Twenty-four ~ Wedding

"What does one wear to a wedding?"

Opening the door on Wednesday morning to see Brent hovering there surprised me. He was wearing a top this time—my mum made a real impression on him—and got straight to the point. 

"One wears one's best attire, of course," I replied, leaning against the doorway with an amused smirk. 

His eyes narrowed. "Are you mocking me?"

"Are you mocking me? I don't talk like that, and you don't have to, either."

"Well, forgive me if this is a little outside of my comfort zone, Rosalie." Brent folded his arms, brow wrinkled. "I don't want to make a fool of myself. I doubt you'd appreciate that."

I sighed and dropped the attitude. Beneath his hard exterior, I could tell Brent was nervous about this wedding and could empathise with him. It was fear of the unknown, mixed with fear of being judged. Thanks to my mother, he'd already had a taste of the latter. 

"Do you own a suit?" I asked. 

"Yes." 

"A suit will be fine." 

He scratched at the back of his neck, displaying an uncharacteristic bout of discomfort, before clearing his throat. 

"Do we have to, you know, colour co-ordinate?"

I couldn't help but smile, hoping he realised it was one of affection rather than mockery. Though he'd hate to admit it, it was a sensitive consideration. 

"Do you own many ties?" I asked. 

Brent didn't seem the type to own much formalwear. He spent most of his days on the beach, so what cause would he have for suits?

"Only a few."

"What colours? I can just pick a dress that matches your tie."

"Blue, black, a greenish-coloured one..."

His level of awkwardness wasn't easing, making it clear he felt far outside his comfort zone. Despite that, he wanted to make an effort. With Brent holding up his end of the agreement, I needed to do the same for mine. 

"Not to make this any more difficult," I said, "but is it navy blue? Royal blue? Duck egg blue? And the green, is that like a mint shade or a teal or—?"

"Rosalie, you lost me at eggs."

"You know what might be easier?" I stepped aside to gesture for him to come through the door. "We'll look at my dresses and you can pick one the same colour as your tie."

Hesitation flooded his features, but he didn't protest. We shared no words as I led him upstairs, our footsteps echoing on the marble staircase. I didn't realise how intimate it would be until the four walls of my room emphasised the enclosed space around us.

I imagined it would have been the same for Brent when he let me into his hut that first time—an imposition on his private, personal area. This might not be my real bedroom, but it had begun to feel that way over the weeks—not to mention the huge double bed that dominated the room and had featured in so many of my fantasies recently.

Eager not to entertain that image for too long, I tugged open my wardrobe and tossed any dresses that resembled shades of blue or green onto my duvet. Once satisfied I'd exhausted all options, I laid them out so Brent could view them. 

"Black's out of the question, then?" he asked. 

"Yes. This is a wedding, not a funeral." 

As soon as the words left my mouth, their horrifying implications dawned on me. Silence fell as I squirmed at my callousness, furious with myself for being so insensitive and speaking without thinking. 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean... I just didn't think..."

"Don't worry about it," he murmured, not raising his eyes from the dresses. 

Biting my lip, I shifted my gaze back to the outfits. Either Brent couldn't decide whether any looked the same colour as his ties, or he was no longer paying them attention.

When the tension became too much to bear, I ventured onto my balcony to give him some space. I knew better than to suggest we talk it out. He already felt like he couldn't trust me, and I needed to earn that. 

"I think this one," he called from behind me, making me jump. 

Strolling back into the room, I saw him holding up an emerald green dress. Strapless, with a tight bodice but floating skirt, it was the ideal combination of formal yet summery. 

"Great." I forced a smile.

