Hundreds of candles. Tiki torches dancing as far as the eye could see. Lanterns in shades of violet, indigo, emerald, and ruby bumping around on the breeze. The evening breakers splashing lazily against the beach. In the distance, an early moon lit up Ha Long Bay, with its ancient islands and peaks covered in mist and moss. And before us? An aisle lined with votives . . . with Jillian and Benjamin standing at the end of it. Along with them, the Vietnamese equivalent of a justice of the peace.
“Marry me, Simon. Marry me right here, right now, without any bullshit. Marry me, with just our two friends to see it happen. No parents, no work friends, no clients, no peppercorn-encrusted blah-blah, just you and me and the stars. I spent a night in a pod wondering if I was ever going to see your eyes staring back at me again, and I can’t manage that again unless I’m your fucking wife. And I don’t give one tiny shit about a big fancy wedding, especially without you getting to have your garlic foam. Which, I’d like to point out, is waiting for you back in the main house, for what I hope is our wedding dinner of giant prawns. I want you, only you, for the rest of my life,” I said, lips trembling but knees strong. “Marry me, Simon.”
He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting as he looked around at the fairy tale laid out in front of him. The fairy tale that was exactly right for us. On this very important day.
“One question,” he said, lifting our clasped hands to his lips and placing a kiss right below my engagement ring.
“Hit me.”
“What was that about spending a night in a pod?”
“Seriously? I ask you to marry me, and that’s the line you picked out?”
“Technically, I asked you to marry me first. Let us never forget this very important bit of information.”
“So noted.”
“Can I ask another question?”
“Just one more, and then I’ll need an answer.”
“Is this even legal?”
I laughed, then pulled him down to me for a soft kiss. “Not in the slightest. This is just for us.”
“You realize you own me, don’t you, Nightie Girl?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Hell yes it’s a yes, let’s get hitched,” he whispered, and I threw my arms around his neck. “Watch the rib, okay?”
“Shit!” I exclaimed, and then I heard Benjamin clearing his throat. “Dammit, I just swore at my own wedding. Dammit, I did it again.”
“That’s three times.”
“Can it, Wallbanger.”
And with those revered words, we walked ourselves down the aisle. Spoke the simplest of vows. Promised each other everything we could. Kissed under the stars. High-fived our witnesses on the way back down the aisle. Cut the strings on about fifty sky lanterns and set them loose towards the stars. Then headed inside for garlic foam.
Because that’s what my husband wanted.
Later that night, in the honeymoon bed . . .
“That feels amazing. Don’t stop what you’re doing there, please don’t stop. Right there. Right there. That’s it . . . mmmm.”
“How many is that?”
“I’ve lost count.”
“This is the big one.”
“I can feel it. Jesus that’s good . . . more . . . more . . . more.”
“We’re going to run out of calamine lotion at this rate.”
Here’s the thing about getting married outside in the tropics. Mosquitos. Big fuckers. We spent our wedding night scratching each other’s bites and applying calamine lotion by the gallon. And with Simon still on the disabled list sexy-times-wise, we spooned, scratched, and watched Goonies. With subtitles.
Best. Wedding. Night. Ever.
“Do you, Caroline, take this man, Simon, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Simon, take this woman, Caroline, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”