Page 71 of Something Old

I call his name, but there is no answer.

“Mas?” I wonder if he went for a run on the beach?

Getting out of bed, missing him already, I make myself a coffee and step out onto the front deck, watching the ocean.

A young girl walks up to me, carrying a big bag. She is grinning and has a bright look in her eyes.

“Leora - it’s time to get ready.”

She walks up the steps onto my deck.

“I’m sorry - who are you?” I ask in confusion.

“Masaccio is waiting for you. I am here to help you get ready.”

She is pushy and bossy when she ushers me back into the villa, dropping the bag onto the sofa.

“Go shower and I will set it all up.”

“Um - ok.” I reply, completely confused about what is going on. But now that I know Masaccio is behind this, I’m feeling excited as well.

I shower. Luckily, I washed my hair the night before.

When I come back into the main area of the villa, the girl is standing there holding the most gorgeous lace white dress. Soft fabric that flows right down to the floor. Thin, delicate layers that will dance in the breeze.

“Is that?” I step forward and run my fingers along the lace patterns.

“It is your wedding dress.” She smiles.

It takes me under an hour to get ready.

She curls my hair and braids it in a big loose braid down my back, pinning white flowers in all the way down and then placing a halo of white flowers on top. My make up is light, soft and natural. I am not even wearing shoes.

She gives me a single white lily to carry.

“You are ready.” She pushes me towards the long mirror and staring at myself in the reflection I feel a lump forming in my throat.

I know I felt happy the first time I married Masaccio. I know I felt beautiful.

But nothing compares to what I feel right now.

The subtle, yet elegantly romantic style of this dress, the flowers dripping through my hair - the red rose ring on my finger.

My heart is so happy it feels like it might explode.

“Come on. It’s time to go.” She pulls the door open and ushers me out of the villa.

I can’t stop smiling.

“You will follow this pathway,” she points to a roped path, white, and red flowers threaded along the rope strung from pole to pole.

I turn to thank her, but she is already gone.

It is about no one else but us.

My smile is glowing as I follow the flowers towards where Masaccio is waiting on the beach.

He is standing barefoot at the edge of the water, the waters lapping at his feet, beneath a gorgeous pergola dripping with flowers.

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