Chapter Thirty-Three #2
Elaine stood behind him with her sewing kit open on the desk beside her and a thermos of tea at her elbow. Her outfit was simple and neat, a pale green dress, tiny gold pendant she always wore, with a simple matching fascinator. No pearls. No diamonds. No airs. Just… style.
“James,” she said gently, with the patience of a saint, “if you tug that thing any harder, it’ll snap, and we’ll have to glue it on.”
“I’m sweating,” he protested.
“You’re nervous,” she corrected. “And also sweating, yes, but that’s normal. Sit, sweetheart.”
He obeyed instantly. Elaine’s powers were unmatched.
As she retied the bow tie with the ease of a woman who’d done more with less, I noticed something else, she wasn’t fussing. She wasn’t panicking. She was simply there. Steady. Supportive. The grounding centre of the room.
“Drink some tea,” she said, handing him her thermos. “Not that fancy coffee. That’ll send your heart through the roof.”
James took a sip, visibly calmer already. “Thanks, Mum.”
Across the room, Lucas was sprawled on a leather armchair like he was modelling for GQ Groom’s Edition. His suit was seamless. His hair was immaculate. His posture practically radiated self-satisfaction.
He twirled a cufflink. “I’m just saying, if I look this good before noon, imagine me at the reception.”
“Lucas,” Elaine said without even looking at him, “stop flirting with yourself and help your friend.”
I nearly laughed. Lucas actually shut up.
I cleared my throat and pulled out my clipboard. “Just checking in on suits, timing, vows, rings, emotional stability—”
“We’re good,” James said quickly, standing up straighter.
“We’re fine,” Lucas added, adjusting his cufflink unnecessarily.
I smiled despite everything. “Well, it’s all going smoothly. Florals are breathtaking. Luca is almost done photographing Caroline. The catering team is prepped. The quartet is warming up. And most importantly the bride is almost ready to go.”
James exhaled like a balloon. “Oh thank God.”
Then Elaine spoke, her eyes starting to get misty.
“Thank you, Holly.”
Before I could reply, James clapped his hands. “Right. Shall we go get me married?”
Lucas grinned. “Finally.”
Elaine brushed invisible lint off his shoulder. “You’re going to do wonderfully, sweetheart.”
And as I stepped out of the groom’s suite and headed towards the aisle, I knew the ceremony ahead wasn’t just going to be beautiful.
It was going to be a turning point.
Then the celebrant arrived.
“Morning, Holly,” Graham said with a friendly nod. “Perfect day for a love story.”
I could have hugged him. With Graham around, even a billionaire-scale production felt human again, like we weren’t all one lighting cue away from a meltdown.
I walked him down the lawn towards the aisle, weaving between clusters of guests.
One group wore coordinated pastel suits in shades I was fairly sure had designer names like “Truffle Mist” and “Blush Whisper.” Another cluster were the tech elite, sleek black outfits, minimalist watches that probably monitored their glucose levels and stock portfolios at the same time.
At the far end, a trio of fashion influencers were already angling themselves towards the florals, perfecting the kind of smile usually accompanied by the word “natural” in the caption, despite their expensive heels sinking into the lawn.
A venture capitalist in a linen-blend blazer was loudly explaining the importance of “understated wealth” to his bored-looking girlfriend, who had clearly only come for the free rosé and the photo ops.
Millions of dollars’ worth of couture and jewellery glittered beneath gum trees older than half the countries represented at the wedding.
Graham, bless him, paid none of it any mind.
He took his place beneath the floral arch, an explosion of white orchids, roses, and eucalyptus that cost more than my car, and flipped open his leather-bound notes with the calm of a man who had never once been stressed in his entire life.
Honestly, if the world ended mid-ceremony, Graham would still find a way to deliver the vows with unwavering serenity.
As if responding to his arrival, the string quartet shifted seamlessly into their ceremony playlist. Sweeping notes floated up through the gardens, polished and light and impossibly beautiful.
Conversations dimmed. The influencers stilled.
Heads turned towards the aisle as that unmistakable ripple passed through the crowd, the collective inhale before a moment begins.
The atmosphere deepened, wrapped itself around us with a hush. The kind of moment that settles over a crowd when everything aligns.
I turned to Cleo. “We’re ready.”
I moved through the aisle, gently guiding everyone into position.
The groom and groomsmen lined up in their tailored suits, straightening ties and smoothing down their hair.
Lucas kept checking his reflection in every reflective surface he passed, a window, a wine bucket, the back of a polished spoon murmuring to himself like a man preparing for a Vogue cover shoot.
Noah stepped into position, the morning sun catching the line of his jaw, and a slow, traitorous heat spread through me.
Yesterday’s kiss hit me all over again, and for a terrifying second, I forgot how to breathe.
I shook my head and straightened my tablet like it could anchor me.
The guests took their seats, a sea of linen suits, silk dresses, extravagant fascinators, cologne strong enough to interfere with the bees.
The quartet flowed into Pachelbel.
The sun glowed like it had been paid extra.
The aisle shimmered beneath a carpet of fresh white petals.
“Showtime,” Cleo whispered.
And the procession began.
Three of Carolines’ friend’s daughters began the procession and were throwing petals everywhere, including at the guests.
Sophie came down the aisle after them, holding her bouquet with trembling hands.
Emma was next, smiling and waving at strangers like she’d won a pageant.
Then the music rose, rich and sweeping.
And Caroline stepped into the sunlight on her father’s arm.
The collective gasp from the guests was audible, a bright, shimmering sound.
She was ethereal.
James’s eyes filled. The man practically melted where he stood.
Without meaning to, I glanced over at Noah.
And caught him looking at me.
His expression was… searching. And something else, something unguarded.
I felt myself blush and glanced away, heart flipping like a gymnast.
Graham spoke with grace and sincerity, weaving their story with gentle humour. The guests laughed. Teared up. Sighed in the appropriate places.
Caroline’s voice wavered beautifully as she read her vows. James’s broke completely halfway through his.
When they exchanged rings, Emma full-on sobbed into her tissue. Sophie clutched her bouquet so tightly a petal floated away.
And when the celebrant announced them husband and wife, the cheer that rose from the crowd shook the leaves on the trees.
Champagne corks popped in the background. The quartet burst into a lively string rendition of a Beyonce song that made the older guests look mildly confused.
Caroline and James kissed, a long, heartfelt, not entirely PG-13 kiss, and I felt a bit teary actually.
Despite everything, they made it.
It was beautiful.
And then Noah reached for James, clapping a hand on his shoulder before pulling him into a quick, unguarded hug. They both chuckled, that low, familiar sound men make when they’re trying not to get sentimental in public, and when Noah stepped back, he was smiling.
Not the polite, strained smile he’d worn all morning.
A real one.
The kind that reached his eyes.
And before I could stop myself, I was smiling too.
And right in that moment, as if the universe had appointed itself head of dramatic timing, the fireworks behind the floral arch exploded with a thunderous crack.
Colour and silver glitter burst across the sky.
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, completely oblivious to the fact I’d almost jumped clean out of my shoes.
As the guests flittered towards the bar, Cleo fast-walked over to me like a hyperventilating meerkat.
“Everything’s running smoothly, but the quartet wants to know if they should switch to jazz or stay romantic string vibes?”
“String for another twenty minutes, then jazz.”
“On it.”
She sprinted off like a tiny colourful missile.
I exhaled, letting the moment wash over me.
The ceremony was done.
And for one brief, impossible moment, everything felt amazing.