Page 50 of One Night Only
The flower girls have switched from excitement to terror and need to be gently pushed and pulled into position as a kind man in an impeccable suit hurries me forward, reminds me to smile and gives me a gentle nudge on the shoulder.
Showtime.
12
Oh my God, it’s hot.
What did the waiter say before? Roasting?
It’s a perfect description. I am roasting. I am being roasted alive in this tent. And I am not the only one.
We’ve only been inside twenty minutes but already most of the guests are visibly sweating, furiously fanning their faces with the wedding booklet. The only people who seem to be coping are Annie’s parents, used to the Florida heat. But the Irish? Not so much.
Not that I’m one to judge. Mary’s right. I’m used to heat with functional air conditioning, not the dozen weak desk fans they’ve plugged strategically around the room that do little other than provide a pleasant tickle at people’s ankles.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, slipping in my heels as the celebrant reads out a poem in Gaelic. I zone out immediately, the words, while pretty, meaning nothing to me and not for the first time, I let my eyes drift to Declan, who faces studiously to the front, a look of polite concentration on his face. He hasn’t looked at me once. Or maybe we’re doing the whole “we keep missing each other thing,” but I don’t think so.
It’s like he’s purposefully ignoring me. Like we didn’t just spend the night together.
And I know a part of me should be relieved about it. Especially since I broke my number one rule of don’t get too attached to people, but now, I feel almost insulted.
And really, really hot.
I squirm as a bead of sweat trickles down my back, fighting the urge to wipe my upper lip as the poem finally ends.
The celebrant smiles at the crowd, her voice rising over the soft whir of the fans. “Paul and Annie have chosen to mark their union by making their own unique and shared promises to each other. Will you both now please stand and face one another. We’ll start with Paul.”
“I have to confess,” Paul says with a nervous smile at the crowd. “Annie already knows what I’m about to say because she made me run it by her. I promise I’ll keep it short.”
I smile with the rest of the guests, but Annie doesn’t react. I glance at her, noticing a damp sheen creeping through her makeup. She swallows thickly and my smile drops. Maybe the hangover isn’t exactly over.
Paul doesn’t seem to realize as he turns back to face her, eyes glimmering with the beginning of unshed tears.
“Annie,” he starts, his voice already shaking as he glances down at the small written card in his hands. Mary muffles a sob behind me. “You are more than my best friend. You are my soul mate. And there are some days I can’t believe I was lucky enough to find you. I promise to stand beside you always, to listen and to learn and, whatever we face in the future, I promise you we’ll face it together.”
The celebrant turns to Annie, who sways imperceptibly beside me. “And now for the bride.”
She draws a breath but no words come out.
“Annie?” I mumble when she doesn’t speak.
“I’m okay.” She clears her throat, wiping a hand against her dress.
“Use your notes dear,” the celebrant whispers and Annie nods, blinking down at her card. Nothing happens.
I shouldn’t have made her eat the eggs.
Paul grows concerned as the silence stretches and the celebrant suddenly straightens.
“Stage fright,” she says, and laughs.
Annie sways again.
“Why don’t we move on to—”
She’s cut off as a collective gasp fills the tent and Paul’s arms shoot out to catch Annie as she crumples to the ground.
* * *
