how to love // z. m.

Epilogue

One Year Later...

Oh yeah. Now this is what I call glamorous.

I smirked as I, yet again, thought about how I was in a port-o-pottie, applying eyeliner underneath my eyes as I prepared for my wedding.

Then, like I always did, I sighed happily at the thought of being Mrs. Malik in just a few minutes.

I didn't have a mirror to go by (just like I wanted), so I didn't know for sure what I looked like. All I knew what that my hair was in its slightly natural wave, me having only brushed it this morning with no other special care done to it. Then I also knew that the only makeup I had on was some mascara, eyeliner, foundation, and concealer.

The last thing that I knew for sure about my appearance was my dress.

It's not your typical wedding dress. In fact, it's not a wedding dress at all. It's just a plain, white sundress. I had it played down even more with a belt.

How weird of a bride am I?

I licked my bare lips so that they were nice and soft, naturally. I then opened the port-o-pottie door, making sure that my dress didn't touch anything in it.

Once I was outside, I spritzed myself with some Love Spell (Victoria's Secret ... It was part of Harry's wedding gift, and that wasn't the only thing he got for me from there, if you know what I mean.) so that I didn't smell like a sewer.

I then buried my bare feet into the sand to let them freshen up, as well.

I couldn't help but grin. Everything was just perfect. The sun was setting over the brilliant blue waters, and right at the edge of the water stood the priest and Zayn.

It was just the three of us.

The whole 'eloping in the Caribbean' idea was actually Zayn's idea, and the moment I heard it, I knew that I wouldn't want it any other way. It's not your typical wedding, and I'm not a typical bride (nor is Zayn a typical groom, of course), so why should I settle for some boring, stuffy church wedding?

Zayn was wearing a white button-up shirt (though it wasn't buttoned all the way. It was exposing some of his very toned chest), jeans, and was also barefoot. He had his hair the way he always did, so it was nothing overly fancy.

We'd agreed to keep everything casual. I, however, was holding a bouquet of flowers. Tropical wildflowers that I'd picked from behind that port-o-pottie, but still.

My hair blew only slightly in the sea breeze, the Caribbean sunset providing the perfect lighting for us. I didn't even shed a tear; I was so genuinely happy that the only thing I could do was smile.

"No need for vows," I told the priest, who looked to be maybe thirty, and he was in a Hawaiian shirt even though we weren't in Hawaii. It was completely unbuttoned, bearing much of his hairy stomach, not that I cared, though. The quirks in a person are the best things. "We already know how we feel about each other. We don't have to embarrass ourselves with cheesy things that have probably been already used nearly word-for-word somewhere in the world."

Zayn just looked at me, shaking his head slightly. "...I love you."

I giggled and bit my lip to keep me from exploding into a massive, creepy grin.

"Alright, then," the priest said, and I recognized his voice to be high and girly. I nearly fan-girled right then and there. "I guess... Exchange rings?"

I handed Zayn his gold band and he put it on proudly. Then, he took out from his jean pocket what was to be my wedding ring, and that's when I almost teared up.