When the morning comes

25 | woven like woolen socks

Tenuta San Guido wine

7th of July. My birthday. The day before our wedding. I couldn't care less about my birthday, other than the fact that I would turn eighteen, and could legally marry you. Wasn't common, probably. I knew turning eighteen was a big deal to other girls and would have thrown the biggest party, but I didn't want it. My parents and brothers and family who had flown over had thrown me a low-key party, which was sweet, but my mind was already with the day that would follow after.

The day that I would become yours, and you'd become mine, only.

I hadn't seen you all day- we both were busy with the last preparations of the wedding. The preparations we couldn't see of each other, yet. Your suit. My dress. My hair. My make-up. Your grooming. And all that stuff. You were with your mother and Teddy. I was with my parents. I missed you. The days between the proposal and the wedding had been spent together mostly. Days, evenings, mornings. No nights- that was for marriage only.

We dreamed about everything, watched The Sound Of Music a couple of times more, gazed at more dawns and smelled loads of flowers and cooked food. I sewed you things, you wrote for me, gave me books you liked.

It all made us so much more excited for the future, when we could finally wake up to each other, step in our bed together, fully engulfing ourselves into each others' warmth and embraces. We fantasied about our wedding, how we wanted it to go. Low-key. We both didn't like huge parties, even when I'd have a bit of too much wines, I liked dancing to small live bands or parties of others whenever I'd come near a house with music that would make your eardrums vibrate.

We had decided on our friends and families only. Keeping it small and personal. We had chosen a location in an old, vintage barn, with nature sounds surrounding us and the smell of flowers lingering in the air, satisfying our noses. You had asked me many times if I'd not want to marry in Italy and truth was- I wanted to- but it was too expensive.

Every day, I longed for Italy. You knew that. And with small things, you'd always bring something Italian in our days. You'd find Italian recipes we could try out and cook, gave me Italian self baked cookies, put on an Italian playlist.. the little things, but they meant so much to me.

You and I had both worked hard, but we hadn't had enough money to marry there, invite all of our family members and friends over. It was less expensive to fly the remaining family of mine from Italy over to England. To make it up, we would fly to Italy after our wedding to spend some time together there. Teddy Wood, a hero. He owed us so much, didn't he?

The night on my birthday. The night before our wedding. I was in bed. Knitted something for you. I was almost done, when I heard something near my window. I had wrapped my robe around my body, shoved open the curtain but didn't see you. When I hung out of the window, my eyes met your big, chocolate ones.

"Happy birthday, Aurora." You showed your teeth as you smiled and I was engulfed in the love you beamed out. You had already sent me gifts- we both knew we probably wouldn't see each other today, which was more than reasonable, but you still came.

"Sole." I smiled widely, stretched out my hand, but we couldn't reach each other. "Amore."

"Principessa." I smiled at your English pronunciation, enjoyed the way you studied Italian words just for me. "Baby, I can't wait to marry you." Your face turned serious, you whispered loudly. You hadn't ever called me that, your mannered and polite personality never allowing you to do so. But it sounded amazing.

"Amore, neither can I." I whispered back, watched how the moon lit up your soft and smooth skin. Your hair were disheveled by the wind, but I could tell it had been groomed already.