He excused himself shortly after. Despite the slight awkwardness still present—which my slip of the tongue hadn't helped—a small sense of achievement buzzed through me at the potential bridges that had been built. 

~~~

Out of everything I'd done this summer, the wedding should have resembled a comforting familiarity. I was used to small talk, forcing a grin and dressing up. But when Saturday rolled around, I felt out of my depth, like I'd forgotten how to make conversation and how to achieve that perfect cat-eye. 

As I was slipping my feet into my heels, the doorbell chimed, and my heart jolted with new nerves. I didn't want to risk an awkward encounter between Brent and Mum, so I hurried downstairs as fast as my shoes would allow me. 

That small talk skill would have come in handy when I opened the door and found myself speechless at the sight of Brent. He'd perfectly matched the dress to his tie, but that wasn't what affected me the most.

Brent, the minimally-clothed lifeguard, stood before me in a jet-black suit, crisp white shirt and polished ebony shoes. Rather than wavy and unruly, his hair was combed and neat. The whole look rendered him almost unrecognisable.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then his eyes flickered behind me. 

"Mrs Harrington." 

"Mr Miller," Mum said, a cool edge to her voice. 

My chest clenched, hoping she wouldn't make him feel unwelcome. That would be the worst possible scenario. 

"Rosalie," she said. "A word with you in the kitchen?"

"Whatever it is, you can say in front of Brent."

I hoped that response would work in my favour, proving to Brent that I had no secrets from him. 

"The kitchen," Mum said, her eyes narrowing just the slightest degree yet enough to convey she meant business. 

Offering Brent an apologetic smile, I gestured towards the hallway. "Come in. I won't be long."

Mum maintained her calm attitude, even closing the door softly after me. Then she folded her arms, her forehead creasing in a way that would give her a heart attack if she saw the number of wrinkles. 

"What is going on?" 

I mirrored her frown. "You said I could bring a friend, so I invited Brent."

"What has got into you?" she asked, her earlier irritation transforming into confusion. "Is this some kind of passive rebellion act? Because you don't want to come?"

"No!"

Then her face turned so pale that I worried she was about to faint.

"Oh, Rosalie. Please tell me this isn't why Alastair left early..."

It took a while to catch on to what she was suggesting, but when I did, a cocktail of anger yet relief washed over me. I could say with honesty that nothing had happened between Brent and me, but I also couldn't ignore the irony. No, Mum. I wasn't the one who messed around. That was your precious Alastair. 

"Not at all," I said through gritted teeth. "I find it offensive that you'd assume such a thing. Is that how you brought me up, Mum? To cheat on my boyfriend?"

Her eyes narrowed, and I knew I'd had the last word. Throwing her argument back at her by claiming it was her fault if I did behave badly was a dirty tactic, but I was sick of being judged by my mother. Today was about casting judgement aside, and I refused to let her ruin that for me. 

Mum's social standards meant she often disapproved of my choices, but it also meant that she never revealed this disapproval while around other people. That was definitely the case when we arrived at the wedding. She was all smiles, playing the part of a happy woman. 

Brent did a fine job of pretending nothing had happened, too, even though it was obvious my discussion with Mum had been about him. This was supposed to be a day where my social background proved irrelevant, so I addressed the elephant in the room. 

"I'm sorry about my mum," I said as we sat down on one of the back rows. 

He remained quiet for several moments, and just when I thought he didn't want to discuss it, he spoke up. 

"She's not a fan of me."

"It's nothing to do with you personally." Then I reconsidered. "Well, not entirely."

"How reassuring."

I debated whether to give him a simplified explanation, knowing he probably wouldn't understand the full one, or whether I should tell him everything. Today was a make or break day, and I was still desperate to prove myself to him. 

"I never wanted to come here," I said. "I was furious at Mum for forcing me to spend my last summer before uni in some quiet town in the middle of nowhere. I'm used to busy London, partying with my friends and doing whatever I want. Life in London would carry on without me while I was trapped here, and I'd have no control over anything. Alastair had already cheated on me once before and I didn't trust him not to do it again."

"I don't understand what this has to do with your mother. Although I don't blame you for thinking Camberley's lame when London's no doubt much more exciting."

"See, that's the thing," I said. "Once I got used to the idea of being here, I stopped missing London. I started enjoying being away from all its pressures, standards, and the insufferable reputations that you have to maintain. It's exhausting. But Mum hasn't stopped all that. This is her life, you know? She's all about the glamour, the social standing, the image..."

"Does your mom think I ruin your image?"

"Not the image," I said. "Because, well, you look the part—you look great. She's always wanted what's best for me, but we have different opinions on that. Alastair can do a lot for me financially, reputation-wise... He can set me up for life. She assumes Alastair went home early because I'd cheated on him. With you."

Brent let out a sarcastic huff of laughter. "How ironic."

"Exactly."

We descended into silence for a while. A band was setting up, tuning their instruments ready to play the couple down the aisle. Mum was still rushing around, making sure everything was running smoothly. 

"This summer has changed me," I said. "I used to think the most important thing in my life was London, maintaining the friendship hierarchy and having a decent boyfriend, because that's all I've ever known. But now I've seen a different side to life. And I prefer it."

"You're young," Brent said. "Your mom has been doing this forever, right? She'll be more set in her ways. I get it. Don't worry."

"I'd understand if you didn't. I suppose it's difficult to relate if you've never been in that situation yourself, exposed to that kind of lifestyle..."

"Your mom doesn't define you, Rosalie. You're your own person. I like that you're thinking for yourself."

He left it there, and the conversation died away. I didn't mind, though. It may have only been a very slight, almost passive, compliment—but it was a compliment all the same. Hearing that Brent liked something about me seemed like a big step in the right direction. 

As I watched Caroline and Dave say their vows to one another, my eyes watered. They were so obviously in love—as you'd expect for a couple getting married—and it made me contemplate my own life. Even though I was too young to consider marriage, it was always Alastair I'd pictured at the altar. 

No matter how unsettling it was to have a blank slate ahead of me, it also felt liberating. My future was no longer mapped out for me. I'd cared deeply for Alastair, but did I want to spend the rest of my life with a guy who'd cheated multiple times? Hopefully my future could be my own now, shaped by me and my actions and decisions. I just needed to make sure they were the right ones. 

