Thank you so much for your wonderful responses this week. I haven't replied as I'm away with friends, but I will as soon as I get home again. Ipsita's a gem. I told her I'd be away, and she finished reading the chapter anyway, so I grabbed a moment to post it :)
Esme wants us to meet the painter, stating she admires him as much for his artistic talent as for the time he spends helping people fight depression using art therapy. He's a modest man, explaining that our painting is intended to be an impression of the day, combining elements unique to our wedding, rather than capturing one particular moment of time and, so far, it's fuzzy. I can recognize the gray green of the bay before us, and a full range of salmon, giving light and shade to a sampling of roses. He's currently suggesting the white chairs of our ceremony through the far-left window. We could not have seen that from here without walking out in front of the restaurant, but I appreciate the artistic license.
Masen inquires if he'll finish before the wedding is over, and he admits he usually adds final touches back in his studio, asking how urgently we need it. Esme announces she would like to display the painting at Woollahra until we find a permanent place to call home. She states that having an original is always advantageous when promoting an artist's work, and she has a perfect spot on a living room wall crying out for something new.
Since Esme hasn't mentioned hiring this man, I wonder if they've come to an agreement where she's offered to promote him, and he's doing this one for free. She asks if she can speak to me, admitting she didn't say anything because he couldn't confirm he'd be here until the last minute. She wants to make sure I don't think she was trying to take over my wedding.
In honesty, I tell her I was slightly put out when I first walked in and saw him, but he is a wonderful addition to the wedding, and I'm thankful that she thought of this kind of entertainment, because it was never on my radar.
I'm surprised to hear "Coka Mucie" by Stacy Kamatu, suspecting Garrett might have relegated my African music to the end of the playlist, but Masen touching my nose and singing the words recalls sweet memories of the night I first played it to him.
Esme links arms with a man who approaches us, and Masen introduces him as Jenks, one of his school friends who has come from Darwin with his wife, Julia. I tell them we're honored they made the journey for our wedding, and Jenks says he would never refuse an invitation from the Edwards family, insisting we stay with them when we reach Darwin. Masen congratulates him on his new role with the National Indigenous Australians Agency, where he intends to address the issue of Aboriginal funding not trickling down to where it's needed. He's an articulate man, a barrister ready for a political career, and he will happily introduce us to his contacts in the Larrakia, Tiwi, Wadjiginy, and Djerimanga groups of the Top End.
We come back to the bridal table for another course, and my fish is excellent, while Masen's beef melts in my mouth. From the way the plates are emptying, everyone seems happy with the food.
I look up when someone blows on the microphone and see Dad standing to speak.
"For those of you who haven't met me yet, I'm Charlie Swan, Bella's father and husband to the beautiful Renee for thirty-two years this June."
He allows the few whistles and applause to subside before he continues.
"Now I guarantee this is going to be short and sweet. We didn't plan speeches, but it's my little girl marrying, and I need to say something about it. Firstly, I would like to thank you all for joining us today. We don't have a lot of family, so it's great to celebrate this very happy occasion as part of yours. Carlisle and Esme have been incredible, opening their home to us and making us feel welcome, and I would like to extend the same hospitality if they can make the trip to Alaska.
"Of course, I'd like them to bring my daughter and son-in-law along with them. While I know these two are making the right decision taking up an incredible opportunity, we're going to miss them. I feel like Bella has grown so much since she met Masen, and she's managed to move heaven and earth to be with him. I did wonder when they'd spent so little time together over the last two years, but I've seen the way they treat each other, and they've convinced me that there's is a love for the long haul. For her part, Bella was never going to get serious about a boy when she was waiting for a man like Masen.
"I do have an apology to make, however. When Masen proposed in January, I thought it was a good idea for them to marry quickly without really understanding the amount of work that goes into a day like this, so I have to thank everyone who helped out with the wedding."
Dad is clearly embarrassed by the response to his speech, and he comes over with tears in his eyes and hugs for the two of us. I can't admit I'm gonna miss him, too, because it will start me bawling. That's something we'll deal with on another day.
Many people sing along with the ballad that follows. Paul Kelly wrote "From Little Things Big Things Grow" to tell the true story of the Aboriginal workers at the biggest cattle station in the world going on strike, and a battle which eventually led to the Prime Minister handing back lands to the Traditional Custodians. In 1975, it was a symbolic and powerful moment which finally began the process of redressing injustices and oppression that had been the experience of black Australians for too long.
While the subject matter is poignant, the chorus is so sweet and catchy that I join in myself.
