Speak Now

XVIII

 I love Keira and Logan together. Honestly, I do. I think they are a perfect pairing, the kind of couple that are 'meant to be,' who will survive any obstacle thrown at them. They're going to be that married couple that lives and breathe their vows, promising in sickness and in health, for better and worse, for richer and poorer, until death do they part. That said, I'm starting to question if they will ever get around to saying their vows. We're roughly a week out from the wedding and here we are, sitting in their Pre Cana session, watching as they come to blows over the simplest of things. 

"Yeah, fine, but what if I don't want you to pull the plug on me?" Keira spluttered, expanding on her hypothetical at-death's-door scenario. I'm not entirely sure how Father McGuire had allowed the topic to shift from Finances onto Keira questioning her fiancé about whether or not he'd allow medical professionals to turn off her life support machine in the event of any serious accident, but here we were, discussing it in detail. "Are you seriously telling me that you'd turn the machine off on me? I wouldn't turn it off on you."

Logan ran his hands through his hair, not for the first time in the past hour. "No, Keira, what I'm saying is that I love you too much to see you suffer. You are a wonderfully vibrant person and if you became a fraction of that, it would break my heart. So yes, if you were to have a total loss of brain function, I would take you off life support. I hope that you would do the same to me."

While I was practically swooning over his short, yet sweet, speech, Keira wasn't having any of it. Instead, as her frustration grew, she threw her hands up in the air, pushed the chair back, eliciting a painful screech, and furiously stormed out of the room. The door creaked in her wake as the men and myself shared a look of bewilderment. For obvious reasons, they all expected me to chase after her but there's only so much sense I can try talking into Keira before it starts to fall on deaf ears. With that in mind, I turn to Sam. 

"Why me?" He whined. 

I scoff. "Why does it always have to be me?" I rhetorically ask. When he starts to grumble that Keira will eat him alive if he even attempted to reason with her, I pull a pitying face and in a childish voice, I say, "Balls just called. They wanted to know if you wanted a pair."

I was chastised by Father McGuire for my comment but it stirred up the macho side of Sam, who clearly didn't like his masculinity being called into question. While I don't think braveness is a mandatory trait of being a real man, Sam's old-fashioned thinking propels him into leaving the church, phone to his ear as he tries to reach Keira. With half of the fab foursome gone, I focus my attention on Logan, motioning my head towards the door so that we can start heading back to the house. 

For only the third or fourth time since arriving in Ireland, the weather was mild. The sun was out, brightly shining down upon us, and the warmth it generated was rather fine. I'd left the house this morning wearing a sleeveless dress and I wasn't yet complaining about the temperature, despite usually bemoaning the fact that I simply don't do anything under twenty degrees Celcius. Logan let me loop my arm through his as he leads the way down one of the many paths that weave their way back towards the house.