by Rosemary Johnson
Cassie caught her foot against something, she wasn’t sure what. She tried to steady herself against the side of the buffet table, but her hand caught the pavlova bowl and swept it on to the floor.
The guests stopped talking and looked around. Then they laughed. And laughed.
On the hotel carpet, by Cassie’s feet, was an unappetising splodge of pink goo and broken glass. She drew in her breath and held it, then counted to ten as she exhaled, in the way the doctor had taught her. This was supposed to be the best day of her life, when everything was white, but now her ivory taffeta gown was splattered with raspberry sauce.
‘Bride drunk at own wedding.’ said Kat, her new sister-in-law, with a sneer. ‘You were also falling over things at your hen-do, weren’t you?’
Cassie dragged the muscles around her mouth into some sort of rictus. ‘Aah, I shouldn’t have worn those high heels that evening. I’m a flatties girl.’ On returning home, she had thrown those expensive stilettos into the waste-bin.
Adam rushed over to her side. Adam was not laughing. ‘Are you all right? Did you cut yourself on the glass?’
‘No. No. But look at my beautiful dress.’
‘Oh, my poor darling.’ Placing his palm against her back, he led her out the dining room and into the corridor. ‘We’ll change into our going-away clothes. We’ll do it right now.’
‘Oh Adam, I’m so glad I married you.’
They planned to tell their families about Cassie’s multiple sclerosis diagnosis after the wedding.
About the author
WordPress blog: https://rosemaryreaderandwriter.wordpress.com.