"Don't Worry Baby" by the Beach Boys is one I'm certain Dad must have added to the playlist. I grew up hearing him play their music, and I give him a thumbs up because this was a lovely, dreamy song to include.
The next one will always bring out strong emotions. Masen admitted that Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know" was like an anthem when he believed I was rejecting him, and I am determined to associate it with a better memory some day. For now, I can only squeeze his hand and kiss him to prove I'll never let him think that way again.
People are drawn to the painting, and we visit to see how it's progressing. There is more detail now, and I grin when I see what he's chosen to represent us as a couple on our wedding day, because we're dancing.
It's hard not to be mesmerized by his craft, and it becomes a kind of gathering place for our guests. Alec is around, taking informal photos, since I said I would hate stiff group shots that all looked the same, and I really hope he got the moment when Masen was holding Jane and she finally smiled at me. I absolutely adore her giggling when Jasper lifts her in the air.
A man I haven't seen before approaches the moment Masen leaves my side.
"I'm Carlisle's cousin, James."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Bella."
"So, you're the girl from South Africa," he declares, raking his eyes over my dress. Without knowing what he's been told about me, I smile politely. "Wasn't that where the city ran out of water?"
Baffled that this is how he chooses to introduce himself, I imagine I'm safe with the "What is Cape Town?" Jeopardy answer. Even though they never actually ran out of water, I'm not spending my wedding explaining how they averted the crisis through a program of education and innovation that continues to influence the way households use water today.
"I guess you mean Cape Town. I've been there, but I was based in Johannesburg."
"Oh, where were you born, Bella?"
"Anchorage."
"Never heard of it." Leaning in close, he covers his mouth with his hand. "I actually thought you'd be dark … like dark-skinned. You know … because Esme's—"
"No." I cut him off before he says something he'll regret. I will not be the bride who shoved a family member for being a dick. Alec would tell me to rise above the ignorance of drop-kicks, and this one doesn't merit a response.
Where's a husband or a spare bridesmaid when I need one?
"So, South Africa. Listen, can you fly from Africa to Alice Springs? That's where you two met, wasn't it?"
He's picked up the conversation as if he never intended to offend, and for a few seconds, I wonder if I might have misunderstood, but then he did cover his mouth.
God help me. If I tell him we came from India, there'll be more time I'll never get back. I am not opening that can of worms.
"We flew from Darwin."
"Ah … of course. I must go there one day."
"Uh, huh."
Why can't I find a single person who's not laughing or talking? Can't anyone throw me a lifeline?
"I suppose you're heading up that way for your honeymoon."
Finally, I catch Mom's eyes. "Sorry, James, I need to speak to my mother before we cut the cake."
"Sure, Bella. We can finish this later."
Oh, no we won't, not if I can help it.
Mom and I have photos taken with our wedding cake masterpiece, and Mom has bought a picture of the woman whose blood runs through our veins. Alec gets me proudly showing off the pink diamond alongside the cake and the photo.
Masen will not hear of smashing cake into each other's mouths, insisting on feeding me with a fork, and it's lovely and yummy and everything I wanted. His kisses are pretty terrific too.
As soon as we come back to our table, Garrett announces it's time to dance, and Tia holds onto his hips, following him conga-style onto the dance floor to "Uptown Funk."
"Good choice!" I take Masen's hand, and the whole wedding party gets up to dance, bringing husbands and wives with them. Before long, the floor is packed with people, and they mostly stay for Garrett's selection of pop, rock, and classic favorites. Whether it's Doja Cat, Dua Lipa, INXS, Justin Timberlake, Fleetwood Mac, or the Bee Gees, there is often a hand in the air when someone decides to claim a song they added to the list. There are tracks I've never heard that are popular with this crowd, so I'm glad we'll have the playlist for our time on the road.
Pop Edwards, the oldest of the brothers, comes onto the dance floor, strutting his stuff to Abba's "Gimme Gimme Gimme A Man After Midnight," and a big group forms a ring around him. I was surprised to learn he is ninety-five at dinner last night, and now I can really see how upright and agile he is. While he's skinny, he's in truly remarkable shape for his age, galant in his old-school navy pin-striped three piece suit, flapping his arms and circling them in the air, having the time of his life. He obviously loves the spotlight with us all clapping and cheering him on, astounded by his energy and stamina. The track changes to "Shake Your Groove Thing," and it's not long before his dance partners are Mom, Esme, and one of the widowed aunties. His daughter, not a young woman herself, joins in for a while, then takes off his jacket and leaves the dancefloor, shaking her head at his exuberance, slightly embarrassed by his antics. I think he's incredible, but my dad has never sought this kind of adulation, so I don't know how I'd feel in her place.
