Under Chateau Lights | Complete

24 | After All You've Done

We spend half the wedding taking photos and the other half staring at each other. I have to delete at least four images of the ceiling or the floor by the end of the night. I haven't deleted a floor picture since before I started getting paid to do this.

The wedding is tricky to photograph, though, because apparently it's trendy to have your Christmas Eve reception outside in a back alley in the dead of winter. In formal wear. Simone wasn't kidding when she said I'd fit right in with my dress. The twinkling Christmas lights overhead make it difficult to catch anything very well. It will be a big editing job for whoever is going to take it on. Hopefully, that person isn't me.

"Why are you all stuck behind a camera, girl?" The bride grabs my hand and pulls me toward the makeshift dance floor, rum or vodka spilling over the edge of her cup as she does so.

The sky high heels strapped to my feet are no match for the icy street underfoot so I slide behind her like a downhill skier. "Because I'm the photographer."

She stops suddenly and I slide right into the back of her, mercifully spilling her drink away from her dress. Unfortunately spilling it right down the front of the groom's jacket.

"Oops," she giggles. "Sorry, husband." And then she tries to take his jacket off without putting the drink down first. Ronan and I both move to stop her and the world moves in slow motion as my body moves slower than my brain and I watch the liquid pour down the groom's back and into a puddle on the ground.

The groom's face passes cherry tomato and heads straight for grape. He's about to explode and his lovely wife is a little too drunk to notice. I've never been good in these situations, and this feels no different as I stare down the problem, trying to figure out how to fix the situation. But by the time I figure it out, he will surely have exploded, casting an immovable cloud over the whole event.

"Hey, man." Ronan steps in. "Why don't we get you cleaned up and grab a new coat. I'm sure I have one in your size."

He can't possibly have a jacket in this man's size, but he's spared the event, storm cloud dissipating quickly.

"Your boyfriend is ah-may-zing," the bride pushes her finger into my shoulder as she speaks, leaning on a nearby chair for support. "But my shoes hurt. Do you think he has any shoes in my size?"

There's no point correcting her. "I'm going to go get some more pictures of your guests, okay?"

She just nods and I cross the small alleyway to put my back against the cold stone wall, pretending it's to get a better shot when it's actually to calm myself down. The warmth hasn't yet reached my cheeks and I'd like to keep it that way.

I'm in the middle of photographing an older couple dancing when the bride reappears at my side. "Where is your man with my man? Did they run off together? Are we that scary?"

Could you be any more drunk?

"I think..." I don't know why I'm trying to rationally respond to her in this state, but I look around, hoping to spot Ronan or the groom. "I think they'll probably be back in no time. Why don't we go get some pictures of your wedding favours. You can tell me all about it."

I'm certain I sound ridiculous but she's too out of it to care, having since disposed of her heels and walking nearly barefoot on the cold stone ground.

One of the bridesmaids comes up to us at the table and forces the bride into some sneakers, and I'm relieved I don't have to try to fix that situation, too. I'm barely keeping myself together, knowing Ronan is across the courtyard most of the night. The only thing keeping me alive was the distance and now that space was closed up, elastic contracting faster than it ever had.

"Oh my gosh you're back!" She runs past me and my eye follows her as she leaps into her husband's arms. I don't need to know what happens next, so I take to photographing the decorations. I'm in the middle of catching the light off a shiny red ornament when I notice the mother of the groom reading what look like Tarot cards on the table near the front and quickly shift my attention to her and the growing crowd of onlookers.

"Dance time," the bride interrupts me from behind. "And you don't get to say no because I'm the bride!" She giggles and pulls me by the hand, though I think I'm holding her up more than she holds me. "I should be a bride every day. This is so much fun!"

"You can't do that," her new husband reasons. "We can only really get married once."

Her pout could stop traffic and perhaps that's why I don't notice what's happening until it is too late. Ronan is standing in front of me, arm held out in front of him. "I tried to resist but she scratches." He turns his wrist over to show me the red marks her manicured nails had made as she dragged him across the party toward me.

"We might as well just dance until she leaves, then. Right?"

His hand inches ever so slightly closer to me.

"Come on," she whines. "I want you to dance!"

I'm pretty sure the next step is shoving me until I fall into Ronan's arms and I'm not ready for that. So I accept his hand and step into him, slipping my camera over my neck as I do so.

"So how have you been?" Ronan's voice is silky, like a warm coffee on this cold night.

"You don't have to ask me that," I laugh, trying to send the tension out with the offending noise.

"I want to, Julie." The walls close around us, twinkle lights illuminating his strong features as my camera presses into my stomach, pressing further in with each passing second.

"I've been alright," I answer, hoping it's close enough to the truth for him not to notice. "How have you been?"

"You said you'd been reading my messages." The music fades out and there's nothing but me and Ronan, wrapped in each other's arms, drawn together by the unidentifiable force whose sudden appearance had sent me running the first time.

"I've been reading your messages."

"Then you have the highlights."

Being back in his arms is like slipping on my old high school sweatshirt. It's warm and safe and worn in just the right places. I don't know what it is but I don't feel cold anymore, staring into Ronan's deep brown eyes. We sway to the inaudible music, pressing my camera to the side so I can rest my head on his shoulder.

And as soon as I do so, a pang of guilt shoots through me. First, for coming back to him after I promised I wouldn't. And second, for kissing two guys in one night. In some circumstances that isn't bad, but when both those guys might well think you like them exclusively because you're a hot mess, well, then it's pretty bad.

I try to pull back but Ronan's arms are running up and down my bare back, resting finally on my shoulder blade and my hip. Any attempt to remove myself from his arms would be awkward and obvious. If that's even something I'd want to do. Which I'm really not sure of right now.

I should want to. I'm trying to make myself want to leave him when his lips find my temple, sending shivers through me, raising the hair on my arms. "I missed you so much," he whispers, so quietly I'm certain he doesn't mean for me to hear.

"I missed you too," I mumble into his shirt.

The small circle he's drawing on my back pulls me back to the reality of where we are and what we're supposed to be doing. "Uh, Ronan. I think we should get back to photos."

"Huh?"

"We're photographing a wedding?"

"Oh." He shakes his head and his grip on my back loosens ever so slightly, fingers brushing my arms like he's afraid if he lets me go he will lose me again. Which is exactly what I've been trying to avoid.

"Let's just..." I point at the wedding party trying to get our attention near the cake. "Maybe let's just photograph the cake cutting."

Ronan nods and I pull back from his embrace, lifting my camera to hide the tears forming in my eyes and freezing against my lashes.

What on earth am I doing?

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