A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 8: Bells Will Ring, the Sun Will Shine
Disclaimer: The characters, etc, are not mine. If they were, all would be right with the world, etc, etc, etc.
Notes: Apologies for the huge delay; have moved house and have since attempted to be sociable with housemates/do exercise in spare time. Also ended up watching 24 series 3 (again) and 4 (finally) which required a certain amount of time.
Again, many thanks to those who have reviewed thus far (and in fact to those that have read, enjoyed, and not reviewed), I really appreciate it. And would, in fact, appreciate any further reviews you were to leave.
Thus far in my life, I have avoided writing this particular fic cliché, but today felt the need.
Lyrics shamelessly stolen from Elton John's "Chapel of Love". Which can be found on the Four Weddings and a Funeral Soundtrack. I have also shamelessly stolen my sister's own "first dance" song. Well, it's not as if she's ever going to read this… This also, obviously, does not belong to me.
She is more nervous than she had anticipated. She still doesn't understand how she was convinced that inviting over 100 of their "closest" family and friends was a good idea, and has half a mind to call Tony and tell him that it's just him, her, their parents and five of their friends, maximum. Friends being people that she has actually met in her lifetime and not Tony's parent's family's friend's family. Or the nameless and numerous "Aunts" and "Uncles" who she can't imagine even Tony has spent more than five minutes in the company of.
She is grateful that has she won on some accounts. The wedding as envisaged by Tony's mother and, somewhat more disturbingly, her own mother, was far more grandiose and involved a larger number of people. It also involved churches, cathedrals, the Vatican, or other vast spaces that may have included some sort of religious aspect. Not that she has a problem with religious weddings, but since she has not attended church in at least 15 years (and, she admits, probably longer), she feels this might be slightly hypocritical. Additionally, these places would have given both mothers the opportunity to invite almost every person each had ever met, which was not a favourable position to be in.
No, the backyard wedding at the Almeida's is as grandiose as she would agree to since her suggestions of eloping to Vegas, Hawaii, or any other place on the continent were shunned from the beginning.
The other aspect in which she has had some say, much to her relief, is her dress. Countless trips have been made to wedding dress shops, myriad white meringues tried on at the insistence of either mother or bridesmaid, and have all been rejected by herself. White dresses were favoured. Fortunately, she made it clear fairly early on that white is not the most flattering colour for her, nor are dresses with five layers of the most expensive netting-type material, hand-sewn beading, or a silk trail of two meters to her taste or style. And despite numerous remarks that her sister-in-law/cousin/friend from college looked absolutely lovely in their Vera Wang creation, she was adamant that she would not stray from her price bracket or idea of what constituted a wedding dress.
The long ivory sheath dress has not been fully embraced by any party except herself, but she feels comfortable and aptly matrimonial, and that is all that matters. She is not wearing a veil, either, and thank god for that, for if it hadn't irritated the hell out of her, it would have flown away in the wind for sure.
And there is certainly no tiara.
Unfortunately, both she and her guests are more formally dressed than she had hoped (apparently, "sun dresses, jeans and casual wear" were not acceptable attire for an Almeida wedding. Nor, for that matter, a Dessler wedding.)
She stands in the master bedroom of the Almeida house gazing at herself in the mirror. Unlike perhaps most of her contemporaries, she has not pictured herself as a bride from the age of 5, nor worn a tea towel over her head as an imaginary veil. In fact, seeing herself in the mirror with an ivory dress, impeccable make up and half pinned-up hair as a bride is almost as foreign an idea now as it was back when she was five and preferred to play with building blocks and jigsaws.
She smiles at herself, almost amused by the thought that this is the day: the day that Michelle Dessler gets married.
She takes a proffered glass of pre-celebratory champagne and sips at it quickly, knowing that time is of the essence, and that only last minute preparations separate her and her impending nuptials.
Her step-father enters the room, grins at her, and she smiles back genuinely. She closes her eyes, takes one last deep intake of air, and exhales slowly. And at last, she is ready.
She tries not to shake with nervous anticipation as she nears the "aisle". She tries not to see the 100 or so guests as they turn to look at her when the music stirs. She tries not to think about what is about to happen. Instead, as she sees him, she focuses on Tony in his morning-suit, and finally she is there, and there is no time to insist that they elope.
He should wear a morning suit more often, she decides as she walks along the aisle. This in between panicked and unwelcome thoughts of: "Oh my God, am I ready for this? Did the caterers manage to get the vegetarian option sorted? Does my hair look okay?"
And then he turns around, smiles enchanted at her, and all other thoughts are pushed aside.
She doesn't remember much of the ceremony. Except the kiss. She distinctly remembers that. Particularly the heckling and the calls of "get a room" from Tony's brother.
