The Plus-One

I hate weddings.

It’s not that I’m cynical or don’t believe in love. On the contrary, I’m a hopeless romantic who’s probably seen Pride and Prejudice a few too many times. But there’s something about weddings that puts me on edge. Maybe it’s the pressure to be cheerful and sociable around people I don’t know, or perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to warrant bringing my own plus-one.

But when my best friend, Sophie, asked me to be her plus-one to her cousin’s wedding, I couldn’t say no. Sophie and I have been inseparable since college, and even though she’s now in a serious relationship with Jake, we’ve managed to maintain our bond. So when she told me Jake couldn’t make it to the wedding due to a work trip, I was more than happy to step in—at least, that’s what I told myself.

The truth is, I’m nervous. I don’t know Sophie’s family all that well, and I’m not particularly excited about spending an entire evening with strangers. But Sophie promised we’d stick together, and besides, it’s a free dinner and an excuse to wear that dress I’ve been saving for a special occasion.

The wedding is being held at a picturesque vineyard just outside the city. As we drive up the winding road lined with grapevines, I can’t help but admit that it’s a beautiful setting. The late afternoon sun bathes the landscape in a warm, golden light, and the air smells like a mix of fresh earth and ripening grapes.

“You excited?” Sophie asks, glancing over at me with a smile.

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “As excited as I can be for a wedding where I don’t know anyone.”

Sophie laughs, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Don’t worry. My family’s pretty chill, and besides, you’ve got me. We’ll have fun.”

I smile back at her, grateful for her optimism. Sophie’s always been the outgoing one, the life of the party. I’ve always been more reserved, content to stay on the sidelines and observe. But I know she’s right—we always have fun when we’re together, and this time will be no different.

We arrive at the vineyard and make our way to the ceremony site, which is set up in a clearing surrounded by rows of grapevines. White chairs are arranged in neat rows, facing an arbor adorned with flowers and greenery. Guests are milling about, chatting and laughing as they take their seats.

Sophie leads me to our assigned seats near the front, where we’re surrounded by her relatives. She introduces me to a few of them—her aunt, her cousin, her grandma—but I can tell they’re more interested in catching up with each other than getting to know Sophie’s plus-one. Which is fine by me; I’m content to just sit quietly and take in the scene.

The ceremony itself is lovely, as far as weddings go. The bride, Sophie’s cousin Clara, looks stunning in her lace gown, and the groom, James, seems genuinely smitten. As they exchange vows, I find myself getting a little teary-eyed despite my initial reluctance to be here. There’s something about witnessing two people declare their love in front of family and friends that always gets to me, no matter how much I might protest.

After the ceremony, we head over to the reception area, which is set up under a large tent near the vineyard’s tasting room. Twinkling fairy lights are strung up along the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the tables. The place settings are elegant, with crisp white linens, silverware that actually looks expensive, and centerpieces made of fresh flowers and candles. It’s clear that no expense was spared, and I can’t help but be impressed.

Sophie and I find our seats at a table near the dance floor. We’re seated with a few of her other cousins, who seem friendly enough, and a couple I’ve never met before. They introduce themselves as Amy and Tom, and I quickly gather that they’re friends of the groom. They’re polite, making small talk and asking me the usual questions—how do you know the bride, what do you do for a living, etc.—but I can tell they’re not particularly interested in my answers. Which, again, is fine by me. I’m just here to support Sophie, after all.

As the evening progresses, I find myself getting more comfortable. The wine is flowing freely, and the food is excellent—a three-course meal that includes a delicious filet mignon and a chocolate dessert that’s to die for. Sophie and I spend most of the evening chatting and laughing, reminiscing about our college days and catching up on each other’s lives. It feels good to just relax and enjoy her company without any pressure to be social.

But as the night goes on and the dancing starts, I begin to feel a little out of place. Sophie’s relatives start dragging her onto the dance floor, and while I try to join in, I can’t help but feel like a bit of an outsider. I don’t know the steps to their family dance traditions, and I’m not as comfortable letting loose as Sophie is. So I retreat to the sidelines, content to watch from a distance.

It’s during one of these moments, as I’m standing near the edge of the dance floor sipping my wine, that I notice him.

He’s standing alone near the bar, nursing a drink and watching the festivities with a look of mild amusement. He’s tall, with dark hair and sharp features, and he’s dressed in a well-tailored suit that suggests he’s someone important—or at least someone who knows how to dress the part. I can’t help but feel a little intrigued by him. He doesn’t seem to be with anyone, and there’s something about the way he’s standing, slightly apart from the crowd, that makes me think he might be feeling as out of place as I am.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I make my way over to him. I’m not usually the type to approach strangers, but there’s something about tonight that makes me feel a little bolder, a little more daring.

“Hi,” I say, flashing him a smile as I reach the bar. “I’m Alice. Are you having as much fun as I am?”

