Page 50 of Home to Christmas Island
A while ago, Florence.
I peer up at him, my heart straining to the point of pain.
Why?
He shrugs one shoulder. Why not? I mean it’s not as thrilling as the lights of, say, a kitchen fire—but I like a little Christmas magic. He looks down at me then, his voice a shade quieter when he goes on. I thought maybe we’d come up here sometime, that you might like the surprise.
He thought of this a while ago. I let that thought sink in and it feels like I’m lighting up from the inside.
I like you, ‘Just Florence.’ There’s no doubt about that. Couldn’t stop it if I tried.
I pull him down towards me, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to taste those words on his lips: Couldn’t stop it if I tried.
Chapter 22
I BRUSH THE SHOULDERS OF Alba’s cream pantsuit, fussing over her one last time.
The last week has flown by, and I can’t believe the wedding day is already here.
How do I look? I can tell she’s nervous. Alba is never nervous. Normally I would tease her, but I want everything to be perfect today.
You look, I say, surprised to find a frog in my throat already, in-cred-ible. You should wear this colour more often.
She takes a deep breath. You have the rings?
I have the rings.
You made sure the—
Alba, everything is ready. I promise, I say, shaking her shoulders slightly. All you have to do now is come with me. I hold my hand out to her and she takes it.
I’ve spent the last week split between the B&B and Alistair’s, going over as soon as he’s off work each day, no matter how early or late. I can’t seem to get enough of him. It gets a little less weird to be at the lake house each time I go, but there’s a fair amount of dissociating happening on my end—I’ve been really trying to pretend it’s not my old house.
But we’ve been so busy with the wedding preparations that I haven’t seen Alistair since the night before last, and I feel desperate for even a glimpse of him. What I really want is for him to take one look at me in my fitted, crimson red dress, before throwing me over his shoulder.
Alba and Rose wanted to get married here at the bed and breakfast. We’ve set up an altar in the main lodge and placed it in front of the unlit fireplace. The room is lined with chairs for the ceremony. Rose has been getting ready in one of the other cottages with Mrs. Denny, while Alba and I stayed at the house.
I’m nervous about the weather, Alba says as we step outside. There’s a big snowstorm forecasted to hit later tonight.
Albs, the worst thing is that people will have to stay here at the cottages and in the lodge, which is totally fine. We’ve prepared for that.
What if we lose power?
We might, I admit, nodding. But we have candles galore, and Mr. Denny is going to bring his generator. Besides, it’ll be romantic if we have to do everything by candlelight. It’s going to be amazing, no matter what.
We’re outside of the building now. Uncle Albie is waiting to venture down the aisle with his daughter. He is determined to do this walk with Alba on his own two feet, so he’s using his cane today. His wheelchair is waiting in the front row among the other chairs, meaning it’s nearby if he needs it. But I can tell by the look of pride shining on my uncle’s face that even if they have to go slowly, he’s doing this his way.
I walk out first, trying not to walk at my regular, brisk, pace. I don’t dare look anywhere but forward. When Uncle Albie finishes walking down the aisle with Alba, he hugs her tightly before sitting down.
Rose’s maid of honour, her childhood best friend Becca, who I only met for the first time last night, comes in next. She’s in a green dress and gives both of us a little thumbs up when she reaches the end of the aisle. I can feel Alba thrumming with energy in front of me. I reach over and squeeze her shoulder. She peers back at me, and her eyes are shining with tears, but she’s positively beaming. She looks so ridiculously happy, and I can’t help the smile that starts blooming on my own face.
And that’s when Rose appears.
She is sparkling—figuratively and literally sparkling, her white dress shimmering in the lights, her face absolutely radiant.
Alba makes a noise that is somehow all at once a choke, a sob, a gasp, and a laugh.
Rose laughs too, her eyes never straying from Alba’s. I feel the tears falling, my own cheeks already bursting with joy. I peek over at Becca, whose watery eyes and bright smile are fixed on her friend.