Afterwards there is a short break for them to catch their breath. "In case I forget to tell you later," her husband says, "you took my breath away today."
And before she can reply, her new mother-in-law announces that it is time for the photographs, and she is whisked away to pose with aunts, uncles, cousins, bridesmaids, family, friends, her new husband, and unknowns. She is urged to share moments with Tony's three-year-old niece as the photographer takes photos and females of her family coo over the interaction. Fortunately the wind is quite compliant and abates for the duration of the photographs and so her collection lacks the "skirt flying up in the wind" picture that her cousin does not so proudly display.
After half an hour she is already tired of posing and wishes merely to spend time alone with Tony. There is a further half an hour left of photography, however, including the seemingly three-hour set up of the "group" photograph, where everyone passes a camera to the photographer and hence requires about 75 "smile!"s and in which she knows at least one person per photograph will have their eyes shut.
Finally, the posed photographic portion of the afternoon is over and then there is the champagne toast.
She shakes the bottle with Tony, the cork shooting off into the crowd (possibly hitting Great Uncle Albert – not actually related to anyone she doesn't think), the photographer taking the most perfect photo of everyone looking up in the air at the cork (before it hit Great Uncle Albert), laughing, with her and Tony centre. Later it will be her favourite photo, the detail revealing more every time she looks at it.
The evening reception gives them an hour's long break and she is glad to have a rest before yet more guests arrive so that she can focus on what the day is really about – her and Tony.
They escape for a while, finding their way into Tony's old room.
"So, how many girls have you had up here then?" she teases as he tries to prevent her from wandering and looking the items which remain from his youth. He attempts to pull her towards him on the bed.
"You're the first," he confides. She looks warily at him. "Of course, I was at college most of the time my parents have lived here, and there's been many to keep track of at the old house," he teases. She shoots him a false look of enmity.
"And you're the first wife I've had in any of my bedrooms," he comments almost neutrally.
"I should damn well hope so," she replies, attempting to hide her grin as he refers to her as his wife. She fails.
Eventually he is successful in pulling her away from remnants of his Cubs memorabilia and books on electronics, computers and modern art, "there was this girl…" he starts.
"I don't want to know," she replies, a slight smile on her features.
They spend almost twenty minutes just lying there on his single bed from the latter years of his childhood, his arms tightly round her, ensuring she doesn't fall off the edge.
"I want to stay here forever," he says quietly.
"I think the guests might object," she comments. She feels his grin as he kisses her shoulder. She draws a finger slowly along his arm. "Plus, I don't think we'd get any privacy, what with your parents down the hall," she smirks.
He hits her lightly, and she hears him laugh. "You know what I mean."
She sighs, and shifts her weight, turning round in his arms to face him. "It's probably about time we made an entrance."
"Probably," he agrees, not moving.
She smiles, and kisses him. Then five minutes later, "unless you want your mother to find us?"
He moves rapidly into a standing position.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Tony Almeida."
She beams, half in embarrassment, half in awe of the fact that she is now "Mrs. Tony Almeida". Tony grabs her arm and she moves closer towards him. "Ready to make your speech?" she whispers teasingly.
"Ah, but are you ready, Mrs. Almeida?" he comments as they near the head table.
She sits down, almost dreading to hear the performances of Tony, his best man – his brother – and her step-father.
Mostly they say nice things about her; there is much speculation over her early years and her college years from her step-dad; and veiled comments regarding Tony's previous choices in women from his brother. There is almost a whole five minutes on Tony's predilection – in college – to get incredibly drunk and dress up as a woman/priests/in bed clothes. Fortunately she finds this amusing, having already heard half the stories from Tony's brother. The rest she stores up as teasing material.
Tony commends the bridesmaids on an excellent job, and says nice things about her that causes her to well-up with tears – something she claimed she would never do as a bride. Somehow she holds it together, and makes a mental note to tell him how important he is to her after the whole event is over.
Soon afterwards the eating and toasting part of the evening is over and the band begins to play.
Her step-dad leans over to her, kisses her on the cheek and reminds her that it is her first dance with Tony.
"Too Good to Be True" starts to play, and Tony stands, indicating that she should join him on the dance floor.
And for three minutes the day is theirs and theirs alone.
She spends much of the rest of the evening circulating and, under the influence of alcohol, making nice with relatives and "friends". She spends time with Jack and Kate, finally having the time to sit and talk to people that she is actually interested in having a conversation with.
It is late before the day is completed and she is exhausted. She lies on his bed, unable to move.
"Sleep," she says quietly and he grins at her.
"I love you, Mrs. Almeida," he tells her.
"Uh huh," she replies, attempting to inform him of everything she feels about him before she falls asleep. Although she doesn't get the words across she knows that he understands.
He kisses her goodnight. And she rests.
The end. Again, for now. I really hope that you enjoyed!