You Are My Light Part II

245 - Wedding *Modern*

"Who the hell gets married when they're eight and a half months pregnant?" the young woman grunts, rubbing her large bump through the many layers of her white gown. It's almost ironic, the swell of her bump and the white of her gown, but in her defence, she and Francis had been so busy with everything that it had been Catherine and Kenna to plan the wedding. All she and her future husband got to decide on was the date, guest list and her dress, but even that was at a push. Mary didn't really mind, she'd never been the kind of girl to dream of her wedding and Kenna loved planning parties and Catherine was-well, she was Catherine. Nobody was stupid enough to say no to her. But the two and a half hour car journey while primed to pop was anything but pleasing to her.

"You wanted to be married before little Jamie gets here," her half brother grins at her, all done up in his fine suit, his hair longer than usual. She huffs, turning to him fully. "and Catherine wanted you visibly pregnant in the pictures, to symbolise the journey you and blondie've gone through." he pauses, licking his lips. "And you know what Kenna's like with horoscope dates, something about the sun being in the right place and venus being in another, apparently, that'll make you have a happier union." he rambles, and Mary chuckles lightly.

"Good point," Mary says. She begins to fiddle with her long veil, twisting her large engagement rock in circles on her finger. It barely fits her anymore, her fingers are swollen, and her breasts are large now, she has visible cleavage exposed in her wedding dress, and the baby boy within her chooses now to kick and squirm inside of her, seeming to be just as uncomfortable as his mother was. "where do you think we're going?" she wonders, leaning forward slightly as she takes in the miles and miles of greenery and lakes surrounding the white Bentley. 

"Mary, I'm Scottish, I couldn't tell you Paris from Berlin." James smirks. Mary laughs.

"Berlin is in Germany!"

"You see?" he retorts. Mary chuckles again, reaching for her baby-safe champagne again. She sips it, trying her best not to smush up her lipstick. Greer would kill her. "I have something for you." he says.

"What?"

James looks suddenly so uncomfortable, almost upset, as he leans forward in the melay of white tulle to reach inside his suit jacket. Mary watches him, flicking one black curl from her face, hearing her long earring jingle in response.

"It's from dad," he reveals, his eyes flicking to the neat, white letter in his hand. "he gave his estate strict instructions not to give it to us until our wedding day." James reveals. "And he wrote more for when we have milestones in life, did you get yours before?" Mary nods silently. "Apparently, he's written three for both of us, in case we end up in divorce." the handsome man chuckles. "I had mine when Emily and I-" he trails, "and now, this is for you." he goes to pass it to his half sister, and she takes it in her hand, but swiftly passes it back.

"I can't." she whispers, her lips parting as she looks at the note written by the father she never had. Everybody knows the story, Henry Valois' brother in arms had died six days after his only daughters' birth in a tragic car accident. From then, James and Mary grew up with no father, risen by their cold mothers in separate ends of Scotland. For James, the estrangement lasted ten years, while his sister was kept from him for another six. The half siblings met for the first, proper time nine years ago. He came with a married lover and enough emotional baggage to sink the titanic, while she turned up well read and impulsive, stubborn and beautiful, with her pretty French-Italian beau at her side. Nine years of ups and downs, and they were here.

"Want me to read it to you?" he asks. Mary bites her lip, and nods. Her father had been somewhat of a ghost to her, and maybe that was because he actually was, all she had was pictures of him and a few videos, but she was deprived of any real memories because she was so young when he died. Growing up, she'd always heard the name of her father, felt his legacy, but it was odd having all those things and no physical man. Her mother was long dead, she died when she was eighteen, and there were no real tears, because she had never really known her. Cold and resentful to her only daughter, giving her away for four years, and boarding school until she was old enough to be on her own.