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“Not a usual honeymoon, is it?” I asked rhetorically, as we set up the booth. Jayden’s wine on one side and my costumes on the other, as finely dressed lords and ladies meandered past.
“No, but what about our relationship has been usual?”
“Nothing,” I said, after a moment’s thought.
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned and pulled me in for a kiss, the skirt of my dress spinning like a pin-wheel.
Jayden had refused to wear tights, so we reprised his knight’s outfit from the wedding, minus the faux sword to make things easier at customs. We had enough trouble explaining the two crates of wine and two dozen garment bags.
“Ah, gotcha,” was all the officer said when Jayden told her we were going to a Renaissance Fair.
Despite the characteristically Scottish weather, or possibly because of it, turnout at the fair was massive. What had been a relatively quiet field during setup turned into a bustling faux-Elizabethan village. A surprising number of the attendees got into the spirit of the thing and came in their own olde tyme costumes. I’d heard that Britain didn’t really have Halloween like we did in the states and figured things like Renaissance Fairs were what they did instead.
Even with the enthusiasm shown by the fair-goers in terms of fitting the time period, there were many more who came by our stall to either outfit themselves at the time or add to their collection. Most decided to get a bottle of Jayden’s wine while they were there. Aside from the food stalls and the smiths selling authentic, hand forged melee weapons a few stalls down, we had the busiest booth at the fair.
“Gives new meaning to ‘working honeymoon’,” Jayden quipped, after selling his umpteenth bottle of red.
“Particularly because you just made it up,” I teased.
“Well, yeah, but still.”
Reduced to two empty wine crates and three garment bags by evening’s fall, our goods successfully converted into cash currency. We decided to pack it in, our work there well and truly done.
“Good day?” asked the Uber driver, popping the trunk for my few remaining bags.
“Sterling,” Jayden said, having picked up on the Scottish slang a little faster than I.
Jayden held me all the way back to the castle, the comforting smell of his musk and the consistent movement of the car dared me not to fall asleep in his arms.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, taking my hand.
Accepting the last of the garment bags, Jayden paid the driver, including a generous tip from the day’s takings. The driver tipped his Ranger FC cap and was off again. The tail lights of his car disappeared like a phantom in the foggy night.
“Want me to carry you?”
“Yes, please,” I said quietly.
Without a second thought or an ounce of visible effort, despite our little passenger, Jayden scooped me up into his arms and carried me to our castle at sunset.
We didn’t rent the entire castle, but a room within it, which was still quite impressive. The brochure referred to our particular room as The Princess Suite and it very much lived up to the name.
“Great turnout, hey?” Jayden asked, setting me down on the couch.
“I’ll say, I had no idea these things were so popular. I mean I’ve heard about them but jings, that was a lot of people.”
“Nice to hear you picking up the local lingo.”
“What - oh.”
I could feel the heat raising in my cheeks, my lovely husband pulling me closer and kissing me sweetly.
“They talk a bit strangely, but they have good taste.”
“Strange to us is normal to them, but yes, business was rather brisk wasn’t it?”
“Remember the couple who wanted the matching harlequin costumes?” I asked, giggling at the memory.
“I know, right? What about the ‘wine expert’ who asked if the wine was made from real grapes?”
“I still think it was a bit mean of you to say that they were ghost grapes,” I chided.
“He bought it, didn’t he?”
“In more ways than one. I think I might want to make more hooked corsets for the next one.”
“They did sell like water in the desert,” Jayden agreed.
The problem with such a big room was that sounds tended to echo, making it difficult to exactly locate my phone when it started to make its happy sound.
“Got it,” Jayden alluded, conjuring my trilling phone from the side of the couch and handing it to me.
My ob-gyn, Dr. Erikson’s reassuringly gentle tone came through the phone from thousands of miles away, the roaming charges already kicking into action.
“I’ve got some good news for you, at least I hope it is,” she said.
“Okay,” I prompted.
“You are definitely carrying a -very healthy- set of twins.”
“Th-thank you doctor,” I managed between a sudden onset of sobs.
“What?” Jayden asked, his face a picture of concern.
“It’s fine,” I said, “The babies are fine.”
“Babies, plural?”
“Twins,” I confirmed.
