Bridal Waves: An Ocean of Love

“Hold still, Mary Louise.” I slur through gritted teeth. There’s a safety pin primed for poking between my lips. I struggle to balance on the heel of my new designer pumps, but this bride’s wedding dress is in need of alteration – and there’s no time to call in a seamstress now. I delicately section off a portion of her eggshell gown, twirling the fabric between my fingers and securing it to her corset with the safety pin, being especially mindful of the fragility of the fabric. I carefully position her veil so that it hides our quick fix. “There.”

           “Oh Genevieve, thank you!” Mary wraps her arms around my neck, nearly sending the both of us into crumpled masses on the dressing room floor. I brace against the vanity that’s adorned with lipsticks, compacts and enough boobie-tape to secure eleven Dolly Partons. 

           “You’re welcome.” I smile fondly at the bride. Her face says it all, and I can’t help but feel satisfied in another job well done. I can sense the excitement and the love behind her eyes as she thanks me again and again. Her bridesmaids, all dressed in silky lavenders and taupes, ooo and ahh from behind her. “Now go get married, Mary. You look absolutely beautiful.”

           I watch as the entourage of women exit the dressing room and head to the main chapel. Their gowns sashay as they move, the smell of their tulips wafts through the corridor and fills the air. They look ravishing – all dressed to kill in the finest Italian lace, with hair done up in spirals and intricate up-dos. I smile, outwardly, but on the inside I fight to stomach a twinge of pain that hits somewhere within my chest. Loneliness. My oldest, most trusted companion. She finds me wherever I may be.

           I murmur a few general instructions to the musicians and lighting technicians through my headset, and wait in the hallway until I hear the processional begin. Once the wedding march permeates the foyer, I know my job is done. I usually don’t stay to watch the vows, it gets difficult after a while. So instead, I meander outside, into the warm and fragrant air of a Greek springtime.

           I’ve called Santorini my home for three years now. It’s a gorgeous city, nestled into the bosom of the Greek isles, tucked neatly into the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. The air here always smells of sea water and fresh caught fish. There’s an abundance of beautiful flora decorating the cityscape, and there’s always a friendly face to see as you mill about the island. Greek families are a treasure unlike any I’ve seen before. Their holidays are lively and their affairs are romantic and swift. That’s part of why I moved to Santorini three years ago – the romance. As a wedding planner, my job is often made tremendously easier living in a place as stunningly enchanting as this. I haven’t searched for work since I moved here, blissful couples find me where I land and promise me their greatest possessions if I can turn their wedding day into something out of Shakespeare.

           “Genevieve?” My walkie talkie chirps from the clip inside my pressed and tailored blazer. My assistant Veronica’s voice lulls through its tiny speaker.

           “What is it, V?” I question her. I pace idly, back and forth, along the cobblestone patio that overlooks a charming veranda and the lapping waves of the ocean.

           “The caterers for the Wasinski wedding called. They’re all out of the halibut. That wedding is next Saturday at noon.” Veronica sounds exasperated.

           “Veronica, breathe.” I sigh into my walkie. “Call Milo, the best man from the wedding we did last weekend. He was so happy with the outcome of his brother’s big day, he promised us any favors we need in the future.”

           “How is a random groomsman going to help us with a fish crisis, G?” She huffs.

           “He owns a fishing boat, and he sells his catches to the market every Tuesday and Friday.” I stare out at the fleet of local fishing boats that float peacefully in the water, riding the waves with a rhythm that only Mother Nature could conduct. “See if he can set aside the fish we need. Tell him I told you to contact him.”

           “Will do.” Veronica says her goodbye and I turn back to the landscape. I’m truly blessed to live in such a mesmerizing corner of the world. It’s like a fairytale, all love affairs and family gatherings – lunches in the garden and tapas by the sea. At least, that’s what I’ve heard Greek living is like, from the brides and grooms that come calling upon my anal retentive organizational skills and my desperate need to get things perfect. I wouldn’t particularly know firsthand. Though my days are filled with cake samplings, bouquet arrangements and final orchestra tune-ups, my nights are spent alone, in my tiny apartment that overlooks a vineyard. I watch, every single day, as people come together in the most intimate of ways to profess kinship and love to their family and friends, all whilst hovering silently, diligently, in the background – doing my work and feeling lonelier than I ever dreamt possible. Perhaps my life really is a fairytale, but maybe I’m just the girl who passes the princess everyday on her way to work the stables. I’m living within the enchantment, but none of the magic ever really finds me. I sigh.

           It takes me until midnight to finish cleaning up Mary Louise’s wedding festivities. I’m sure that I could delegate these trivial tasks to someone else, but honestly I don’t mind cleaning. At least I have the company of the rather sparse, straggling servers and musicians to keep the loneliness at bay. But sooner than I’d willingly permit, they leave to go back to their homes, back to their loved ones, and I reluctantly reside to my one bedroom, one bathroom living space, that each night feels more and more void of companionship than the night before.

