The Maiden in Winter // Harry Styles Series #4

FORTY THREE

~H~

(conversation between Des and Harry)

What's Dad doing over there by himself? He looks like he's going to cry.

"Dad, you're not crying already, are you?"

"No." I love it when he tries to look stoic. We all know he's going to give Mum a run for her money when it comes to the tears. "When's the van getting here?" That's right, Dad, deflect.

"Five minutes."

"And you're sure you don't want to stay here?" He knows how important this break has been for me. The trip into St Tropez will be quick, maybe an hour, and I won't be on the street for more than a few seconds, but they still worry.

"I'm sure. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

That should have cheered him up, why's he still looking so serious?

"I like Alex. She's got a good head on her shoulders. I'd like to meet her boy."

They thought I was sleeping on the float, but I heard almost every word they said. Alex is scared. Scared of the press, of losing her privacy, of losing me. We'll have to talk about it when we get home.

"You should come to Janesport this summer. There's a little golf club. We could teach Bean. He'd love that."

"So would I." Uh oh, he's looking misty again. "A man reaches an age where he'd like to have a grandchild or two. Teach them to fish and golf and tell them stories." Come on Dad, shake off that wistful look, this is a happy day. There you go. "I suppose we're moving in that direction, though, aren't we?" And now we've got a smile, good, and the crunch of gravel on the driveway, even better.

"Here's the van." And here's Alex coming out the door. Jesus, she's beautiful. What a bloody fantastic day.

***

~A~

The street was almost deserted as we pulled in front of the warm peach façade of the town hall, and no one paid any particular attention the little family going inside to celebrate a quiet Valentine's Day wedding.

Getting married in France is quick, at least the official part is, and twenty minutes later we, and the newly wed Mr. and Mrs. Mlynowski, left the Hotel de Ville.

I was last into the van, and as I stepped up and in, I saw a man on the sidewalk do a double take, and pull out his phone.

"We've got an audience," I said to Harry, who quickly tucked his head behind my back. Anne, on the other hand, flashed a great big smile at the man on the street before our driver slid the side door shut, blocking us from view behind heavily tinted glass.

"No one's following us," Darren was looking intently out the back window, "and I doubt he got anything worthwhile. Good spotting, Alex. You really are becoming one of us."

I wasn't sure how that made me feel.

***

The florist was back when we returned from St Tropez, down by the beach decorating a trellis arch, and a catering service had taken over the kitchen. Gemma's party planner, Mariam, was busy overseeing the setting of the big dining table and briefing the serving staff of two.

We all went to our rooms to rest a bit before getting ready for the main event.

Gemma and Michal's real wedding, the more personal ceremony, would take place that evening at the beach, followed by dinner, cake, toasts, and dancing on the terrace.

"Are you nervous?" I asked Harry. He would be officiating. I knew he'd done it before, but this was his sister.

"Alex," he looked at me like I was a naïve child, "I've played to sold out stadiums. To one hundred thousand people at a time. This is just a pleasant little task. I'll be fine."

We'll see about that, I thought, as I pulled my dress out of its hanging bag.

Harry had insisted on buying me something to wear for the wedding. Gemma had insisted that no one buy anything new for the wedding. I didn't have anything appropriate in my closet and only had a few days' notice to sort it all out. We compromised.

With a photo of me, my measurements, and the size I wore in a few different brands, Gemma's favorite vintage clothing store in London had quickly put together an assortment of dresses. They were waiting for the plane when we stopped in Manchester to get Anne and Darren. My choice was made as soon as I saw it; I didn't even try the rest on.

It was a Pucci from the 1970s, in rich turquoise silk printed with brown vines, purple grapes, and pale green leaves. The deep V of the surplice bodice and long column of the skirt suited my height. Long bishop sleeves would keep me warm enough in the cool evening air, and the thigh-high slit in the skirt evidently gave Harry 'all sorts of ideas.'

Harry had something from London waiting as well, his black tweed Gucci suit from the 2023 Brits after party. For this night, however, he paired it with a white dress shirt, open to mid chest.

"The black tank I wore to the party went in the burn pile. Things got a little messy that night."

We gathered to stand at the shoreline around the flower draped arch, where a photographer and her assistant, who piloted a small drone above us, waited. A three piece string ensemble played quietly nearby.

The sun, about to set, bathed the house in its last warm rays as Gemma and Des walked arm in arm down the lawn. Her ivory satin dress glowed deep gold in the light, its 1930s bias cut following every curve, accentuating the other reason to celebrate, the secret I'd been in on, a sister's Valentine to her little brother.

"No," Harry whispered, his eyes as big as I'd ever seen them, "no..."

Michal, waiting under the arch, was beaming. Anne and Mrs. Mlynowski were teary. I gave Harry a sly grin.

"Was I the only one who didn't know?" I nodded. "How did I miss it?"

By this time Gemma and Des were passing us, stopping at the arch, where father kissed daughter before giving her hand to Michal. As the couple turned to face each other, the sun hit the horizon, blazing around them.

"Will you do the honors," Gemma smiled softly at her brother as she ran her hand over the slight curve of her belly, "Uncle Harry?"

Harry wiped the occasional tear from his cheek as he conducted the brief ceremony, consisting of vows written by Gemma and Michal and an exchange of rings. We tossed handfuls of rose petals over the couple as they shared a kiss, and stayed at the water's edge for photos lit by the glorious sunset.

Dinner was followed by a pièce montée of profiteroles filled with chocolate, hazelnut, and plain cream, drizzled with caramel and chocolate. Toasts were made, the couple danced on the terrace by the pool, and gifts were given before Gemma, looking radiant but tired, announced she was going to bed. It was the best wedding I'd ever attended.

We saw the newlyweds off to their honeymoon in Morocco the next morning. Anne, Darren and the Mlynowskis would stay at the house for the rest of the week. Harry and I dropped Des at the train station on our way to the airport, he preferred taking the TGV and Chunnel to flying.

Our trip home was uneventful, and Bean was waiting, again under a big umbrella in the rain, when we touched down in Janesboro. Harry made some noise about us coming out to Maiden Point that night, but with school for Bean and work for me the next morning, I chose to go home.

I missed him, though. Nights without him felt more and more lonely, kind of wrong. As I sank quickly into sleep after my eighteen hour day, my thoughts meandered through a future without his house and my house, a future with our house.