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She missed her mother so badly today.
And her father too.
‘Buck up,’ she told herself.
After all, she was marrying Costa and all her dreams were coming true.
She reached for her juice and saw that there was a note on the tray. She immediately recognised Costa’s thick black scrawl.
To my bride...
This must be a Greek tradition she didn’t know about, Mary thought as she sliced open the envelope—the groom must write to his bride on the wedding day. Hopefully Costa wasn’t expecting anything from her.
As it turned out, it wasn’t a particularly romantic letter.
Dear Mary from London,
After your hair is done, please put on your wedding dress and get ready. I have arranged for a photographer to come to your suite as the wedding album should include you getting ready in your home town.
Costa x
Another bloody tradition she didn’t know about.
It was odd, but it upset her that their wedding had turned into a lavish Greek affair.
Actually, that was a lie.
She must stop doing that!
Mary would have paddled herself to Anapliró in a boat just to marry Costa and be surrounded by love.
As her hair was teased into loose waves, Mary knew that what was really upsetting was that, apart from the groom, the people she loved wouldn’t be there.
But it would be easy to put on the dress and smile for some photos. Then she smiled for herself, because her dress really was breathtaking.
Designed and handstitched by Leo Arati, it was the most stunning shade of white she had ever seen. It was a very clear white, but in a certain light there was the palest, palest hint of lavender. She had told him about the lavender in her childhood garden, and Leo had allowed her to take this piece of her home to her wedding.
Her flowers were delivered—a small hand-tied bunch of forget-me-nots with a little sprig of lavender and one single violet orchid... She touched its velvet petal.
All brides cried on their wedding day, Mary told herself, and gave in to a little weeping as she sat there in her dress—even though she was happier than she knew how to be.
She was marrying Costa, Mary told herself, and gazed down at her ring again, which always calmed her.
So much so that she blew her nose and rather wished she did wear make-up, because her eyes were a little bit pink, as was the tip of her nose. Still, she smiled resolutely when the bell to her suite chimed, determined the photographer wouldn’t capture her tears.
Except it wasn’t the photographer.
‘Dad!’ She couldn’t believe it, but her father stood there, resplendent in a dark suit, with a prison officer a few discreet steps away from him. ‘What on earth...?’
‘I’ve got leave for a couple of hours.’ Her dad smiled and took in his stunning daughter on her wedding day. ‘Oh, Mary...’ Now it was her father crying, and he took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Oh, Dad.’
She could not even attempt to stop her tears from flowing now, and she was just so overwhelmed. But for now she was at least safe in her father’s arms.
‘Wipe those tears, Mary. We’ve got a wedding to get to.’
‘But I’m getting married in Greece.’
