Page 53 of The Player

She turns to me, and her face is warm. “Frankie, you’ve been making that man happy since the day you met him.”

“Really?”

She nods, her face earnest. “I can’t think of a single soul who could make him happier. These last two years, he’s blossomed now he has you. His smiles are bigger, and his laughs are louder. It’s a joy to watch him. And he’s done the same for you. You’re finally easy in yourself because you’ve found the slot where you fit.” I raise my eyebrow, and she snorts. “Try not to be rude. It is your wedding day.”

“Shouldn’t that be the day when I’m completely myself?”

“The world isn’t ready for that yet.” She smiles. “Your marriage is going to be long and happy. You’ve both found the person who completely fits who you really are. It’s a blessing, sweetheart. Otherwise, you could end up like George Joseph Smith, who killed several of his wives to get hold of their money. There was a man who didn’t embrace the concept of conjugal harmony.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s got to be something between marital happiness and large-scale uxoricide, Joan.”

She eyes me as I let out a long breath. “Okay now?”

I nod. “Thank you for putting it all into perspective. Con is thankfully not a Victorian serial killer. It’s not setting the marital bar particularly high, but it has calmed my nerves.”

She pats my hand. “You’re welcome.”

Footsteps sound, and Con walks in. There’s a streak of dirt across one cheekbone, and his nose is red from the sun. “Joan,” he says in delight, coming over to give her a hug.

She pats his cheek, her face full of affection. “I do hope you’re washing your face before you get married.”

He grins. “Have you said that to Frankie too?”

She sniffs. “It’s not his face he needs to wash. It’s his soul.”

Con bursts into laughter and leans down to hug me. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “You look amazing, babe.”

I look down at my grey suit. “Is it okay?”

He leans in and whispers in my ear, “You’re perfect.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom?” Joan asks, getting up to make tea.

“I went enough years without seeing his face when I woke up. I’m not starting my married life doing the same,” Con says steadily, and her eyes are soft when she smiles at him.

“I like the way we’re doing it,” I add. “We didn’t want lots of fuss, so just walking to the hotel together and getting married sounds perfect to me. Our marriage is just him and me, so it seems right to start that way.”

Con pets my hair and walks out of the kitchen, calling back that he’s going to jump in the shower.

My nerves have settled now, so I grin at Joan as she sets my tea in front of me and then opens the box she was carrying. Inside are our two corsages, each containing a white rose, a purple rosebud, and a sprig of lavender. Their scent is gentle, and water still clings to the delicate petals.

“Con loved that you’d represented his parents with the white rose.”

“His mum’s rose bushes are blooming beautifully this year in the garden.” I offer her a smile. “Almost like they know what’s happening.”

“They’d have loved you.”

“Con said that.”

“What’s the lavender for?”

“The lavender farm. It’s where we went just before we got together. I’ll never forget that day.” I touch the purple rosebud. “This is for David. It was his favourite scent.”

She pats my shoulder, her face kind. “Con said you both wanted him represented.”

“We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. Our marriage might not have lasted, but our friendship would have.”

“He’d have thoroughly approved of this marriage.”

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