Dreadlock holiday chapter 6
A/N: Here it is, the sixth and final (so sorry) chapter of this story. Hope you like it. Hope you liked it in total. Thanks for all the positive reviews. And to make up for yet another story coming to an end: a new story is already halfway done and I'll post the first chapter soon, I promise!
Disclaimer: I could go all Smeagol/Gollum on you and claim they're mine, but we all know how he ended up. So no, Dick Wolf can have his precious characters. And Tolkien can keep Gollum, just to make sure I have all bases covered. Oh well…on we go…
As it quickly turns out, it's still quite a hassle to get things going. There are a lot of things you don't need to plan of course (like guests lists, invitations, cakes, party locations, etc.), but that doesn't mean that everything else doesn't take its time. First of all, the good people at the embassy make all the prejudices against civil servants (and Caribbean ones at that) come true: as laid back as the rest of the island; words as 'fast' or 'speedy' or 'now' fail to impress and therefore it takes the entire Monday morning for them to process your requests. And then you leave without any results as, due to the time difference, the offices in the UK are already closed.
You separate your ways for a while as Matt catches a cab back to discuss proceedings with Father Lawrence while you roam the shops to find a dress. You purposefully avoid the bridal stores, since you're absolutely don't like the stereotypical puffy, fluffy lacy stuff. You want something simple, yet elegant, something you can wear again on another occasion.
In the end, at a small, unpresumptuous little boutique, you find the perfect dress. White, strapless, with a tight bodice and a flowing skirt to your ankles, it's not much to look at on the hanger, but ever so pretty on a dark haired, dark skinned lady with some subtle curves. Yes, you can see yourself getting married in this outfit. The kind owner refers you to a shoe store where you find the perfect pair of strappy sandals to go with it.
With time to spare (you're supposed to meet Matt for dinner in another three hours), you arrive back at the resort, where you decide to indulge in a little pampering at the resort's spa. When you tell them about your upcoming wedding, the girls insist on giving you the full treatment at a special offer discount and so for the next hours, you get a mud bath, a hot stone massage, a facial, a manicure and pedicure and a hair mask, leaving you glowing from head to toe. But then again, your skin already has a rather healthy glow about it the last few days and that comes from a treatment none of these kind ladies can top.
Still, when you walk into the restaurant, Matt wolf whistles when he sees you come in. You grin as you hurry to meet up with him, kissing him softly. Gallantly, he helps you settle in your chair.
"Wow, Lesh, you look amazing. Have I proposed to you yet?"
"Not today," you answer lightly, amazed at the surge of happiness gripping you at the mere thought that this man will be your husband in merely four days time.
If the people at the embassy will hurry up!
"But you will still marry me, right?"
"Very well, if you insist." You sigh dramatically.
"But I do," he exclaims dramatically, "Before some other lucky bastard comes in and sweeps you away."
"Don't worry about that too much, love. I set my standards pretty high and I'm not easily being swept away by just any bloke."
"So I'm pretty special."
He's needling you for compliments now, as eagerly as a puppy. If he had a tail, it would wag like mad. But he at least does have the eyes.
And the hands...the lips...
"You're very special, Matt Devlin. I love you and I'm counting the hours until we're husband and wife."
Luckily, your food arrives, saving you from becoming way too sappy for your own taste. Starving after a "cleansing" diet of wheat grass juice and an assortment of other disgusting yet apparently very healthy concoctions at the spa, you tuck into your meal with a gusto, not caring about the grease or the calories. You've lost quite some weight the last few days sulking and should you break out in acne on your wedding day, you could always opt to wear a veil. Your boyfriend/fiancé/groom just raises one eyebrow in surprise and chuckles.
"Wow, Lesh...might as well marry Ronnie if you're stuffing your face like that."
"By all means, you'll make an excellent third Mrs. Brooks."
Grinning as he knows he's defeated, Matt shakes his head and takes a perfectly measured, controlled bite of his own rabbit food. You let him. Some arguments are just not worth having. Or maybe for the make-up sex...hmmm...
In the next few days, after some frantic running around the centre of Kingston and some hasty e-mails and phone calls to the mother land, everything falls together and with a sigh of relief, the two of you leave the British Embassy on Thursday afternoon with a manila folder with all needed documents and certificates, signed, sealed and delivered, tucked under Matt's arm.
