boys don't cry. [h.s]

twenty seven

"I'll take Ruby," she said, holding out her hand for niece to take. She grasped Isabel's fingers in her little chubby ones, her dark hair curled into fat ringlets and her grey eyes wide and bright. She was Savannah's miniature.

"Hear that, Ruby-Ru?" she grinned to Ruby, gesturing with her bouquet towards the door. "That's the wedding march. It's time to do this!"

Ruby nodded vaguely, looking around as the doors opened and Georgia and her father stepped into the threshold.

"Oh Jesus," Isabel breathed. For the first time since waking up that morning, she let herself be nervous. Because really, she wasn't nervous about walking down the aisle in front of all these people, and she wasn't nervous about holding Ruby and making sure she didn't shriek during the service, and she wasn't nervous about posing for pictures all afternoon and making pleasantries with crazy Swedish relatives and people she didn't know.

She was nervous because she knew Harry won't have turned up, and the thought of it was so horrible it made her feel like her heart was tearing, ripping right down the middle.

It meant they were over.

She gripped Ruby's hand tightly, taking a deep, shaking breath to try and collect herself as she followed Madeline through the big wooden doors into the church, her sister following close behind. She knew this day wasn't about her, and it also definitely wasn't about Harry, but she always made everything about Harry. Everything was always about Harry.

"Wanna up!" Ruby shouted loudly as soon as they'd crossed the threshold, making Isabel's cheeks stain red. She looked down at her niece and shook her head wildly, willing her to shut up, but Ruby only frowned and lifted both of her hands up.

Isabel looked around nervously, feeling the eyes of spectators burning into her as she bent down and scooped Ruby up, holding her against her hip as she shuffled down the aisle after Madeline.

Isabel was avoiding looking over at the people in the seats, terrified that she would search for Harry and even more terrified of her reaction when she didn't find him, so she whispered pointless comments about the flowers into Ruby's dark hair, making her giggle and nod and bounce in Isabel's arms as they made their way to the end of the aisle.

She caught her brother's eye at the altar, and for a moment she forgot her worries as she felt an overwhelming burst of pride for James. He'd been a little shit when he was younger, and even worse when he was a teenager, but he'd actually sorted himself out. He was actually getting married. The severity of this had never quite occurred to her until she saw him in his suit, grinning like a Cheshire cat and bouncing on his heels excitedly as he tore his eyes away from his wife-to-be for just a moment to give his little sister an encouraging smile.

"We made it, Ru," she told her, placing a small kiss on her cheek as Ruby waved at James. "We did it, and neither of us did anything too embarrassing."

"Yeah," Ruby agreed as if she understood. "Issy – granny!"

Isabel followed her gaze, looking to the front pew of the church to see her mother – already crying and in a ridiculous hat – clutching her step-father's arm. Alex was beside the pair of them with baby Lucas in his arms, on the other side of him was Isabel's dad, beaming happily and showing no signs of awkwardness that he was shoved next to his ex-wife and her new husband, and then, on the other side of him, was Harry.

Isabel spluttered, alarming Ruby although nobody else would be able to hear it over the wedding march. She coughed, feeling her face turn beetroot as she stared at him, horrendously embarrassed but unable to look away.

He was wearing a black suit that fit him perfectly, the white shirt and black tie combination sitting on him like the suit was designer, tailormade just for him. She'd never seen him in a suit before, but she'd known before now that he would look like this, because Harry was so effortlessly good at things and he didn't even know. The suit made him seem even taller, even more handsome, even more compelling, but he was wringing his hands nervously and his hair was dishevelled from running his fingers through it. He was perfect, and he didn't even know.