~~~

As everyone mingled after the wedding, I sensed Brent becoming anxious. For the duration of the ceremony, he'd been relaxed, but socialising wasn't his forte. In fact, it didn't feel like mine, either, as I fought to drag out all my interaction techniques from somewhere within the depths of my brain.

Brent remained close to my side but, as much as he tried, he struggled to maintain his end of the conversation. His one-worded answers appeared abrupt, even though I knew that was nerves and not genuine rudeness. 

"Relax," I said once we were alone for a moment, placing my hand on his arm to draw his attention back to me. "Nobody here is judging you."

"I'm not worried about them judging me. I just have nothing interesting to say."

"And I do?" I asked with a small laugh. "People don't care if it's interesting or not. It's just the art of conversation."

It occurred to me that part of Brent's problem could be confidence-related. That would explain why he didn't feel like he had anything interesting to say—he didn't find himself interesting enough. 

"I'll get us both a drink," I said. 

No sooner had I begun to make my way over to the bar, Brent had fallen into step beside me again. He clearly didn't want to be alone.

"I'm sorry for bringing you here," I said after ordering two glasses of icy water. 

His eyes flickered over me. "Why? I agreed to come."

"You're not enjoying yourself. I didn't want to make you so uncomfortable." 

"I've just never done this kind of thing before," he said, scooping up his water and picking out the slice of lemon.

Rolling my eyes, I took it from him, dropping it into my glass then taking a sip, relishing the refreshing impact of the icy liquid on my tongue.

"I had the same problem when I first started doing this. Nerves are often down to lack of confidence, and you've no reason not to be confident."

"How can I be confident when I've never done this before, Rosalie?" he asked, his eyes skimming the crowd. 

"Because it's irrelevant whether you've done it before," I said. "Confidence comes from within, from being happy in yourself. Plus, you're a handsome lifeguard. You could talk absolute nonsense and most people here wouldn't care. They'd hang onto your every word."