In order to preserve some sort of tradition, Father Lawrence offers you a room in his home next to the church for the night before the wedding. Knowing very well of course that you're by no accounts a blushing maiden, he does frown upon the modern idea that husband and wife should see each other on their wedding day, before the ceremony has started, let alone arrive in the same car as if this is no more than a formality.
In all honesty, you would have preferred to fall asleep in Matt's embrace, as you've very fast gotten used to, but you're not into hurting this kind man's feelings and you do kind of like to go with some traditions, as you have to forego on so many of them already. Besides, after tonight, you'll get to spend all your nights wrapped up in the arms of your beloved. Surely, you're not so desperate you can't sleep without clinging to you man?
Well, truth be told, you really don't sleep that well. Maybe it's the hardness of the small, simple cot, so narrow after the soft, queen sized bed in your room (where your husband to be now tosses and turns alone) or maybe it truly is the lack of warmth his presence provides. Or perhaps it's the million and one thoughts invading your mind from all directions, varying from the practicality of your union (where will you live, what to do about the cat, will you take his last name, both in private as well as career wise?) to the emotional (will we make it, am I cut out to be a copper's wife, how about kids?).
The buzz of your phone takes you out of your reverie. You grab the little device and smile as you read Matt's text.
Bed's cold without u.
Miss u. Xoxo
You quickly reply.
Miss u 2.
Just 1 night.
2gether 4ever. X
His reply comes within a minute.
No cold feet?
You answer with an undignified "Never!"
His reassurance ("My neither. Love you.") makes you smile. You send him another kiss and after that, do manage to catch some sleep before a few hours later, a beautiful sunshine and Father Lawrence both come to wake you on what should become the most beautiful day of your life.
Much to your surprise, Father Lawrence's maid, a plump, black woman with a sweet natured spirit, has already laid out your dress and shoes and has drawn you a bath. Though you prefer to have taken a quick refreshing shower, you're not about to hurt the lady's feelings and so you sponge yourself off and get dressed. By lack of jewellery, you opt for a myriad of colourful local flowers, tucking some of them in your pinned up hair and making an impromptu bouquet out of the rest. When your outfit is done, you know you couldn't have looked any better in a true wedding gown. Instead, you resemble an exotic princess, or so your sweet hostess tells you. When you kindly ask her if she would also stand in for you as matron of honour, a genuine tear escapes her kind brown eyes and she nods.
"Gladly, my child. You make such a pretty bride. Now, let's get some breakfast inside you while I go check if the groom has shown up already."
For the first time since you've made your decision to get married, a flock of frantic butterflies scurries the inside of your stomach, making swallowing of the wonderful fruit salad you're having for breakfast rather difficult.
You're quite alone in the narrow kitchen and once you've finished your breakfast, you're getting a little fidgety. Like everything else in the priest's household, the room as almost Spartan, so there's nothing in here to distract yourself with, unless you want to go wash the dishes. But the meagre collection of cups and saucers neatly stacked in the sink is hardly worthwhile and you're afraid to stain your (so far) immaculate white dress.
Just as you're about to break the promise of staying put, Father Lawrence steps in, already dressed for the occasion and delighted when he sees you all ready to go.
"Come, my child. Your groom has arrived and it is time to get the blessed union of the pair of you underway."
Smiling and using the little bouquet to hide the slight trembling of your hands, you follow him out of the kitchen and out the front door to meet with your groom.
Matt is wearing a light gray summer suit with a sky blue shirt which matches his eyes in colour if not in sparkle. They light up even more as you approach him. His jaw slackens slightly and you smile at the unspoken compliment. Rendering a man speechless, especially a suave, smooth talking specimen like Matt, is always an accomplishment to be proud of.
Laughing, you hurry into his open arms, shutting his mouth with one finger.
"Careful, my love, you wouldn't want to drool all over your suit. You look very handsome by the way."
"And you...oh Lesh...I..."
Again...speechless.
"So you like?"
"I love...love the dress, love you."
"Well then, let's get married."
A week later...
How different is your flight home from the one you took a little over two weeks ago. You're utterly relaxed, left hand with the simple gold wedding band entwined with your husband's, who has fallen asleep in the luxury seat in first class. Your ticket was pre booked in first class, but when you wanted to exchange Matt's for a first class tickets, problems ensued...until you told them of your wedding. Moods lifted, the sweet attendants swopped his ticket without charge. Or perhaps the fact his usual beaming smile is all the more prominent, helped some too. Either way, he's right here next to you, looking younger than his years, utterly relaxed and happy. Simply beautiful.
