Doncaster [Louis Tomlinson]

29: Baby I'm Yours

A/N: This is a bit rushed at parts. The picture on this side is Jess' dress at the reception, and what Louis looks like except I imagine his hair to be a bit more scruffy and longer; kind of like how he wears it now. Enjoy!

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 My own parent’s wedding, and I was miserable.

            I wasn’t heartless enough to ruin their special day by stomping around with a blatant grimace the entire time, so I concealed my sadness with fake smiles and excitement. But on the inside, I was weeping.

            That microscopic blaze of hope, that lovesick optimism which, not matter how determined I tried to extinguish, constantly burned inside me in reminder that maybe I was over speculating everything and Louis was just too bashful or blind to admit his love, was well and truly diminished.

            The way he simply stood there, limp and awkward, and the way he cooed my name and tried to stroke my cheek soothingly as if it would somehow ease the situation, had me crushed. What hurt predominately was the fact that he almost acted like he felt sorry for me, like I was a filthy peasant in the gutter begging on my knees for his love and he was a beautiful passerby, ruffling my hair in sympathy or maybe being kind enough to toss a few coins at my feet. It made me feel so small, so exposed, and not even his attempts to comfort me could change that.

            As the bridal party, consisting of me, two of my paternal cousins bestowed with the role of flower girl and page boy, and of course my mum, clambered into the Rolls Royce, I suddenly felt myself wrapped in worry. All this thought of Louis made me think of the guest list, which I never got a chance to review fully. Jay was undoubtedly going to be there, being one of my mother’s closest friends, and understandably Mark would too. But had they bought their kids along with them? I didn’t want to think about that.

            Mum spent the whole journey gushing about how elated she was, despite the fact she’d already been married before. She wore the same dress as last time, meaning she looked as if she’d stepped straight out of the 1980s, but she didn’t seem fazed. And nevertheless, I told her she looked beautiful. And it was the truth.

            Simultaneously I kept the flower girl and page boy, Ruby and Lachlan, entertained with small pastime games like ‘I spy’ and, to my mother’s muted disapproval, ‘slap taxi’. Luckily, there weren’t many cabs loitering around the streets, gathering it was only Doncaster, so the violent game didn’t last very long. I hadn’t known the two seven year olds for very long, only about a week, but they seemed to be in awe of me and cracked up at basically everything I said to them. They were good kids to be around, I was learning, and good distractions from the boy with the cerulean eyes who couldn’t seem to leave my thoughts.

            The next few minutes passed in a blur. We arrived at the church and I had to help my mother out of the car due to her whale of a dress. I complemented her yet again and soon enough I was being reminded of all the things we’d practised at the rehearsal only yesterday. In front of me stood Lachlan, with slicked back hair and a little tuxedo, and Ruby in a dress the same shade of blue as mine. My mother was, of course, behind me. Breaking traditions, no one would be handing her over since Grandad was no longer with us and it wouldn’t feel right. I fixed up a stray hair sticking out of Lachlan’s head and told the two kids not to worry before closing my eyes and inhaling a deep breath. It wasn’t even my own wedding day, and I was stressed. Although, being the only bridesmaid meant I was constantly on my toes.

            The doors were pulled back and I was hit with the sound of ‘The Wedding March’ playing all throughout the church.

            We’d rehearsed this the night before, when I’d been wearing a t-shirt and a pair of converse and the task of walking down the aisle seemed like a piece of cake. Then, the pews had been empty and the minister had appeared so close; just a few simple steps away. Now the church was packed and the aisle seemed to stretch for miles with the minister at the end of it looking like a miniature figure. We were given our cue, and then we were on our way.