He looks at me, surprised at first, but then he smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up his face. “I’m Henry,” he says, holding out his hand. “And that depends. How much fun are you having?”

I laugh, shaking his hand. “Enough to approach a complete stranger at a wedding, apparently.”

Henry chuckles, and I can see the tension in his shoulders relax a little. “Well, I’m glad you did. I was beginning to think I was the only one here who didn’t know anyone.”

“Same,” I admit, leaning against the bar. “I’m here as a plus-one for my friend Sophie. Her boyfriend couldn’t make it, so I’m filling in.”

“Ah, I see. I’m here as a plus-one too,” Henry says, taking a sip of his drink. “My sister’s the bride. I’m not exactly the wedding type, but she insisted I come.”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. “The bride’s brother, huh? You must be pretty close if she made you her plus-one.”

Henry shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, we are. Clara’s always been the romantic one in the family. She wanted me here to support her, so here I am.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both take in the scene around us. The music has shifted to a slow, romantic tune, and couples are swaying together on the dance floor. I feel a pang of loneliness as I watch them, wondering what it must be like to have someone to share moments like this with.

“Do you want to dance?” Henry’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look up to see him holding out his hand to me, his expression warm and inviting.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling a little self-conscious. But then I remember why I approached him in the first place—because I wanted to take a chance, to do something different. So I take his hand and let him lead me onto the dance floor.

As we begin to dance, I’m surprised at how easy it feels, how natural. Henry’s a good dancer, leading me with confidence but without any of the showiness that some men seem to think is necessary. We move together in a comfortable rhythm, and for the first time that evening, I don’t feel like an outsider. I feel like I belong.

“Not bad for a self-proclaimed non-wedding type,” I tease as we glide across the floor.

Henry laughs, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve had a few lessons, believe it or not. Clara made sure I wouldn’t embarrass her on the dance floor.”

“She seems like a good sister,” I say, smiling.

“She is,” Henry agrees, his expression softening. “She’s been through a lot, and I’m happy to see her so happy. She deserves it.”

There’s something in his voice, a tenderness that makes me wonder what their story is. But I don’t press him for details. Instead, I let the music and the moment take over, enjoying the simple pleasure of dancing with someone who makes me feel at ease.

As the song ends, Henry doesn’t let go of my hand. He leads me off the dance floor and back to the bar, where we find a quiet spot to sit and talk. The conversation flows easily, and I find myself laughing more than I have in a long time. Henry’s witty, charming, and surprisingly down-to-earth for someone who seems so polished on the outside. I learn that he’s an architect, passionate about his work but also a bit of a workaholic. He learns that I’m a graphic designer, with a love for art and a penchant for procrastination.

Time seems to slip away as we talk, and before I know it, the night is winding down. The guests are starting to leave, and the once-vibrant energy of the wedding is giving way to a more subdued, intimate atmosphere.

“I should probably find Sophie,” I say, glancing around the room. “She’s probably wondering where I disappeared to.”

Henry looks a little disappointed, but he nods. “Yeah, I should check on Clara. She’s probably ready to head out.”

We both stand, and there’s a moment of awkwardness as we realize the night is coming to an end. I don’t want to say goodbye, but I don’t know what else to do.

“I had a really good time tonight,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Thanks for the dance.”

“Me too,” Henry says, his eyes holding mine for a moment longer than necessary. “Maybe we could—”

Before he can finish, Sophie appears, looking a little tipsy but absolutely thrilled to see me. “There you are!” she exclaims, pulling me into a hug. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Come on, we’re heading back to the hotel.”

I glance back at Henry, who’s watching us with a small smile. I want to ask him what he was about to say, but Sophie’s already pulling me away.

“It was nice meeting you, Henry,” I call over my shoulder, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my voice.

“You too, Alice,” he replies, his voice carrying across the room.

As Sophie and I make our way to the exit, I can’t help but feel a little wistful. The night was more enjoyable than I expected, and meeting Henry was the highlight. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, but I’m grateful for the experience. It’s not every day you meet someone who makes you forget your reservations and just enjoy the moment.

As we step outside into the cool night air, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Maybe weddings aren’t so bad after all. And maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for a hopeless romantic like me.

Two years later, I’m standing in the exact same vineyard, but this time, I’m not just a plus-one. I’m here with Henry, as his fiancée. As I walk down the aisle toward him, I see the same look of mild amusement on his face, but now it’s mixed with something deeper—love, joy, and a hint of disbelief that we found each other.

When I reach him, he takes my hand, just as he did that night we met. And as we stand there, surrounded by family and friends, I feel a sense of peace, knowing that I’ve finally found my place, my person.

“I do,” he says, his voice steady and full of certainty.

And as I look into his eyes, I know that I do too.