60. Meg
It was ironic that I didn’t know I was waking up to my wedding day. Even more ironic was my dress being white.
But the part that really caught me off guard was that I was okay. I said yes, and now, standing on the edge of it all, it felt like I'd finally stepped into a story I didn’t think was meant for me, but somehow fit like it was.
I wanted to text Isabel. I wanted to tell her about the King of Pentacles tarot card, and that she belonged at Belmont Manor with Roman. There was no one else I wanted to be here more than her. But I couldn’t say anything. Not that it made me too sad, because somehow I knew it would all work out in the end.
When I called Mom, she told me I’d find a millefoglie in the cooler bag, a traditional Italian wedding cake, just big enough for two. I might have cried, and she cried too.
“You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked her.
“Because then you would have been nervous from the moment you woke up. Believe me, I am nervous enough for both of us.”
“I am a little scared, Mom. Is it okay to be scared?”
And through the tears, she laughed. “When Pops and I got married in the Little White Chapel, I was shaking so badly, Pops couldn’t put the ring on my finger. But then Pops told me it’s okay to be scared, because he was scared too, and it’s better to be scared together than scared alone.”
It turned out Kevin Malone could fly helicopters, too. And he was the one flying Byron and me to Castle Rock. Only once did he look back at us with a devious little smile. “Don’t mind me. Just pretend I’m not even here,” he said.
Castle Rock sat on the edge of a giant cliff, beautiful and desolate. I could see why Nelson had a hard time finding a priest to make the trip. But the priest showed up in an Uber, three sheets to the wind, and his name was Father Duffy.
The sky was bruised grey, thick with clouds that threatened rain but held back. And the wind didn’t so much blow as howl, while below the cliff, the ocean roared and crashed like it was trying to bless us in its own furious way.
Byron took me to the edge of the cliff, and his eyes were locked on me like I was the only thing in the world that made sense.
And there we were, just Byron and me, and a drunken priest, and a cliff that looked like it had been carved out of a dream, all sharp-edged and wild, like love before it was tamed.
There was also the sound of my heart hammering louder than the waves.
Father Duffy, the sweet disaster of a priest, opened his little leather book upside down and started the ceremony twice. He forgot our names once, then mispronounced them the second time, before giving up and saying, “You know who you are. And if you don’t, well, now’s a hell of a time to figure it out.”
Byron and I laughed so hard we could barely breathe, and when Father Duffy asked if I had vows, I looked at Byron, this beautiful, impulsive man who didn’t ask me to be anything other than exactly what I was, and said. “This is insane, but I’ve never felt more certain of anything in my life.”
Byron reached for my hand, the wind whipping between us, and said, “ So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you .”
We kissed before Father Duffy said we could. And Byron kissed me until I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to be kissed by him.
“You’re married now,” Father Duffy declared unceremoniously. Then he took out his little flask and cheered to our future. “Go do something stupid together. And feel free to tip.”
Byron and I had some champagne sitting near the edge of the cliff, and we put our wedding rings away in a little box to wear much later when our secret was out.
It started to rain, which made the helicopter trip back to Belmont Manor a bumpy ride. But Byron had an airsick bag ready for me, just in case.
It was much later, back in the office, when I received a text.
BB: So, you married Byron. I guess congratulations then.
Me: You should have been there. It was quite the romantic rendezvous.
BB: Well, I’m not into married women, so I suppose this is adios. I hope he fulfills all your dreams.
Me: He will. He’s everything I want. And he’s all I need. Adios, Quasi, it’s been fun.
Not long after, I received another text.
Byron: Kevin will take you to the marina. Look for the canoe that says The Minx, and I’ll see you there.
Kevin took me to the marina late in the afternoon. “You two have fun now,” he said when he opened the back door. “And if you need anything, I’ll be right here.”
“Thanks, Kev. You’re my favorite ex-Marine.”
I walked along the dock, the path stretching long and narrow beneath my heels. The sea was all sighs and shimmers, the sky above dipped in rose and honey, just before the sun kissed the horizon goodnight.
A cold breeze, scented faintly with salt and sea, led the way, and I swore I could hear my heart in my heels with every step I took.
And there she was, the yacht formerly known as Aurora, her new name curved in elegant black letters across the hull – The Minx.
Byron stood at the bow with his easy elegance, a smile tugging at his mouth, his black hair tousled just so, as if the breeze loved him too.
“Nice canoe,” I said. “Would you mind giving me the nickel tour?
He smiled that slow, wicked smile that had gotten me into this whole beautiful mess in the first place. “For a nickel, I’ll give you a whole lot more than just a tour.”
As he helped me aboard, Bohemian Rhapsody came over the sound system, and I had to smile.
Byron led me to the deck and took me into his arms. “I don’t know how you dance to this song, but we’re going to try.”
And as the sun dipped below the horizon, we started a slow dance to Freddy Mercury singing Bohemian Rhapsody.
“And before I forget,” Byron said. “Thank you for saying I do .”
Thank you for reading Prelude to a Kiss.