Page 57 of Heart Strings
The wedding planner wrangles the group, reminds us of our places. Delicate notes fill the air as the harpist begins plucking out “Rockin’ Years” by Dolly Parton. With a final nod to us, Callum opens the garden door to the outdoor ceremony space. It’s an explosion of autumnal colors, rows of golden tones ofsunflowers flanking the burgundy aisle leading to an arch fashioned of willow branches, sunflowers, and roses. Matching fabric covers the guest seats, fixed with bows and even more florals. The palette is warm and welcoming against a bright sky.
Lark’s mother heads down the aisle first. The planner waves for Lo and me to go next, and I offer my arm. We wait in the doorway.
She looks a bit frazzled as she counts out the beats of the song. “All right. Step out on my count.”
“Stop bossing me around, Lo,” I murmur. “You’ll get me hard.”
She tries not to laugh, but it earns me a smile anyway. Much better. “Three, two, go.”
The flirtatious heat between us intensifies as we begin our procession. It’s a wonder I can walk in a straight line. Her smile lights up the most shadowed places of my heart. Where I wonder if I’m good enough. Talented enough. Where I doubt that people like me for me. The places that have felt incomplete since that fateful night two years ago. It feels right to walk by her side.
Saoirse and Deirdre walk together, followed by Rory and Anvi.
All eyes turn to the end of the aisle as the harpist plays the first strains of the “Bridal Chorus.” Lark is lovely in a classic gown, blonde locks loose under a soft veil. She meets Lo’s eyes and they exchange a giddy grin.
Then Lark and Callum gaze at each other, and it feels almost invasive to watch such a tender moment. Instead, my eyes meet Lo’s across the aisle as the officiant speaks about being brave enough to love. Even though he is alluding to Lark finding happiness with Callum after losing her first husband, I can’t help butthink of Lo and me. The mistakes I’ve made, the magnetic draw back to her. I nearly forget to present the rings.
The couple holds hands, and the officiant lays a braided cord over them. As he speaks, he wraps it around their wrists. “May this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last. May the vows you have spoken never grow bitter in your mouths. Hold tight to each other through good times and bad and watch as your strength grows. In the joining of hands and the fashion of a knot, so are your lives now bound, one to another.”
Lo’s eyes shimmer with moisture. She looks up at me and it nearly splits my heart in two. So much is still unsaid between us, but when she’d bound me to the bed, we both knew it was about more than kink. Will she allow herself to be bound by me? Will she ever trust me as I’ve trusted her? We never talked about marriage, but she craves stability. Something that I might never be able to give her.
Callum’s attention drifts over the attendees before they land on me. I offer a nod of encouragement.Focus on her. Let the rest fade away.
Lark and Callum exchange personal vows in Irish. She must’ve studied hard; even my grasp of it is tenuous. Callum stutters as expected, but he doesn’t let it distract him from his patiently smiling bride. The couple kisses—really kisses, with hands cupping each other’s jaws and a dip that sends the guests chuckling when Lark yelps in delight—and slides off the knotted cord before raising it in the air together. My parents still have theirs hanging over the corner of their wedding portrait on the mantel. We clap, and I let out a whoop that startles a giggle out of Lo.
I offer her my arm and Lo looks up at me with emotion-misted eyes. She’s gorgeous and relaxed. This weekend isn’t enough. I want to see that open expression of joy on her face again and again. I want to be the one to put it there.
We head back down the flower-lined aisle inside. Sunflowers and willow branches seem to wrap around every surface of the medieval reception hall, vibrant arrangements blooming up doorframes and chandeliers. Taper candles on branches suspended above banquet tables cast the guests in a flattering glow.
Lark squeezes Saoirse’s hand to acknowledge her beautiful work. “It looks like a dream.”
Then we’re swept up in a whirlwind of photos and hand-shaking before finding our seats at the head table. Time for my best man speech. Someone hands me a mic and I pull out my notes just in case I get tripped up.
“My name is Aidan O’Toole, I’m a friend of the lovely couple. The first time I met Callum, I was actually on a date with Lark.”
Murmurs ripple through the guests and a few sit up straighter at the prospect of a scandalizing story.
“Don’t get too excited; we were never an item. I never even got a kiss.” I lean an elbow on the table and bounce an eyebrow at the bride. “Unless…?”
“Feck off!” Callum shouts, slinging an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
Lo laughs, and immediately, I’m looser.
The mic is a comfortable weight in my hand, my voice steady. “It was a first date. A double date. Callum was there with someone else, in fact.” I cast a quick look at Saoirse. Nothing happened between them, either. “The whole time I was dancing with Lark, doing my best to be charming, these two only hadeyes for each other. We ended up switching dance partners, and today, I’m so happy to see you take your first steps together as husband and wife.
“Sometimes,” I continue, instinctively looking down at Cielo grinning beside me, “the right person is standing directly in front of you. It might not be how or when or who you expect, but when it’s right, you feel it.”
I stare into Lo’s eyes, my heart in my throat, then tear my gaze away and raise my glass. “Callum, Lark, congratulations. Sláinte!”
Drinks raised to our lips, Lo and I watch each other over the rims of our glasses. I know she can feel it, the same way I do. Time hasn’t tarnished the unique connection between us.
After the toast, I sit back down and tuck my chair in.
“Nice speech.” Lo adjusts my tie without asking and my heart beats faster from that bit of intimacy than it did from public speaking.
Chapter 22
Lo
