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I twisted my mouth, feeling the muscle in my cheek twitch. Last night, it had taken some self-control not to question her further and tell her what I thought. Did she need someone to open her eyes, or was she aware that she was in a sticky web and just didn't want to break free, even though she was capable of cutting the silk?
Sighing, I leaned back until my head touched the rock, then I closed my eyes and reconsidered. The wedding did not matter to me. I was only interested in Audrey's well-being and wondered how she could be happy with this arrangement when she clearly longed for more– but didn't allow herself to desire it. Why else would she be hiding her preferences?
The more I thought about it, the less I believed that her fiancé knew about it. It was her secret. She kept it well. At least well enough that it hadn't blown up in her face yet. Was I the only one in her circle who knew about it? Or was it a topic she also discussed with her friends?
My thoughts went around in circles, trying to escape the inevitable. Just by sitting up here and staring at the sun, I would not be able to escape the wedding. Part of me wanted to, while the other part was aware that it would probably disappoint Audrey as well.
If I didn't give her a piece of that sinful, calorie-laden bomb of a cake, who would? After all, I had already heard that they were going to cut the dummy cake, and later there would be a real, pompous treat for the rest.
Who would give her five minutes of absolute peace under the open sky? This task should have been Alexander's, but I doubted he would suddenly claim it because of the wedding. He had successfully avoided it for half an eternity, missing every opportunity to prove that there was more to it than his greed for what her father had promised him... but he never did.
A snort escaped me. The next moment, I looked for a way up the steep wall again. This time less carefully and with only one goal: to reach the top and then begin the descent.
With each movement, I felt a mild rage pulsing through my muscles. I grabbed the ledges unnecessarily tight, pulling myself up roughly so I constantly felt my body making painful contact with the rocks. It wasn't healthy, but it allowed me to breathe more freely.
By noon at the latest, the spiraling thoughts were going to stop. Alcohol might not be a good solution, but it would drown out the black cloud and make sure I didn't dwell on things that really didn't concern me.
As soon as I reached the end of the cliff and pulled myself over the edge, I straightened up. I looked down briefly, then over the rest of the island out to sea. The view from up here was simply breathtaking on a clear day like this– and certainly deadly when it rained. There was a path down, which was also dangerously steep, but nothing compared to the descent over the cliff.
I looked at my watch and realized I had wasted more time on the climb than I had planned. Before church, I had to get home, shower, get dressed, and ask Matthew if he was okay. You'd think it was Audrey's nerves that needed calming, but Matt had been acting like the wedding was his own for weeks.
Still, on the way down, I wrote Audrey first. A nice, short message asking if she felt prepared. She wouldn't reply– she did that even less often than I did– but at least she knew I'd thought about her this morning.
Only then did I turn my attention to Matthew, messaging him and calling out my draft speech. Each word felt like an ambiguous lie, and already after the first sentence I was afraid someone would realize that the words did not come from Matthew, but from someone far closer to Audrey.
Would she know? Would she know that such a thing could never have come from her father's pen, but it certainly could have come from mine? Or did the excitement of the day make everything blur together and it didn't end up mattering anyway?
I was uncomfortable with this, but I would soon find out.
Audrey
For once, it had not been Diana who had made a decision, but my mother. As soon as it had come down to the location of the wedding, she had stepped in and suggested the church. Big enough to accommodate the important part of the guests, but not too big to give the wrong impression.
I had been in the next room for almost two hours, being prepared by a stylist and Diana to walk the few feet before the altar with full dignity, say "I do" to Alexander, and end the night with expensive alcohol.
At some point later in the evening, the girls would crash the party. They would make sure that the classic, prudish wedding traditions were broken. The highlight of the day would definitely be when I would tie up the long tulle skirt of the dress and go out on the designated dance floor and do something to ABBA that could not be described as either dancing or singing.
Looking at myself in the floor-length mirror, I could at least admit that the two ladies had done a good job. I still had peace from my mother, which allowed me to tap my foot to the beat of Billie Eilish'sBad Guy.But not at the end of the night, because it wouldn‘t end with sex or me kneeling before Alexander. More like in front of the toilet– before I could finish the cynical thought, I heard a door outside slam shut.
I expected my mother, but it was one of the bridesmaids who poked her head in. "Did your husband have a little too much to drink last night?"
I looked at her in the mirror. When he had come home last night, I was already asleep, and this morning I had been up long before he had woken up. I just took much longer to get ready than he did.
"Is he drunk?" I asked, without the slightest hint of panic. Or anger.
I was already thinking about how to cover for him inconspicuously during the ceremony, when any other bride would have hit the roof. No one would question it if he arrived at the reception drunk.
"I'm not sure. But he seems a little upset. Maybe you should talk to him. Do you think he might have gotten cold feet?"
If anyone had the right to worry about their already fixed future, it would probably have been me. But not Alexander, who had been looking forward to the wedding for months. Whatever difference a ring on my finger made...
"Send him to me, will you?" I asked, gesturing for Diana and the stylist to leave the room.
I saw the protest on Diana's face, but I cared little if he saw me in the dress before the actual ceremony. These old traditions and wives' tales seemed outdated.
As I waited for Alexander and tried to anticipate his condition, I was already mentally listening to the tune ofDancing Queenand the funny voices of my friends, while in the background my mother was indignantly slapping her hand in front of her mouth. At some point today, I would certainly have some fun.
Alexander banged on the door before he threw it wide open and stumbled in. He slammed it shut behind him. Even though I already had a good look at him through the mirror, I did a full body inspection. I struggled to suppress the disgust I felt at that moment. My mouth became dry and I could hardly swallow. It wasn't just that he'd had a drink. He was completely intoxicated.
