed them three times, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Then he and Boris placed the rings on our right hands, and exchanged them back and forth three times, which had been explained to me symbolized how in marriage husband and wife complement one another, each supplying what the other lacked in helping where the other needed it.
"By this exchange of rings," the bishop concluded, "you pledge to share and exchange all that you have, heart and mind, body and soul, with one another in love and devotion, beginning now in this imperfect world, and continuing in the next, which is in the perfection of God. Let me now lead you in the path of virtue into the light of the Christ." He placed my right hand in Victor's right hand.
With that, he turned, we turned, the flower girls sprang into action -- since Victor had also had three, there were now six -- and we began down the aisle. I heard a piano, and then someone started to sing, "Gladly, gladly, We, rejoicing." -- Beethoven's Ode to Joy, arranged for piano and solo vocalist --.
The singer was extremely familiar. In fact, it was the voice of the woman who provided the soundtrack of my life.
It was Tori Amos.
I glanced ahead, to where the musicians were situated under the balcony. It really was Tori Amos. There was her red hair. She was not writhing, as she did it during concerts, but sitting as decorously as her minister father could have wished, wearing something pale blue -- not a leotard, playing and singing.
I glanced up at Victor. He said nothing -- except with his eyes.
How had he known?
Well, I only had a complete collection of her work on CD and DVD, and every book published about her or by her. And I had spent far too much money for a copy of her first, unsuccessful album, Y Kant Tori Read?. It couldn't have been too hard to figure out I was a fan of hers.
How much could have cost?
I didn't know. I didn't care. Tori Amos was singing at my wedding! My face was going to cramp with all the smiling.
Little did I know this was only my first big surprise, courtesy of Victor, today…