I take a break when I notice Nana Edwards with an empty seat beside her. We couldn't get properly acquainted at the restaurant last night, and I haven't had a chance today, so I go over and sit down.
"Masen was sorry he missed you at Christmas."
Her eyes flare with ire. "We were supposed to get leave, and then they confined us to barracks!"
The retort catches me off guard, and I don't have a response. Masen said she served as a nurse in the army, rehabilitating soldiers after the Second World War, and that she was known as a capable woman, juggling a career with raising her boys during a time when many women were satisfied with domestic duties.
"What is this place, dear?" she asks softly, gazing out across the bay.
It's a perfect afternoon, a picture of the sky floating on a sea of glass. "It's Elwood Beach—such a beautiful spot for our wedding."
She takes my hand and examines my rings. "You are a lovely bride. Who have you married?"
"Masen."
She frowns. "Masen?"
It's not ringing any bells, so I point him out to her. "Your grandson, Masen."
"No, that's …" she tilts her head slightly. "That's … Doctor Carlisle."
Doctor Carlisle. Wow, it's all mixed up. I'm not even sure she recognizes he's a relative, but it's good she sees the resemblance and still knows Carlisle's name.
Leaning close, she speaks with a low voice. "Do you know there is a lesbian couple here who are married and have a child?"
I can only nod, assuming she's about to say she doesn't approve.
"One of my dearest friends was a lesbian, but back then, there was no using a man's sperm outside of marriage. I was very lucky to find a husband who treated me as his equal and gave me the best years of my life, because hers were bitterly unhappy, full of guilt and lies. Don't ever let society pigeonhole you into something it expects you to be. Tread the path of your choice and stand behind your convictions, because that is ultimately what makes you happy."
I smile, glad I've seen this glimpse of her essence. "That's good advice. Thank you."
She squeezes my hand and we share a minute of contented silence. Then she stuns me by asking, "Can you smell marijuana?" and I have to stifle a laugh. Rose said she was losing her filters, and maybe I'm naive, but I wouldn't expect a woman of her age to recognize the smell.
"I don't know," seems to let me off the hook, and I hear James ambushing Carlisle, pressing for the truth about the number of coronavirus cases being reported. We've hardly discussed the virus since my parents arrived because we haven't had cases since they stopped flights from China. James thinks our family wedding is perfectly appropriate for an interrogation on the WHO's response to the epidemic, and I am compelled to rescue my father-in-law from this nugget, excusing myself from Nana to go to his aid.
"Carlisle?" I interrupt, wasting no time on pleasantries. "Do you have time for our dance now?"
He switches his attention to me. "Of course, Bella. Please excuse me, James."
I don't have to say anything, seeing the look of relief on his face.
"How's my mother?" he asks as we start to dance.
"A little confused, but there's a wise woman still in there."
"Oh, I'm pleased you saw that, Bella. She was a great role model and supporter."
"Just as you are to Masen."
"That lazy good-for-nothing? You're welcome to him."
I chuckle, knowing it's just Carlisle's way. He often uses humor when discussing Masen with me, and yet I know he cares deeply for his son. Speaking of which, the man of the moment makes no excuses to cut in for the start of his favorite song. "The Less I Know The Better," by Tame Impala worked so perfectly with our waltz that we might have chosen it if the words weren't about unrequited love. Relaxed now, I'm on the top of the world when he's spinning me around and kissing me tenderly.
Leaving our waltz behind, I'm ogling my husband's moves while he dances to "Can't Get You Out Of My Head," when I notice Randall nudging Garrett and leering at us. They may have had their fun teasing him when he was younger, but it's time they cut it out now. We are not the only couple to lust after each other at their wedding, and I intend to enjoy the fact that my husband is hot.
-0-
Gianna and Emily are accompanying me to the bathroom when Emily makes a beeline for a couple having dinner in the restaurant.
"Uh oh," Gianna mutters with a distinct tone of warning.
"Who are they?" I question when I see how defensively the man reacts to her. I can't make out what she's saying, but I notice the bar staff are clearly on alert.
"Royce," Gianna finally answers. "He did the dirty on her best friend, and she's been waiting for a long time to let him have it."
She lets him have it all right. I'm shocked when she throws a glass of wine over him, then knocks him out of his chair with a punch to the face. Unfortunately, she screams in pain, having damaged her hand in the process.
"What do we do?" I ask, and Gianna tells me to stay with Emily while she goes to get Randall. No one comes to support Royce or apologize, and I wonder about the odds of him turning up here while she's simmering over what he did to her friend. Just seeing him has tipped her into a violent rage.
