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their wedding, the speeches.
“As I believe many of you know, it’s traditional for the maid of honour to give a speech, for the best man to give a speech, and for the father of the bride to give a speech. Unfortunately, I am not giving any of my friends the chance to tell you about my wild younger years, nor am I giving my husband’s best friends the chance to ruin a two-hour-long marriage. And finally, my father is dead, so no speech from him. Quite frankly, as I stand before you many of you will be shocked to find that the bride giving a speech, nor the groom.
“The thing is, my husband can be a shy man—which you wouldn’t guess given the places we’ve had sex and the number of times we’ve been discovered. These statistics would give the impression that we are shameless perverts—which is correct. Thankfully, my parents are dead, so they didn’t have to hear me say that. My husband, the shameless pervert he is, would hate to have to stand up in front of you, and tell you the story which kick-started arguably the best love story of this century.
“Lucky for all of you, I am shameless beyond sex, so you will hear the origin story of The Newly Wedded Whitethorn-Galathynius’. In fact, you shall the origin story which the Whitethorn half of The Whitethorn-Galathynius’ hasn’t heard. Babe, this one’s for you.”
where it all began
senior year of high school, the winter formal.
Aelin’s dress was by far the best dress on the dance floor. A mixture of Christmas songs, slow dances, and pop was playing over the ancient sound system in the school’s gymnasium. Snowflakes and angels were projected onto the wall, whilst cheap baubles hung from the ceiling. Tinsel adorned the few high tables in the corners, whilst Christmas trees stood on either side of the snack table.
It was the perfect setting, the perfect atmosphere for the beginning of a romance.
Aelin had made sure of it. She’d spent all her afternoons since being elected on the dance committee absorbed in her Pinterest account, saving ideas and aesthetics, scrolling through so Instagram pages her fingers hurt, googling so many colours palettes and decorations suppliers her internet connection lagged.
This was all to say, that she was in control. She hadn’t come off as a control freak, and as cruel, ignorant, and rude to many of her peers for nothing. She had done it all for them. She’d had help, of course.
She couldn’t orchestrate the entire foundation for a relationship just by herself.
All summer she had taken dance lessons from the community centre, afterwards consulting with Lysandra to translate dance to cheer. She’d spent much of summer hanging out with Lysandra and Elide practising her dance and cheer moves, often on the outskirts of the field, the soon-to-be-senior boys played their pick-up football matches.
This time was also used to eavesdrop and find out where his interests were, what he was curious about, and what he liked in a girl. The last one was the most difficult because no matter how hard his—shockingly gossipy—friends tried to get him to talk about the hottest girls in school, he refused. Said he wasn’t going to be so blatantly sexist—Aelin had wobbled in her cartwheel when he’d said that, promptly spraining her ankle.
Aelin’s ankle had still been strapped up with tape and bandages, unable to try out for cheer during the week before school began, but she had watched Lysandra’s tryouts. Which had turned into watching the football tryouts, on the opposite side of the field.
He had waved at her as he walked off, and her heart stopped and kickstarted each time. She realised she was just a teenage girl with a crush, but what did that matter? Wasn’t being a teenager all about having stupid, unattainable crushes, on people you like superficially?
She was merely doing what teenagers did. That’s how she reasoned with herself at least, she was kept up at night by her own thoughts, calling her creepy. But she ignored them when she fell asleep, into dreams of a future with Rowan.
For the rest of the semester, Rowan had waved when he saw her, and she would wave back—ducking her head, or swiftly turning around so he wouldn’t see the blush that raced up her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose.
But now, she was drinking spiked punch out of a tiny, plastic cup and waiting for the moment. The perfect moment. The moment she had planned, the moment she had thought out so carefully, there was no way it could go wrong.
Her favourite song would begin playing—the song she’d been raving about in chemistry, in chemistry where Rowan sits just in front of her, hoping she would get to dance to it, with someone. She’d been planting the idea for so, infiltrating his mind like no one would believe, that if it did go wrong she was liable to explode and cover everyone with over-worked, non-sensical brain matter. But her heart would remain intact.
Trying to locate Rowan, she wandered around the school gymnasium and marvelled at how well the dance committee had handled her dream, her image, her moment. She was worried, that they wouldn’t take her blackmail seriously—but clearly, they had, and they had delivered on the aspect.
She could jump, she was so happy.
She stopped on the fringes of the dance floor and spotted Rowan weaving his way through dancing couples, and the few solo dancers who jumped around during a slow dance. He caught her eye, waving as he always did before his eyes flicked up—above her head. He smiled and dodged further couples, heading for her.
“Aelin, hi.” He was breathless, and his eyes sparkled. She was endeared by it, she didn’t usually consider that teenage boys had sparkling eyes. Clearly, she needed to spend more time considering because she was so absorbed in them that she didn’t realise he’s said something else.
She just nodded, unable to think up the right excuse.
He leant in, hands slipping to cradle her neck and chin, a thumb caressing her cheek. She could barely take in all the points of contact, couldn’t even make sense of it all. Not before his lips hit her own, and the world seemed to go silent, only the beating of her heart audible. And maybe the calmer thrumming of his.
He pulled back, his face serene and pleased, dropping as he stares at her longer, and longer. Never taking his eyes off hers. Aelin can feel the blank expression on her face, shock disallowing the muscles in her cheeks to work. She was unfrozen, and the brightest grin overtook, warming the world with its shine.
“What did you do that for?” she questioned and didn’t pinch herself even if she felt the need to—this couldn’t be a dream.
“The mistletoe, right above you. I told you—you nodded. I thought you were stood under it on purpose, to make sure we kissed.”
“Yeah, I stood here on purpose, mistletoe is always handy.”
No, I stood here not realising there was mistletoe above my head, we were supposed to slow dance and murmur quiet conversations, until the song ended, and I beckoned you down for a kiss. I was supposed to take the credit. Now the fucking mistletoe can.
the wedding, the speeches
“And to conclude, I can in fact say it was all me—even if he took the time to kiss me, and spot the mistletoe, which I stood under accidentally. Because if I hadn’t been obsessed and learning cheer to be a cheerleader to his football player, I would not have been on the field in time to sprain my ankle at the sight of him. Which lead to the wave, which ultimately lead to our kiss, and this wedding.”
The crowd cheered, and clapped, and Rowan could only stare at his wife, and could only love all the creepy, obsessed parts of her.