Wedding Dance (Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Part 1

It's already dark outside, but the chilly summer breeze feels comfortable. It had been a warm day, not hot like the days in late August usually are – a perfect day for a wedding. I want such a glorious day for my own wedding. The sun shone high in the sky during the day, and now the stars and the moon are twinkling with fairy lights.

I'm sitting in my chair, my place card in front of me in case I forget my name. Giggling at my own joke, I play with the white card which tells me my name in raised gold letters. My other hand rests on the stem of my wine glass. It's nearly midnight. I promised myself I could leave at midnight, go upstairs to my room and sleep, falling onto the bed while still in my dress without removing make up. Who cares? I am alone here, so nobody will see me in the morning. My plan is to leave early tomorrow, so maybe I will be able to escape the parents of the bride. I crave my flat, a warm bath with a glass of wine, and listening to my favourite records. Yes, my flat is tiny, so I can hear the record player in my bathroom. Though my cozy home is small I could never relinquish the luxury of a bathtub. I sigh yearningly as I think of my empty flat.

I have been here for two days, helping my university friend to organise the final details of her wedding. She found a lovely man in her company. It was the perfect romance when they met at the copy machine. Since that auspicious meeting they can't live without each other. He is a handsome man, the kind of man any woman would want as a husband. Allen is funny, but you can chat with him about serious issues too.

Admittedly, I'm a little bit jealous. No, jealousy is not the right word. I grant her this man, every single inch of him, though I miss the feeling of a good night kiss, of coming home and someone being there, waiting only for me, asking how my day was. But I also make it less than easy for the men in my life. Ruefully, I turn the glass in my hand, observing the dark red liquid. I can hear my mum in my head, "You're married to your job! You have to step back!" Maybe she's right, but I had to climb high mountains to be where I stand right now in my career.

Looking around on the table I reach for the bottle of wine two places over. Pouring the smooth red wine with relish, I smile slightly.

I knew it would be a big wedding, but I was speechless as I arrived at the manor. My old VW beetle looked very shabby with his worn out red color in front of the stately home. It's like she is marrying Mr. Darcy, and I'm Emma sitting here alone at the table dwelling on my thoughts, thinking of missed opportunities, elusive kisses, mucked up dates. Asking me why I don't wear the white dress and dance with my new husband.

Closing my eyes, I hear the band play another love song.

But here I am. Sitting at the round table which is covered with a white tablecloth and a glamorous flower bouquet in the middle. I cannot see those seated across from me because of the huge floral arrangement. I have brought no company with me, so I am practicing self-care, rewarding myself with wine.

My feet are throbbing with pain; my big toe is numb, so I decide to break the rules and slip out of my shoes. I usually wear sneakers or some comfortable shoes, but that doesn't mean I don't like to dress up elegantly occasionally.

I wiggle my toes under the table, not caring that the tablecloth only reaches to my ankles. God! I feel the cold ground under my feet. Can I say the feeling is better than sex? I guess I can say that since the last time a man visited my bedroom was because he installed my new bed (by the way, no man has slept in that bed).

I close my eyes, leaning back while listening to the music. I resist the urge to put my heavy legs on the empty chair next to me. The crowd has thinned out with only a few dancers still on the floor alongside the bridal couple. Opening my heavy lids, my glance weaves through the tent. The band is playing "Have You Met Miss Jones," and I slug deeply from my wine. I would be lying if I said I don't feel the pleasant feeling of the wine in my veins. During the week I allow myself sometimes a glass of wine, mostly on Friday nights when I'm sitting at my desk working on paperwork.