Lovelorn sunlight drifted past the curtains, their white cotton sashaying in the warm breeze. The evening sun was peeking out from behind the horizon, seemingly telling everyone goodbye and waving its sunray arms. A soft sigh escaped you, a strand of your (h/c) hair misbehaving and escaping the elaborate hairdo Francis had created. “Amour, you should not be sighing.”
To that you snorted quietly, your eyes on your reflection in the old mirror. Its surface was cracked in places and you could see the wooden back that held the glass up, but you still didn’t get rid of it; it had been a present from Francis’ late mother. “You know amour, you’re being a bad girl dressing like this.” Again, you snorted but this time you looked up to confront the blond, who was meticulously cleaning your shoulders from any dust or fluff.
His blue eyes caught your accusatory stare and he blushed, the red on his cheeks matching the red of the rose he had tucked in his suit’s top pocket. “You shouldn’t be upstaging the bride like this,” he murmured, his fingers fluttering around your shoulders. “It’s not customary, oui?” A smile played around your lips and you too felt a blush singing your cheeks. For a moment the two of you simply gazed at each other, until a honk sounded outside.
“That’ll be the taxi,” you muttered, getting up and stepping into the heels which would be your torturing tools for the evening. Francis’ hands steadied you, their touch retreating past your waist and slipping lower, until you gently punched his shoulder. “Behave,” you warned, chuckling as he pretended to be mortally wounded. The blonde’s expression soured when he realised what you were getting at.
“I will, if eyebrows does,” he huffed, folding his arms like a pissed-off kid. “You will behave and I’m sure he will too,” you promised, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it gently. The honk sounded again and he rolled his eyes, sighing quietly. “Come on then, before they leave without us.”
The car journey was short, but nonetheless tense with both Francis and Arthur there. Luckily Arthur was sitting up front with the driver, leaving Francis with you in the back. The Englishman obviously didn’t trust him though, because he kept snapping remarks at Francis, telling him to keep his cheesy hands from you, not that you weren’t keeping them off you by yourself. Francis snapped back occasionally, and though you often managed to soothe the conflicts between them, you couldn’t manage to keep them quiet today.
It came as a miracle when the car pulled up beside the venue, Arthur stepping out quickly and Francis helping you out. His hands on your hips, he swung you around in an airy circle before setting you on the ground, kissing you sweetly as he did so. Arthur wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Can’t you for once, just stop slobbering all over her?” He asked in disgust, averting his eyes from the scene.
Francis chuckled, surprisingly. You’d have thought the conflict would be getting to its peak now, but Francis simply smiled at the fuming Brit. “Alas, I have tried before. But she’s simply too beautiful to resist!” Your cheeks darkened again, your lover simply grinning in success. Arthur rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, before going inside and leaving the two of you alone. Francis chuckled again, his expression smug. “Well, it’s true.”
“Shut up,” you whispered, heat pounding dully across your face. “Let’s get going, we’ll be late,” you pulled on his hand, and he obediently trailed behind you, a simpering smile spreading over his lips.
“He won’t be getting her out of that dress in a hurry,” Francis muttered under his breath, making your hand retreat to his knee to pinch it. “Don’t make me laugh,” you mumbled back, glancing at your lap when he took your hand in his own to squeeze it gently. He was right however; the dress the bride was wearing looked complicated just to put on, let alone get if off. It had a long line of buttons down her spine, closely closed up and covered with the veil of chiffon draped over it.
The vows had been started, Francis’ fingers weaving through yours and rubbing the metal band around your ring finger. You had yet to say your own vows to each other, but the day was coming soon, you knew that much. Francis wanted to arrange everything, so it could be a great surprise for you. It was so like him to do this and you couldn’t suppress a giggle that left you. Your Frenchman glanced up at you in question, but you shook your head lightly at him, still smiling.
“-to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” You could hear the words echoed by a whisper coming from next to you. Francis was breathing the words along with the groom, except… he’d substituted their names for both of your own. It sounded almost as if he was practicing.
A fluttered heartbeat made your blood rush to your face again, Francis shooting you a sneaked look and blushing as well. You both stood as the groom lifted the veil, kissing the bride with vigour and an ecstatic smile mirrored by hers. She took his arm and he led her down the aisle, to the applause and cheers of the surrounding people.
Francis grinned at them, his hand tight around yours. He smiled widely, peeking back at you. His gaze held yours, the cerulean blue molten with warmth and love, holding a silent promise within them. You confirmed that promise, staring back at him with equal adoration. The moment between you passed, causing an embarrassed blush to spread over your expressions.
“Amour, come dance with me.” You grimaced at him and shook your head, not getting to your feet despite him tugging on your hands. “You know I can’t dance,” you protested, feeling his force increase on your arms. Francis smirked and stooped for a kiss, tenderly moving his lips over yours. You should have known it to be a trick, because he suddenly pulled you up. You scowled at him, but he merely kissed you again to placate your temper.
“I know you can dance,” he murmured, moving you stealthily to the dance floor, his hands grasping your waist. “But I don’t like dancing in front of others,” you replied, hiding your face in his chest as he swayed the two of you on a corner of the dance floor. He slacked a half-hearted sigh, tilting your chin up with his fingers. “Then how about we slip off and do some ‘dancing’ by ourselves?”
“Behave,” you told him, a smirk playing around your lips as well. In spite of your words, you didn’t refuse his wiggle-eyebrowed invitation.