           “Maybe I should get a cat.” I think to myself as I settle in-between the soft fabrics of my bedsheets and Sherpa comforter. “That won’t work. I’m allergic to cats.” My thoughts shoot down proposals of camaraderie as I slip into my slumber.

           The next day, I’m greeted by the stark and warming sunshine of a new morning. I can hear a bird chirping pleasantly outside my window, and I can already smell the fish being hauled up from the bay. It doesn’t take me but a moment to ready myself for the day. I pull on a khaki pantsuit and a modest plum blouse. My feet slide comfortably into ecru loafers that are all too familiar. I’m sure my variety of heels and sandals long for another wedding, as it’s the only time I choose to wear them. I secure my straight blonde hair with a golden barrette that my grandmother gave me before I left the States.

           The office is already buzzing by the time I arrive. It’s merely seven forty-five, but my associates are already scampering about, tending to photography schedules and final tuxedo rentals. Our office is small and intimate, there’s only four of us who share the space. The windows are always open, allowing the fragrant ocean air to find us at our desks, and the pot of coffee we keep permanently flooded provides us with all the caffeine we need to get down to business.

           “Good morning, G.” Veronica smiles as she greets me in our office. We share the space, my assistant and I. Normally, I’m sure it’s frowned upon for an acclaimed designer, such as myself, to work so closely with her assistant, but I don’t mind it. In fact, having Veronica a measly four feet from my workspace cuts back on the time I spend in the arms of my pal, loneliness, and for that I’m thankful.

           “Morning, Veronica.” I nod as I settle into my plush desk chair. “I need you to contact the Bentleys. They’re the destination wedding we’re doing three weeks from Friday. The bride called yesterday wanting to confirm travel arrangements.” I start to organize my agenda for the day. “And I need you to see about the marigolds for the Vtialis wedding this weekend. The florist hasn’t gotten back to me and I’ve left at least a dozen messages.”

           “On it.” Veronica turns to get to work.

           “Oh, and V?” I stop her before she settles into her desk chair.

           “Yeah?”

           “Thanks for all your help this weekend, I couldn’t have done it without you.” A soft and genuine smile finds her face in the morning sunlight and she nods tenderly to me before she picks up her phone and starts dialing numbers. Sometimes I’m sure that if I didn’t have Veronica as a friend, I’d have no one at all.

           Monday passes in a blur of tailored gowns, and Tuesday’s lost to wine lists. Wednesday leaves me exhausted after a bridal meltdown. And Thursday, I’m confident, is shorter somehow, as I ensure that all the final arrangements are made for the weddings pending this weekend. I rest groggily in my bed, come Thursday night, with only the dim lighting of the moon and the subtle sounds of lapping waves to keep me occupied. I drift off to sleep rather quickly, dreaming of a wedding unlike any other – mine.

           Another Friday rolls around and I’m jolted out of bed by a list that racks my brain of at least a hundred things to do before noon. I face-time Veronica as I navigate the coastline to today’s location. She’s already there setting up, and I bark and blubber orders to her, droning on about polished silver and chilled, not iced, Cabernet Sauvignon as I drive.

           “You’re here!” She greets me, her wild eyes and frizzy hair tells me it’s been a morning already. “Thank God.”

           “Here’s the tuxes for the groomsmen.” I hand her a large bag of dry-cleaned formal wear. “Take these to the men’s dressing area, and then come find me in the bridal suite. I have to make sure we’re on track for photos to be taken before the ceremony, and then the guests should start arriving in about… two hours.”

           “Roger.” Veronica nods and we go our separate ways.

           “G’s here!” The mother of the bride practically plucks me from my Pradas as I enter the bridal suite.

           “What’s going on?” I quiz the room of made-up bridesmaids and family members. “Where’s Cleo?”

           “She won’t come out of the bathroom.” Bitsy, the maid of honor, chirps from where she’s sitting, rollers in her hair bounce as she turns to point to the bathroom. “She says the dress looks all wrong.”

           “I’m on it.” I sit down the box of floral bouquets that I’d been carrying and scurry over to the door labeled LADIES. “Cleo? It’s Genevieve, open up.”

           “G… Thank God. This looks terrible.” I’m greeted by the tear-stained face of the bride-to-be as she ushers me into the bathroom with her. She sits down along the edge of a luxurious marble bathtub, plumes of white ruffles and rhinestones envelope her as she does.  

           “What’s wrong with it?” I stand her up so I can gaze upon the gown. I’m diligent in triple checking that no beading is gone and no threading is frayed.

           “The hemline is too short. I tried this on with the diamond Wang heels from the dress shop, but with all the chaos of the wedding, I never thought twice about taking my actual wedding heels back to the shop to try with the dress. These heels are two inches taller than the other ones.” She stifles a soft sob, choking on the fragrant air of the freshly trimmed grass outside of the yacht club.