Carlisle joins us on the deck outside to examine her hand, recommending they ice it immediately, and telling her to get an x-ray if the pain becomes severe. He manages to find her some paracetamol, but she's too unsettled to return to the wedding, and Randall grabs her purse so they can slip away quietly.
Royce and his partner leave the restaurant so quickly that we don't see his injuries or hear if he intended to press charges. The boys are all impressed that Emily hit him, even if she did get a busted hand.
Our artist leaves, satisfied he has photos to finish the painting. I feel like he has captured everything that made the wedding ours, and how it looked on our day. While he says he has many areas still to refine, I'm impressed by how much he achieved in a short space of time.
Sitting down to decompress after all the kerfuffle, I'm struggling to finish a tiny slice of strawberry tart, even though it's scrumptious. Masen brings us both a dark brown creamy cocktail in martini glasses, and I feel bad, saying I'm not sure I can handle a heavy drink at this stage, but he explains that this is an Espresso Martini, made from coffee, Kahlua and vodka. The cream is actually crema from making proper espresso and then a whole lot of shaking with ice, so instead of weighing me down, the delicious pick-me-up is just what I need. Masen says he'll buy a cocktail mixer so we can have one when we find good coffee on the road.
"From your bridesmaids." Rose places an envelope in front of me. It's a confirmation for a booking at the QT Hotel, the place where we had our Secret Garden party and where Charlotte and Gemma have been staying. "We can't let you stay with your parents on your wedding night."
"Take it from me, you will love this," Gemma adds.
Reading the expression on Masen's face, I see he's in on the surprise. "I have an overnight bag with me, baby. We just need to get an Uber."
I'm about to cry, feeling so much for these women, no longer strangers to each other, banding together to support me. This is what I imagined it would have been like having sisters, and while there will always be times when we're apart, I am going to make it a priority to keep in touch with calls and texts and photos. I want them to remain in my life.
It takes so long to say goodbyes and distribute our flowers throughout the family that we end up leaving together, and while I'm looking forward to time alone with Masen, I'm glad we were there at the end of our wedding. Mom takes my bouquet, promising to place it in water as soon as they get back to the house.
We're in the city in half an hour and soon up in our eighth floor suite—a contrast of dreamy soft furnishings and raw industrial finishes. Two chic black terry bathrobes hang like pieces of art, welcoming us to a rather masculine bathroom, screened off by rippled glass and black metal sliding doors. It's generously stocked with beautifully scented toiletries, and I'm treating my arms to their body lotion when I notice Masen standing behind me.
"I know what you are," he says, running his hands over my shoulders and teasing the straps of my dress. "Goddess." I close my eyes when he kisses my neck, reaching up for a handful of his hair. "My goddess," he growls against my skin.
"And you're mine." I return his growl. It's such an amazing feeling, letting the reality sink in.
"You are a truly exquisite bride," he states, sliding down the zipper. "But now I need my wife." His eyes grow when he discovers the only other thing I'm wearing is a nude lacy thong, and he keeps me facing the mirror to watch as he squeezes my breasts. My moan makes him purr. "I want to run us a bath, baby."
I'd love a soapy, sexy Masen right now, but there's no bathtub in here, so I'm not sure what he's proposing when he takes my hand and says, "Come."
He's flicked off all the lights, and my eyes are adjusting when I see he's pulled back a curtain on the far side of the room to reveal a standalone tub beside floor to ceiling windows. Everything looks incredible bathed in the lights of the city.
"No one can see us," he explains, mistaking my silence for concern, but I'm lusting over the sight of him, more gorgeous than I deserve, undressing in the dimly lit room. When he slides my underwear down, I'm tingling, imagining there is someone watching, for there's an unmistakable eroticism in exposing ourselves like this.
Lifting my leg, he rests my foot on the edge of the bath, and drops down, kissing my tattoo, and torturing me by slowly moving his way up my leg. I gasp when he reaches my clit, and I'm watching streetlights changing, cars, trams, and people below, holding onto his hair while my legs are giving way. I'm so close when he picks me up to sit us down on the bed that I grind against him, losing myself in the sensation.
With the point of no return approaching, I cry out, breathlessly, wishing I could stop it from happening.
"Fuck!" he groans as he pushes inside me, and I reward him with the explosion he loves. Tonight, it unleashes his wild man, cursing, kissing, and fucking like he's out of control.
We end the evening in the bathtub, recalling the day of our wedding, and making love one more time.
Thanks for reading xo
