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‘I don’t know why I agreed to wear the stupid thing,’ she said in a mock grumble.
‘Because you want to make an old woman happy… Violet, can you hold your side still for me?’
Between them, Carrie’s two bridesmaids fixed her veil then both inspected her face one last time before the door swung open and her father was there to help them all out, bemused to be wearing a fitted tuxedo, a beaming smile on his craggy, weather-beaten face, delighted to be there, as proud as punch of his only child.
As soon as they were all standing, Agon’s glorious spring sun shining on them, the girls fussed with her dress, making sure there were no wrinkles around her protruding bump.
Carrie was six months pregnant. It was a year to the day since she and Andreas had exchanged their vows in the Chelsea registry office with two strangers acting as their witnesses.
When they had gone to visit his parents to share their happy news, his mother had promptly burst into tears. Those tears were only pacified when Andreas had promised they would do it all over again, properly. And by properly he meant a full church wedding with his entire family in attendance, everyone congregating to the same hotel afterwards and everyone then meeting the happy couple for breakfast.
As Carrie had taken an instant shine to both of his parents she had been happy to go along with the plans for them but then, as the date neared, found herself excited for hers and Andreas’s own sake.
A big white wedding, surrounded by friends and family, the people who loved them, everyone wishing them well…
It had been a strange experience, being embraced into the bosom of the Samaras family, especially as her own was so small. She hadn’t properly appreciated what a close-knit family they all were, not until she and Andreas had moved to Agon permanently a few months ago and found their villa under constant siege from aunts, uncles and cousins all inviting themselves round for a holiday. Anyone would think they weren’t all scattered on varying Greek islands with their own beautiful beaches a short walk away. Andreas had since bought the neighbouring villa for his family to use so they could have some privacy. Their only real houseguests now were his parents, Violet and Natalia.
Her sister and his niece were tentatively rekindling their old friendship. Both were doing well. Violet had decided to stay in California permanently. She was still clean. Every day was still a battle but, she had assured Carrie, it was a battle that was getting easier. She wanted to stay clean. She wanted to live a long, healthy life. Her words were music to Carrie’s ears.
As for Carrie, she’d handed her notice in when they moved to Agon. She had come to love their home there, loved the life, the sunshine, everything about it. Somewhere along the way she had lost her drive for investigative journalism and, anyway, it wasn’t as if she could go undercover any more when she was half of a famous couple. Her exclusive feature on Andreas—he had loved it—had been a huge hit and the features editor had offered her freelance work, interviewing business leaders and politicians. With Andreas’s encouragement, Carrie had been delighted to accept.
The church doors swung open, the organ started to play and, her arm securely in her father’s hold, her free hand resting on her kicking baby, she began the slow walk to her husband to repeat the vows they had made in private to the rest of the world.
Andreas stood at the top of the aisle next to his father, who was acting as his best man. The two Samaras men had identical beaming grins.
Her heart skipped to see him.
Her heart always skipped to see him.
She had never believed heaven existed.
With Andreas she had found it.
* * * * *