           “Honey, there’s no need to panic. I can fix this, and you are going to look breathtaking when I’m done with you, Cleo. I promise.” I bend down to steal the shoes from the bride’s feet and rush out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the parking terrace. I find my car in its designated spot and pop the trunk to reveal my wedding warrior emergency pack – essentially any and all extra shoes, bras, clips, trays, flowers, glue guns, tampons, liquor, makeup and Kleenex I could ever need. I find the pair of Wang heels that Cleo had previously referred to and snatch them up in my hands. I make haste for the bridal suite, as guests will be arriving shortly and a barefoot bride just won’t do.

           “She’s back!” Bitsy calls from her chair as a hairstylist finalizes the finishing touches of her cholate brown mane.

           “Here.” I huff a little as I hand the heels over to Cleo who slides her feet into them with ease – a perfect fit. Her makeup has recovered since I left.

           “Oh, it’s perfect. It looks stunning.” She twirls in the mirror, reveling in her appearance. “You saved my wedding day, G.”

           “It’s no trouble. You look beautiful, Cleo.” I smile earnestly. “Now, I believe the photographer is ready for you, and I think your soon-to-be husband is eagerly expecting his bride.” With that, the bridal party floods out of the dressing suite and I’m left alone, again.

           I radio to Veronica to ensure that she can handle the photo shoot along the harbor, then I step outside to catch my breath. The air is warm today, so I shrug off my stuffy blazer and indulge in the breeze against my bare shoulders. I take a few steadying breaths as I lean against the intricate railing that separates me from a gorgeous sailboat that bobs gently in the water below.

           “You needed some air too, huh?” A deep and velvety voice rings in my eardrums. I turn to see a tall and exquisitely dressed man standing a few paces away from me. His charcoal trousers and soft blue dress shirt cling to his muscular frame, and the wind tousles his sandy brown hair in the most charming way. I’m taken back when my eyes find his though. I’ve never gazed into greener eyes before, and in this moment I’m confident even emeralds hiss with jealousy at the gorgeous richness of his eyes.

           “Excuse me?” I tilt my head, remembering he’d said something before.

           “It always gets a little crowded at weddings for me, I like to step away when I can to steal a breath… a moment of peace, if you will.” He walks a few steps closer to me a leans against the railing, resting comfortably, effortlessly, on his elbows.

           “Do you come to a lot of weddings?” I ask.

           “Enough.” He snickers. “I’m a pastry chef at the bakery that this couple bought their wedding cake from.”

           “Oh.” I gasp. “So you work under Chef Mario?”

           “I do.” He smiles. “The name’s Dante.”

           “Genevieve.” I extend a hand to shake his. I can’t help but get lost in the earthiness of his eyes. How have I never met him on the wedding circuit before?

           “So what brings you to a wedding today, Genevieve?” His voice is soft, like he only wishes to speak with me, and something about that beckons to a part of me, a deeply feminine and desolate part, that wants nothing more than the company of a man. 

           “I’m the wedding planner.” I laugh. “It’s sort of mandatory.”

           “Ah.” He smiles and I’m sure that my jaw drops. He undoubtedly has the straightest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. Suddenly my mind wanders and I find myself wondering what it would be like to have those perfect teeth biting at my bottom lip. I flush at the thought. “Well it’s beautiful, you do extraordinary work.”

           “Thank you.” I smile, but my mouth soon turns to a frown as I catch a glimpse of the time on the clock tower adjacent from the yacht club. The processional is to begin in five minutes. “Shoot. The wedding is about to start. I better get back to work.”

           “Pity, I was rather enjoying getting to know you, Wedding Planner.” He chuckles and I nearly topple over, I could get drunk off of the sound of his laughter, it’s intoxicating and delicious.

           “As was I, Dante.” I chew on my lip, saddened, though I do my best not to elude to that in front of this handsome stranger. I long to stay and chat with him, I truly have not wanted something so much in quite some time, but duty calls, and I’m certain that upon my departure, this possibility of human connection will vanish, and loneliness will find me once again.

           I turn on my heel to walk away, back into the building, reluctant to leave but hard-pressed for a reason to abandon my commitment to the wedding party. I owe these people the wedding of their dreams, and it’s my job to deliver. Loneliness is par the course I suppose. I spend my days ensuring that everyone else’s quest for love and companionship comes to a neat and tidy close, thus pre-sentencing myself to a lifetime of being lonely. I’m surrounded by people, hundreds of people, each week, but nevertheless, I am alone.

           “Genevieve?” I feel a hand reach out to mine and it’s like a jolt of electricity finds its way through my fingers into the innermost part of me, lighting me on fire from within. “Find me at the reception. I wish to know you better.” His voice is sultry and smooth as he says these words and I simply nod. Elated and shy. Perhaps loneliness is not part of my destiny after all. I catch a glimpse of the ocean and the handsome man who I yearn so desperately for already. Perhaps I’ve been a buoy all along, bobbing amongst bridal waves in an ocean of love, waiting for just the right undertow to come and whisk me away.

THE END