Above Us Only Sky (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 21 - The Happiest Girl in the World

The tapping of the rain and a car splashing by and a lone ship's horn. A church bell chimes and music swells and Paul is there, smiling only for her. "Are you ready to be my full-time lady?" he says. He nibbles a path from her shoulder to her ear. Marisol wants to ask him if he thought the wedding went well, but her thoughts are disorganized by his hands. They leave a trail of fire as they slide beneath the spaghetti straps of her gown and move down to cup her breasts.

Her lace gown pools at her feet and they're bare skin to bare skin and Paul is running his hands through her wet hair and she holds tightly to his wrist, because they're racing together through a corridor where ivory dresses hang from the ceiling. The dresses turn into flower petals that sprinkle down relentlessly until it feels like they're drowning in them. A flash of light, then another, and suddenly they're surrounded by men in suits shoving cameras in their faces and shouting their names and they can't move for all the flowers, they're paralyzed, they can't do anything but hold onto each other and stare at each other, their eyes wide and wild...

Marisol's eyes flew open, her gasp reverberating in her ears. She was certain she'd screamed out loud, but Angela was breathing softly beside her in untroubled slumber. She turned her head on the pillow, waiting for her heart rate to slow. In the dim light she focused on the heap of white lace and silk draped across the chair next to the bed. Her wedding day.

She lay for a moment listening to every sound outside her window. A whistle from a distant freight train, a lone songbird's sweet, insistent call. A horse whinnying in the pasture. It sounded like Jet. She pictured him raising his head, looking around for other horses or people. Is anyone else here? An answering nicker from Calamity. I am here. You are not alone.

A shaft of sunlight slanted across the bed through a gap in the curtains. Marisol said a silent prayer that the sun god Ra would continue to shine upon her wedding. She swung her feet onto the floor and stretched her cramped limbs, surprised that she'd slept as well as she had considering the monumental day ahead. Silent as the night, she dressed in jeans and a soft pink sweater and a pair of espadrilles.

While she waited for the kettle to boil, she could hear the household coming awake. Water running, a door opening and closing. Her mother would be up soon, and the housekeeper Bianca would be making breakfast for hungry wedding guests. Marisol opened the kitchen door to check the weather.

A couple of vague clouds drifted over the distant hills, but otherwise the sky was clear, with no threat of rain. Drops of dew glistened in the clear morning sun. The air was cool, but not uncomfortable. All in all, it looked like it would shape up to be a perfect day for a wedding. With relief, she breathed in the morning air, redolent with horse manure and hay and flowering vines and damp earth. The smells of home.

Something else caught her attention: the unmistakable dynamic fugue-like melody of Bach's Brandenburg Concerto wafting across the dormant tangles of grapevines.

With two cups of fragrant, steaming Earl Grey, Marisol squelched her way through the damp grass.

This would be the first of many unforgettable moments of her wedding day, seeing her red-haired grandmother sitting straight-backed on the piano bench in the corner of the barn, her fingers flying over the keys.

Grandma Hadley startled when she saw her, then smiled and reached for the mug of tea Marisol held out.

"Thank you, dear. My fingers are quite frozen." She wrapped her fingers around the mug and blew across the steam. "Come sit beside me. We haven't had a proper talk in ages."

"Was that one of the songs for the wedding?" Marisol settled beside her on the bench, trying to emulate her grandmother's perfect posture. The mark of a professional performer.