11
Finula sighed and continued to look at the glossy bridal magazines. Nothing was catching her eye. Everything was so over the top. Being a big believer in “less-is-more” she obviously wasn’t included in the target audience that was supposed to swoon with delight. Finula winced at the huge, meringue creations, which to her wouldn’t look out of place in Disneyland. She frowned at the ten-foot silk and lace trains, dragging behind the brides and wondered how they were supposed to move with ease. All the wedding dresses looked far too complicated with detail, having thousands of pearls, diamonds or sequins stitched into them.
What was wrong with a classy, simple gown that oozed elegance and style? It was almost as if the brideneededa statement dress, thought Finula. Tossing the magazine to one side, she picked up another one and turned the page to “Bride of the Season”. This time she laughed out loud. Bride of the Season? Finula read the narrative underneath the photograph,“Congratulations to Petula Pinkerton-Jones, the proud winner of our beautiful Bride of the Season.”Finula took in Petula’s bucked teeth and crossed eyes and couldn’t help spluttering.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Marcus as he entered the bedroom. Finula was unable to stop giggling at poor Petula. Curiosity getting the better of him, Marcus made his way over to the bed where Finula was sat up, surrounded by magazines. She pointed to the photograph. Marcus squinted to read the caption. ‘Jeysus,’ he muttered shaking his head, sending Finula into hysterics. He then started to undress and got into bed. Finula calmed down and put all the reading material on the bedroom floor.
‘Blimey,’ she sighed, ‘I don’t think I’m ever going to find the dress I want.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ replied Marcus dryly, judging by the amount of time she was spending trying to find one. If she didn’t have her head buried in some wedding brochure, she was scouring the internet or trailing round bridal shops. It made him wonder what on earth she did before he had proposed.
‘What I need, is a second opinion.’
‘I’ll tell you—’
‘And not yours, silly, you’re the groom,’ she interrupted impatiently. ‘No, I need a female’s view.’
‘Hmm,’ Marcus replied, knowing it was hard for Finula being in Shropshire with just him, instead of her home village in Treweham. ‘Why don’t we go to visit your dad for the weekend? You could go dress shopping with Megan – she’d be happy to help.’
‘Oh let’s!’ Finula’s face lit up, making him smile. ‘Dad’ll be pleased to see us and I’ve not seen baby Edward for a while.’ She then turned to face him. ‘You sure you can spare the time?’ Marcus pulled her onto his bare chest and wrapped his arms round her.
‘For you, anything.’ He kissed her cream shoulder, sprinkled with freckles. Finula ran her hands across his dark, broad chest and reached her lips to his, kissing him gently. He tugged her flimsy nightdress up over her head and flung it across the bed. ‘Come here,’ he whispered thickly and pulled her fully on top of him. Finula snuggled into his warm, lean body, enjoying the feel of his touch as he stroked her back and bottom. She loved the smell of him, drinking in that familiar citrus scent. Leaning up, her eyes met his and she smiled. Her breasts were grazing his chest and she felt the stirring of his erection against her thighs.
‘Just think, in two months’ time, we’ll be husband and wife,’ she said gently in between kisses.
‘We sure will, darlin’,’ he replied, slowly easing himself into her.