Your husband.
And you can't stop glancing from your ring to his face and back...Mrs. Matt Devlin. Alesha Devlin. God, that sounds good. It feels good too. Every pun intended.
After you came back from the church, the first surprise you encountered as soon as Matt carried you over the threshold (well, that really was the first surprise, but whatever), was the tray on the bedside table with a complimentary bottle of champagne in a cooler and bowls of strawberries, chocolate sauce and whipped cream next to it. Courtesy of the resort staff in honour of the newlyweds.
After devouring this lovely treat (as well as each other; several times) you cuddled up against his chest, and started to discuss the practicalities of your marriage.
It was decided that Matt would move in with you for the time being. Your flat is not that much larger than his, but it is in a slightly better neighbourhood and closer to work for the both of you. He will bring his cat and take from his furniture the things he can't possible live without (which isn't much) and put the rest in storage. In the meantime, you would go look for a bigger place for the two of you, taking an expansion of your two-person household into the account.
Having kids was a slightly more difficult conversation, since Matt didn't believe he would make a good enough father, having had only very bad examples growing up. You vehemently denied he would be a bad daddy, knowing he had every character aspect it took to make an exceptional father and role model. At the end of a rather heated discussion, you decided to let the chips fall as they may. If you were blessed with any children, than you would raise them with love and care and learn along the way. If not...you would find other ways to make your marriage work.
Back home, you managed to keep your mouths shut about your marriage for a few days. You sent out pretty invitations to your coworkers, friends and family to gather at one of your favourite restaurants, making them think it was just a little belated birthday party. It makes sense, because you didn't really celebrate your birthday the month before; having come down with a nasty cold and after that, being buried underneath a pile of work.
You have a beamer set up to show the pictures of your holiday, including the ones taken at your wedding. When everyone is gathered, you casually show your snapshots. It all looks innocent enough, just your standard holiday pics, until the first ones come up with you wearing your pretty summery white dress. Niamh gasps, being the first one to catch on, especially when seeing the next picture, showing her brother in his light summer suit, carnation in his lapel, staring rather dumbfounded (and endearing) at his bride.
As the next picture (the two of you standing in front of father Lawrence, holding hands) comes up, Ronnie lurches forward to pause the laptop.
"Did we just see what I think we just saw?"
Grinning madly at his mate, Matt answers.
"Depends on what you think you just saw."
Niamh cuts in.
"Did my big brother have to gall to get married hundreds of kilometres away from here, without his family and friends around?"
"Eh…yes?"
"I can't believe this."
"Perhaps you'll believe this?"
He proudly takes your hand, reaching in his pocket with the other one to pull out your ring, and gently replaces it on your wedding finger. Your left hand, as his Catholic tradition indicates. That has never been an issue with you, you gladly adapt, knowing his faith means a lot more to him than to you. You've already agreed that, should you have any kids, they too will be baptized in a Catholic church.
For one second, you can hear a pin drop. Then all hell breaks loose as everyone falls all over you with well wishes and gentle scolding about them not being there. But, since you reckoned something like this would happen, you prepared this party well. At a sign of Matt, the staff bring out a beautiful wedding cake, decorated with delicate marzipan flowers resembling your exotic wedding bouquet. As an extra gesture to the ones who are really upset not to hear you exchange your vows, you pull George aside.
"George, how long has it been since you've presided a wedding?"
Surprised, but obviously touched, your boss readily agrees to help you perform a little impromptu ceremony, never mind the fact that is was legal all along.
Matt too joins in and, with everyone you both love, gathered in a circle around you, you both repeat your vows of eternal love and dedication. When George again declares you husband and wife, all females are blubbering and all males stand proudly by. But the real surprise of the evening is James, whose congratulations are as sincere as his apologies to your husband. And as the ultimate gesture, he ends up picking up the tab, never even wincing at the amount.
Slightly buzzed and more than a little happy, you head home. All's well if it ends well. And you couldn't have pictured a better ending than this one.
And you lived happily ever after…
THE END
Again, thanks for reading. Reviews much appreciated.