He held my gaze for a long time, probably trying to work out if I was being serious. I returned his stare, refusing to back down from my brave words. Locked in his eyes, the heat no longer seemed to burn my skin. The sound of chatter faded into silence, and our fellow guests disappeared. It was just Brent and me, trapped in a battle of wills. 

Then we came crashing back to the party. 

"You must be Rosalie!"

Caroline's voice startled me, but I plastered a grin onto my face as I turned to her. A pink flush coloured her cheeks and strands of hair had come loose from her up-do, but she couldn't have looked happier. 

"That's me. Are you having a nice day?" 

"It's been wonderful," she replied, still smiling like a Cheshire cat. "Your mom has done a fantastic job."

Her focus shifted to Brent, and I seized the opportunity to drag him into a conversation. Grabbing his arm, I pulled him forwards and offered him a smile of encouragement. 

"Have you met Brent?"

Caroline smiled. "I certainly know of you. The lifeguard, right?"

Brent cleared his throat, glancing sideways at me. "Right."

"You were the talk of the town the other week, rescuing that poor girl. People just don't realise how dangerous the ocean can be around here..."

"Yes, well, that's my job. Saving damsels in distress..." He exhaled an awkward laugh, his eyes darting towards me again. 

"You should be very proud of yourself," she said, squeezing his arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to speak to a few more people before Dave and I sneak off on our honeymoon. It was lovely seeing you both."

As Caroline scuttled away, Brent's chest deflated as he let out a sigh of relief. Then he turned back to the bar and ordered something stronger. 

When the happy couple left, everyone else began to make tracks, too. Mum seemed to have overcome her concern over Brent's presence and she smiled at me as we headed out. Maybe she had other things on her mind, or maybe she'd just got over the shock, being such an adaptable individual. I hoped these last few weeks would serve as an opportunity for us to bond, without her stressing about work.

"Did you have an awful time?" I asked Brent as we came to a halt in front of my door after a mostly silent walk back.

He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and gave me a brief shrug. "Some of it was good."

I smiled. "I like your honesty. Don't get me wrong, your bluntness pissed me off to begin with, but now I'm seeing it as a redeeming quality."

He raised his eyebrows at me, in the way that always made my knees buckle. "Really? If you like honesty so much, you should try it yourself sometime."

Frowning, I recoiled in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Why didn't you tell me you'd broken up with your boyfriend?"

I spluttered something incoherent, wondering how he knew when the only person I'd told was Mia.

"Mia told you?"  

He shrugged. "Not exactly. I called her out on it."

My initial anger faded away. Poor Mia, trapped between two people who she wanted to be loyal to...

"Why didn't you tell me you knew?" I asked. 

"Probably the same reason you didn't tell me about it in the first place."

"I didn't want you feeling like some kind of rebound. You already assumed I was only asking you because Alastair had dropped out, and I'm trying really hard to make you think better of me. I wanted you there today because I wanted your company—that's it."

"Well, likewise. I didn't want you thinking I was only coming because you were single. I found out after I'd agreed."

I sighed and leaned against the front door, the key dangling between my fingers. Ever since that mortifying evening when I'd thrown myself at Brent, I always found it uncomfortable talking to him outside my house. Now was no different, apart from the added awkwardness of this new revelation. 

"By the way," he said, "I'm not sure what your aim was exactly, but you've succeeded."

I let my eyes drift back to his face. No longer at the party, Brent had relaxed again, seemingly confident as he stared at me, waiting for a response. 

"Thanks," I mumbled, because I didn't know what else to say. 

"I should head home," he said. "I'm too hot in this suit, and I need a cold shower."

Once again, the double entendre hung in the air, but neither of us addressed it. He shot me a small smile which I returned. Then, direct as ever, he turned on his heel and strode down the path.

It wasn't until he was out of sight that I regained complete awareness of my surroundings, the weakening sun still emitting a strong heat burning down onto my exposed flesh.

Funnily enough, I was in dire need of a cold shower, too.

~~~

Thank you for reading :) xx

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