Page 111 of Rafferty's Rules
‘I don’t think I can fit you in my suitcase ... the suitcase that I’m still not in possession of.’
‘I’d buy my own ticket?’
How wonderful would that be? Rafferty on the plane next to me, at the airport, introducing him to my mom. But I’m letting my imagination run away with me. He has his life and I have mine. And I need to stop drinking champagne.
‘Thank you, but so far, I’ve managed the position on my own.’
‘Maybe we need to add it to the rules,’ he answers, his eyes roaming over me, something dark and intense and very alive shining there.
‘Tweaking my nipples?’
‘Watching you managing yourself on your own.’ My insides suddenly throb emptily as he adds, ‘Watching you with your hand between your legs.’
‘I will if you will,’ I surprise myself by answering. My heart is pumping hard in my chest, and I can already feel a deep colour flooding my face. But I raise my chin in spite of these things.
And then he’s in front of me, broad shoulders coated in fine tailoring, a brilliant white shirt, cufflinks peeking from his sleeve as he raises his hand to cup my cheek.
‘You’re so beautiful.’
‘You look pretty spiffy yourself.’
‘And I’m holding you to it. Tonight, when the dress comes off. You, me, and a bottle of champagne.’
‘Sounds like a date.’ My voice suddenly as light as a bird in flight.
‘It sounds like everything.’ Then his mouth slides against mine, and it is.
My marriage would’ve looked nothing like this. For starters it was to be held in my family church. It wouldn’t have looked like a garden party and it certainly wouldn’t have been officiated by a celebrant. Not that I think any of this is important. What matters is love. The love the bride and groom have for each other, and the love of their family and friends. And let me tell you, there is a lot of love in the air today. And a lot of happy, smiling faces. But weddings make everyone happy, I guess. It might sound strange, but I feel nothing but happy to be a part of this. I don’t feel any sadness when I reflect that my wedding day didn’t eventuate. I didn’t make it as a bride, but for all the right reasons.
And if not for that whole experience, I wouldn’t be here, witnessing this. And I wouldn’t be here sitting next to Rafferty, holding hands.
And for that, Lord, I am so grateful.
What we have may never go on from this, but I’m not about to let this opportunity go by. I have a plan. A stroke of genius or blind madness, I guess I’ll soon find out. I just have to find where Rafferty put the list.
As the strains of an acoustic guitar sounds, the soft hum of conversations around us melts away, though bird in a nearby tree takes this moment to make itself heard. It’s long and unusual and followed by the most joyous of cackling.
‘What on earth was that?’ I whisper in Rafferty’s ear.
‘A kookaburra. I reckon he wants in on the show.’
In front of the arbour, Byron rolls his shoulders. He looks pretty dapper in his close-fitting tux, but if you look closely, the smattering of tattoos on his hand make him look just a little disreputable. He bends and murmurs something to Matty, his solemn expression breaking out into a shy smile.
‘It’s adorable that he’s made Matty his best man,’ I whisper next.
‘More like genius,’ Rafferty replies. ‘Matty was never gonna arrange a visit to a strip club or a weekend in Vegas, was he?’
‘And your brothers?’
‘We only want wat he wants. For him to be happy.’
These guys. They are the best of men.
I see the exact moment Amber arrives, not because I’m looking behind, but because of the way Byron’s expression changes. The tension in his shoulders dissipates, his smile breaking out like the sun after rain. His gaze drops and I notice Edie trotting along the lush carpet of grass, scattering rose petals from a little basket in her wake. A little basket that’s all but forgotten as her father holds out his hand, and she goes running to him.
The crowd—congregation?—breaks out in a wave of soft appreciative murmurs before the Matty and Edie hold hands to take their seats next to Sally at the edge of the aisle.
And then she’s there, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The bride in all her splendour, on the arm of her father. And she’s already crying.
