Longest chapter yet! I think this was the easiest chapter to write of all, and I'm an itsy bit proud of it. Working on the honeymoon part now. :)

Chapter 9

In the weeks following her re-appearance you've learnt new things about her. Like how she learnt how to write with her right hand. Or more significantly, how she was the one leaving you those notes. So that you wouldn't feel alone. So that you didn't go off the deep end completely. Deep down, you think you've always known. And you marvel at the way she watched over you even from a distance and the way she managed to keep you both sane and made you question your own sanity. She's exactly that deeply complex person you've always believed her to be. But it is what she does next that completely stuns you. It takes your breath away…

.

.

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You don't expect it.

Any of it.

One moment she's telling you that she's going to spend the night with Tommy and Frankie - a bit of sibling time together - and how she's arranged for your mother and father to come visit so that you're not completely alone, the next, you're waking up to the beginning of the sun's rays, a single red rose lies on the pillow beside you with a small post-it that says 'trust me' and just across from you, where the doors to your walk-in wardrobe are, is a garment bag hanging on the door.

It's your wedding dress.

The one you had originally chosen. The one you were supposed to walk down the aisle in weeks ago. You wonder how she even knew.

And then it hits you.

You're getting married.

Somehow, sometime, somewhere, she found time to arrange it all, to organize it, without you even knowing.

It's a flurry of activity from there on out. Dress on, make-up done, the next thing you know, you're mother's kissing you on the cheek promising to see you there whilst you're father escorts you down the driveway of your house where a classic white vintage morgan awaits you; you barely have time to process it all like where she found the car, how she put it all together, how did she even know about the dress, has she seen the dress, where is it to be held, who's been invited, what about the food, the caterers, the flowers...? It's a slew of never-ending questions.

All these questions...they all flutter through what she has fondly termed, that 'big brain' of yours, as you pass by houses, cars, buildings, people, all going about their day which carries little or no significance in comparison to yours.

It strikes you then. Like it did before.

You're getting married.

But before you even have the chance to react to those three words, the car comes to a stop and your father gets out, moving round to the other side just as the driver opens the door. He offers you his hand which you gladly accept; to ground you, stabilize you. He takes your hand as you get out of the car and tucks it under his arm and leads you down the path to where...

you gasp.

It's beautiful.

In the middle of the Common stands a white marquee and to the right of it, white-backed chairs adorned with red and white roses down the aisle. The red carries a wealth of significance; a symbol of deep emotion...of love...and fidelity. Its romantic symbol for true love and commitment. The white, both formal and elegant in its beauty sits in among the red in recognition of sincerity and of a love that resides only in the soul; irrelevant is the temptations of the flesh. Sometimes called the 'flower of light,' it signifies an everlasting love; a love stronger than death, an eternal love, undying in all its form. Its presence only enhances the beauty of it all.

Your guests are each standing in front of the chairs they have been assigned and as soon as they see you, they all turn and smile.

And then the music starts.

A soft symphony of the traditional wedding march, and you start walking. You're too entranced by the magnitude of it all to register that the music is not the normal sort of recording played on a CD player, that it is far too ethereal for it to be so, and so, when you come round the corner, and you turn to walk down the aisle that had been patterned with petals, you find yourself gasping once again and fighting back tears and a wealth of emotions threatening to overwhelm. Instead of finding her standing at the end of the aisle waiting for you, she's playing you down it.

In that moment, the Earth stops turning, time stops ticking, your heart skips a beat, the guests, people surrounding, the birds, the smell of freshly cut grass and the rest of the park goers off to one side cease to exist. It's a phenomenon that's scientifically impossible, laughable even but it happens nonetheless. Your father squeezes your arm in support, the widest smile you've ever seen on his fact and it takes all your willpower to not break down and rush towards her. She raises her eyes to meet yours and she gives you a small, crooked smile and a slight nod of the head towards the makeshift alter which consists of two white pillars with simple vines weaving up and around, as if to say, "shall we?" and it kicks you back into action again. You tighten your hold on your father's arm and slowly but surely, the two of you make your way down the aisle.

By some miraculous feat of coordination, she stops playing just a few steps before you get there to make her way towards you, and the music continues, picking up from where she left off. And before you know it, you're standing beside her and she takes both your hands in hers, nodding her thanks to your father who's more than a little wistful to give the hand of his one and only child to the woman he's come to call family. You giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek and that beaming smile once more adorns his face as your mother lightly tugs him away from you, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. After all, he has to let you go even though he's not ready to...not quite yet...

And once more, you turn to face the woman before you whose hands are intertwined with yours and the two of you step closer, so in sync with each other it's unbelievable. You're blushing but at the same time, the tears start running down your face and you fight vainly to stop them, chuckling a little when you see the panicked look in her eyes. Your detective has never been good with tears or emotions but after the enormity of what she's gone and organised with no help whatsoever from you, and with all the things she's gone and captured in detail, from the flowers, to the music, to the piano, to the serenity and perfection of the location, you find it hard to believe. She quickly pulls you in closer, closing her hands of your face as her thumbs lightly brush the stream of tears away careful not to ruin your make-up too much, little whispers of "hey, don't cry, please don't cry" float towards you as she pleads with you.

She's alarmed, you can tell. But then your heart races with her next words.

"I know it's not quite what you organised previously. And I know it's not what you had your heart set on but if you want, we don't have to do it today. We don't have to get married yet. We have all the time in the world..." This time, it's your turn to panic. You shake your head, desperately trying to stave off the ever-flowing waterworks and you cup you hands over hers, leaning to rest your forehead on her.

"No,"you say. "There's nothing I want more than to marry you."

There's relief and the sudden bustling of your mother as she attempts to fix your tear streaked face before you're once more right by her side, one hand curled round her arm, the other holding clasping her hand as you face the clergyman whose eyes that have seen an equal, if not greater amount of divorce and death, sparkle with delight, as if the display of affection and adoration has re-affirmed for him the fact that there is true love out there; that there is one person for another, and vice-versa, and whose soul is so closely connected with the other that not even time can break.

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There's music and dancing and laughter and food. Your mother-in-law somehow pulled off a variety of dishes which sat in the buffet hot plates, ready and waiting for the guests to help themselves to, and all delicious in their own right. With everyone having eaten their fill, they're either on the makeshift floor, dancing it off or still seated at the table in stuffed ignorance as they watch the rest take a twirl on the dance floor.

You're loathe to let her dance with anyone else. All you want to do is stay in this moment.

Forever.

While this day has been perfect, beyond your wildest dreams even, it's her arms around your waist, it's her presence by your side, it's the hand that led you with confidence through the background of people who have become a part of your life as you got up to dance once again that matter most. Because to you, she matters.

To you,

she means everything.

I think this was my favorite chapter yet. What do you guys think? Too sappy?