Chapter 32 Andrea
Andrea
“We are gathered here today not simply to witness a marriage, but to recognize a choice.”
The words carried across the Jardin Anglais. Rows of white chairs had been placed on the lawn running between the chateau and the lake. A child’s voice sounded behind me, quickly hushed by its mother.
It was just past five and the afternoon heat hadn’t quite disappeared yet. My neck and the back of my knees felt hot.
Next to me, Liam shifted in his seat and reached out to take my hand. I pressed my knees together and looked down at my program.
“Love is the choice to share the load. To stop carrying everything alone.”
He made it sound easy, like a bag of groceries you could just leave by the door. As if the weight didn’t fuse itself to your spine over time, shaping the way you stood and slept, the way you watched, constantly, for signs of collapse.
It was hard to imagine not carrying everything alone—it was what I’d done almost as long as I could remember.
In front of me, heads bobbed.
“Marriage is not the promise that life will be easy. It is the promise that life will be shared. That when one person falters, the other will step forward.”
The bride’s veil lifted and settled in the light breeze. Next to her, the groom stood with his weight balanced, listening intently to the officiant’s words as they carried smoothly across the gardens.
“Marriage asks us to let ourselves be known, and to allow ourselves to be supported. It asks for honesty, patience, and the courage to need one another.”
Liam was watching the officiant, as though listening to someone speak about reliance and being supported didn’t feel like a trapdoor opening beneath his feet.
Nobody around me seemed even vaguely uncomfortable with that idea. Why did I?
Dad had always been the support in our family. Reliable, steady, safe. Leaving the house at seven every day, home again twelve hours later. Chocolate for us from the service station on a Friday night, mowing the lawns on Saturday.
I’d never even considered that could end, that he could just disappear from our lives in a flash and never come back. No bargaining, no negotiation—just gone.
I thought of my mother’s face, eyes rimmed red, the day she’d told us about the accident.
Eliza at eleven, sitting at the kitchen table and acting like she hadn’t even heard her, asking what was for dinner.
The house had gone so quiet. Everything continued like nothing had changed. But everything had.
It had felt like everyone was waiting for something.
For me to say it was fine.
But how could I? It wasn’t, and I couldn’t change that. A huge, gaping hole had been ripped through our family, and it would never be fine again.
“And so, before these witnesses, and in this place, we invite you now to make those promises aloud.”
Liam adjusted his fingers around my hand, and his thumb brushed my knuckle. I stared straight ahead.
Did it ever occur to him to brace himself, to expect the ground to give way without warning? Did he know anything could happen at any moment and change everything in a heartbeat, or was I the only one who thought like that?
But I knew I wasn’t wrong. There were no guarantees.
The officiant smiled at the couple.
“Marriage is not endurance. It is interdependence.”
The word felt too abstract, like something you learned about rather than lived. How could another person promise to always be there for you? They couldn’t—they didn’t know.
Dad hadn’t planned on dying, but he had anyway. And Mum wasn’t ready for that—none of us were. The hole was too big to fill, too much to bear.
If we’d known beforehand that safety was an illusion, would it have hurt less? Could Mum have handled it, kept going to work, not sunk into depression, if she’d known in advance how big the weight on her shoulders would be?
I flexed my toes inside my shoes, pressing them against the grit and uneven stone, and glanced sideways at Liam. He met my eyes, then looked back to the front.
The groom spoke first.
“I promise to notice when you’re tired, even when you don’t say it.”
It felt like a rubber band was drawing taut across the back of my neck. Being noticed when I was tired felt dangerous. It meant someone else deciding where my limits were, like I might get too used to it—relying on someone else.
Liam’s fingers closed tighter around mine.
“You do not have to be strong with me,” said the bride. Her voice wavered, like she might cry.
The space seemed to narrow, and I focused on the stonework behind the couple.
Strong.
The word had always been mine. Claimed early, reinforced often. Praised. Expected.
If I let someone else share the load, that meant risk. That they might drop it, leave—even if they didn’t mean to—and I’d break from the pain like Mum had.
My grip loosened in Liam’s hand and he shifted closer. I felt the side of his arm brush against mine, his hand not moving from my thigh.
The officiant was still talking, but I barely heard him, my pulse was thudding so hard in my ears.
