The wedding called for smart casual, because of the heat, so I paired my shirt with charcoal chino shorts, and a pair of slip-on smart shoes, that look leather but aren’t, to spare the cow. I take Sam’s hand, warm in mine, and look at him.
‘I can do this,’ I say. ‘Can you?’
‘You bet.’
It’s odd to be standing outside such a historic site, about to marry my ex-boyfriend to his fiancé, with my new boyfriend in attendance. As we make our way to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, a smile plays out across my face.
‘There you go. You’re relaxing,’ Sam says, noticing my expression.
‘No. I was just thinking about the last time we were here.’
Bizarre to think we agreed to go to this wedding as fake boyfriends, all in a ruse to make Ollie jealous and somehow get him back. It feels so long ago. Now this is our first proper outing after establishing what we are to one another.
Our feet crunches over the gravelled floor, guests walking ahead, dressed in summer attire.
‘Names, please?’ A man in a suit asks as we reach the entrance to the amphitheatre. I won’t dare to look in at it. Not yet.
‘Will and Sam,’ I say, fixing my eyes on his clipboard. ‘Aren’t you hot?’
‘Sweltering,’ he says. ‘But it’s okay. I didn’t get the memo that it was smart casual.’
‘Drink lots of water,’ Sam says with concern, as the man steps aside to let us in.
Looking down at the tiles, I take a deep breath, grip Sam’s arm, and then look up.
Oh my God.
The odeon is draped with silk cloths of ivory and pink, and already guests are filling it up. Photographers mill around snapping shots. Too many to just be wedding photographers. My stomach twists as I thought about how the socialite magazines are covering this wedding. How Ollie is getting himself into a life of well-off events, where his name might carry some weight.
Above the colosseum, someone has hung bunting above the crowds, depicting two grooms holding hands. At the bottom of the amphitheatre, Ollie is in conversation with his best man, a guy I recognise. Damn, I didn’t think about showing my face to people who were once my friend, too.
The lanterns that had once been a potential problem now look absolutely perfect, flickering a warm glow of candlelight. Doves fly above, like someone trained them not to leave the odeon and find a life of freedom.
God, maybe I shouldn’t have come.
I must be shaking, because Sam rubs my hand.
‘Well, good luck up there,’ he says.
He kisses my forehead, and I say goodbye to him. He takes a seat a few rows from the front.
All my life I let insecurities control me. Now here I am, about to stand in front of a crowd of people, swallowing my pride to wed my ex.
I’m going to see this wedding through to the joyfully bitter end. If Alice could see me now.
Relief crests Ollie’s face like a refreshing wave as I approach. His skin is spotless, all facial hair gone. He’s swept his hair back, giving him the look of an obscure member of the royal family, like Prince Edward, but when he was hot. He’s the most casual-looking groom I’ve ever seen, in loafers, loose-fitting trousers, and a shirt unbuttoned at the top. No tie, which surprises me. I try not to look at the hint of hair on his chest, but I’m only human.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers, as I brush past him.
‘Anything,’ I say.
My heart skips when I spot Ollie’s parents. They were always so regal and well put together. I have to admit I take pleasure in seeing his dad’s balding, sunburnt head, and his mother looking like she’s been told there’s no organic fruit left in the world.
When his dad waves at me, his mother lowers his hand and turns away. It takes all the strength I have not to swear at them.
I call that emotional growth.
‘What are you doing here?’ I gasp, stepping away from the altar, my back to Ollie.
