Page 117 of Wilder at Heart
‘I have soothing under-eye patches in my kit,’ I tell Theo. ‘They were supposed to be for the bride, but clearly the groom needs them more. Get him to put them on for twenty minutes before the ceremony, if you can. They’re in the fridge in our cottage.’
His eyes shine with admiration. ‘You’re something else, you know?’ He leans down to kiss me, his warm lips slanting against mine, and I allow myself a moment to bask in his touch. His praise.
‘Was he like this, you know, last time around?’ I ask.
Theo snorts. ‘No way. I remember him being antsy. Tense. And a bit smug, I suppose. Allegra was a trophy wife on paper. She was the perfect arm candy, but I think my brother has proven that’s not the best reason to make someone the mother of your child.’
‘Saoirse will be the best stepmum ever.’
‘She will, and he’ll be the most devoted husband. Honestly, old Theo would think he was being pathetic. A few months ago, I would have ripped the piss out of him for being so emotional about tying the knot. But’—he looks down at me—‘now I get it. If I was about to marry you, I’d be just as overcome as he is. Overwhelmed that such an incredible woman was willing to share her life with me.’
Before I can say anything, he pulls me into his arms again, holding me as tightly as he can and sighing into my hair.
I’m not sure how I got this lucky. And I’m not sure how the hell the Theo Montague I reconnected with, a few months back, who’d had a threesome on camera and openly mocked my prudish ways, has transformed into this man. A man whose dangerous vibes make a pulse flutter between my legs before you can sayBelleand yet somehow makes me feel safer and more loved than I could ever have imagined.
The wedding goes off beautifully.As it unfolds, a small part of me is relishing the professional satisfaction of a job perfectly executed. But a far larger part of me is reeling, in the best possible way, from the emotional punch this day packs.
Miles didn’t get his Happy Ever After the first time around. And from what Saoirse and Theo have told me, the suffering he and his beautiful, tiny daughter went through during an endless lockdown with a wife and mother who’d just left them was unthinkable. Saoirse brought light back into their lives, and they’re the best ready-made family I’ve ever seen.
Like they were always meant to find each other.
I choose to think so, anyway.
I’m not the only one who feels this way. The outpouring of love from their families and friends is something I haven’t felt at very many weddings. This one is in a league of its own.
They marry under a canopy of white roses and greenery in the Walled Garden. Fun fact: the spot they stand in is pretty much the exact spot where Miles kissed Saoirse for the first time last Christmas, as they listened to a choir singing carols at the Sorrel Farm Christmas party. When Saoirse told me that story, I got goosebumps. She said it was the happiest night of her life, but she could never have imagined that a few months later she’d be standing in the same place and vowing to love Miles forever.
I know it’s the done thing to say the bride looks breathtaking, but holy crap. She really does. She’s in custom Astrid Carmichael, in another nod to the night they got together. Astrid told me Miles had her dress Saoirse for the party because she’d been worried about looking too scruffy. I mean, seriously? He did that for hisnanny. The guy’s a keeper.
Her gown is backless. Ethereal. Celestial, almost. She’s bare-headed aside from some white flowers woven into her dark hair, and in her hands is a bouquet of wild flowers from the farm. She’s like a creature from another world. A fairy queen.
Saoirse’s look epitomises one of the things I’ve enjoyed most about the aesthetic this couple has gone for. That’s the fact that despite an unlimited budget, it’s not flashy. It’s polished. Tasteful. But it’s not too manicured.
At the same time, its rustic vibe doesn’t turn kitsch. Every detail is on-point. Every touch has been endlessly planned and discussed. Siobhan and her teams are maestros when it comes to both vision and execution. The flowers woven into the canopy above Miles and Saoirse’s heads are flawless, but the overall effect is organic. Authentic.
It seems to me, they’ve got the balance completely right.
Bea acquits herself with aplomb as she saunters down the grassy aisle to the strains of a string quartet. She manages to combine her petal-strewing duties with some seriously energetic waving to anyone and everyone. She’s adorable in the palest pink chiffon dress with tiny ballet shoes. I hear she’s quite the ballerina.
My clever boyfriend has worked wonders on Miles’ puffy eyes, but his efforts all go to shit within seconds of Miles’ bride walking down the aisle, her eyes shining with love and hope. He weeps and splutters his way through his vows, and he definitely breaks tradition by leaning over and kissing his bride several times during the brief ceremony, as if to convince himself she’s not a mirage.
I get it. She looks like one.
Their kiss at the end has the crowd whooping and cheering, and parents covering their kids’ eyes. Miles doesn’t so much grope his wife’s ass as grind her against his crotch, and there’s a definite glimpse of tongue. I’m beaming at them for all I’m worth when I meet the gaze of the best man. His dark eyes are smouldering, and I catch hisyou’re gonna get it later, babyvibes so loud and clear that I have to squeeze my thighs together.
In an attempt to cool the flush creeping over my skin, I cast my eyes around the crowd. Everyone’s standing up, cheering and clapping. It’s absolutely fantastic and most un-British. From what I can hear, it’s the sizeable and excitable Irish contingent that’s leading the revelry. I suspect they’ll be first on the dancefloor later, too. But they’re whipping the more reserved Brits up with their infectious enthusiasm. Theo’s mum looks like she’s about to climb up on her chair.
I spot Elle and Josh standing discreetly in one of the furthest-back rows. He has her arm around her, and he’s wiping his eyes with a hanky. Another man brought to his knees by the love of a good woman. I’d put good money on that being the next wedding Theo and I attend.
Unless—gulp—it’s our own.
The Oast Houseis transformed with greenery. Vast garlands hang from the vaulted ceilings, and mature olive trees in huge pots punctuate the space. They’ll be replanted at the farm after the wedding. Just like with the Walled Garden, Miles and Saoirse have opted for an obscene budget and an organic, authentic end result, flawlessly executed.
Round tables groan under the weight of food and flowers. Saoirse was keen to avoid the generic plated-up courses so often associated with weddings. Instead, Zoe and her team of chefs have surpassed themselves with platter after platter of delicious food so the guests can indulge in family-style dining at each table.
We tuck into chicken quarters, crispy, golden skin intact, generous tranches of perfectly pink Sorrel Farm lamb, piles of crispy roast potatoes, and wilted greens so swimming in salt and butter that I even note some of the kids getting involved. Miles left most of the food-related decisions to me and Saoirse, but he did weigh in on the wine, which means we’re drinking an incredibly silky Pauillac.
Suffice to say, as the wine levels drop, the noise level soars, helped by a live Irish band playing through dinner. Saoirse’s mum helped us source them and fly them over for the weekend. They’ll play at the barbecue tomorrow, too.