I could do this part. Sit still. Listen. Smile when needed.
I always could.
The couple turned toward each other, hands joined. I felt something inside me move, a small, unwelcome awareness that sat in my chest like a stone in my shoe.
But if I let Liam in, let him look after me, I might need him too much. Something could change without warning and take it all away.
And that was a risk I couldn’t take.
I creased the program again and slid it under my thigh so I wouldn’t keep touching it.
And then it was done.
Applause broke out, and the air rushed back in. I must have been holding myself very still.
Liam’s hand slipped from mine as we stood, leaving my fingers tingling where his had been—a faint, electrical afterimage.
Nick and Juliette stepped forward, and cameras appeared, someone adjusting the bride’s veil and making a joke.
Around us, people stood and stretched, abandoning their programs on chairs as the sound of glassware and voices drifted down from the terrace. My dress felt stiff against my skin, like it was keeping me in check.
“Well. They did it.” Liam was standing next to me, close enough that the heat from his arm reached mine. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
No. I was too hot. He was too close.
The crowd began to move, and we drifted with it along the path as it rose gently from the garden, people breaking off into smaller knots to greet each other. A kiss and a hand on an arm, polite laughter floating over the grounds. The air was busy with sound, but none of it seemed to belong to me.
I saw Dex up ahead, already mid-story, mapping out something elaborate with his hands. He caught Liam’s eye and lifted his chin, grinning in my direction before someone else took his attention.
Ben was a few feet behind him, his jacket slung over one shoulder. He saw Liam and smiled.
“Ben. Ben Roth!” A tall, dark-haired woman in a bright turquoise dress was waving him over, her arm held high.
“Francoise!”
They all knew each other. I didn’t know anyone.
The crowd continued its shuffle toward the terrace and I eased back a step, letting the flow of people move between us.
Liam stopped and glanced back, and I hesitated. There was nowhere for me to go. These people, the wedding, the dinners, and the parties. They’d all known each other for years. I’d never be someone who really belonged, like they did.
If I let myself want that—to be part of this, alongside him, leaning on him—it could all be taken away in an instant. The minute he realized I didn’t fit.
He extended his arm behind him, waiting.
But this was Liam. I’d seen a side of him this week I’d never expected, like he cared more about me than any of this stuff I’d thought was so important to him.
His open palm hung in the air, cutting through the bodies. I stepped forward and took his hand, his fingers tightening around mine as we kept walking, the crowds closing in around us. Maybe, with him next to me, I could do it after all.
A waiter pressed a cold stem into my hand.
On the other side of the crowd, I saw Bonnie under the trees, talking with a group of women who all looked a bit like her.
How was her own big act going? Confidence is attractive; effort is not.
Ironic, considering how hard she’d tried.
I already felt a bit softer toward her, knowing that.
She caught sight of me and gave a small wave, but I looked away before she could summon me over. Not that soft.
Liam adjusted his pace as someone stepped into our path, angling his body just enough that I didn’t have to break stride.
His hand pressed into the bare skin of my back and we stepped into the reception space, the sound level climbing.
The edge of the terrace was lined with tables dressed in white, on them, chilled bottles of champagne.
Didn’t they ever get sick of it? I wished I could ask for a pint of shandy, but it wouldn’t go with the dress.
“Liam, there you are.”
A deep voice I recognized sounded behind us.
“And Andrea!”
I turned. Hugo and Miranda were beaming at us, and my heart did a small, grateful lift as Miranda stepped in and hugged me.
“My dear, you look absolutely stunning,” she said. “And what a beautiful dress. Lavender suits you.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Liam rested a hand around my waist, and I felt myself flush again, thinking of this morning when his arm had been wrapped around me, and he’d been pressed against my back.
“Thank you, Miranda, you look lovely, too. It’s good to see you both again.” My shoulders loosened. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Hugo turned to Liam. “And you’re not looking too bad yourself.” He managed to make his smile look a bit like a frown, but the humor bled through at the edges. “Nick and Juliette are thrilled you both made it.”
“Sorry we couldn’t chat much yesterday.” Miranda touched me on the arm. “Unfortunately, we still have to do the rounds.”
“But grab me in an hour or so, Liam,” Hugo added. “I have some updates about your Novexia issue.”
“Great, I will.”