The Hairy Bride
by D. A. Cairns
part 1
Max stood in awe of the heavenly vision walking down the aisle towards him. Clothed in white, shining like a full moon, his bride smiled, her face glowing with joyful anticipation, showing no sign of the turmoil preceding the biggest day of her life so far. In shaking it off, she had once again demonstrated that quality of hers which was foremost in Max’s mind, underpinning his love for this rare creature: her strength of mind.
The music was chosen by them to reflect their personalities and to hint at the colourful character of their story. “One Thing Right” by Marshmello, featuring Kane Brown, played loudly as she approached the altar where she was to be joined to him in holy matrimony.
Max could not take his eyes off her. Until she appeared in the entry and the music commenced, he had been consumed with thoughts of himself, particularly how he looked. His traditional black suit was impeccable, a soft green tie to match the bridesmaid’s dress, a companion handkerchief folded in his breast pocket.
He rubbed his face, enjoyed the smoothness of his skin, while dismissing the lament of not being able to grow a full moustache or a beard. He had once seen it as a failure of masculinity, cursed his lack of testosterone, moaned about the injustice. Most of his friends shaved before going to bed then woke up in the morning with beards. If he persisted for months, he could achieve something approximating a beard, but it was patchy and unconvincing. He had seen this disability as evidence that he wasn’t man enough, but the extraordinary Bella had changed his thinking, and so much more. She had turned his life wonderfully upside down.
Undeniably and seductively feminine, yet elegant and modest, her wedding gown reflected her character. Her bright smile shone like a beacon through her thin veil, forcing everyone and everything in the church into humble shadows.
‘Here we go,’ said Max’s best man, Chris, leaning in close. ‘This is it!’
Max barely registered the words, transfixed as he was by his beautiful bride. Bella had been the only one who believed in them through the storm of opposition they had faced. She was a rock, his rock. When his faith faltered, when his resolve weakened, when her family resisted the union with terrifying passion, when his own family and friends made him doubt the wisdom of going ahead, Bella had remained unmovable, unshakable.
She would be by his side soon, holding his hand, speaking vows, exchanging rings, agreeing to be his wife. The nerves Max had felt — the anxiety which had robbed him of sleep the previous night and made it impossible for him to eat, though his hunger was insistent — disappeared, flying away like doves released from a cage, leaving nothing but peace.
He watched her glide down the aisle, paying no attention to her feet, although her gown might have tripped her. She ignored family, friends, and well-wishers who filled the pews on both sides. The stunning architecture of the church, its high ceiling, stained glass windows and sculptured images of Christ, of Mary, and of the saints were all lost on her as she steadily approached, wrapped in delirious anticipation. Max gulped.
It was a struggle to stay in Bella’s light. With each step she took, his eyes wandered to the front row to his right where Bella’s family sat and stared. Her mother looked morose as though she was attending a funeral instead of a wedding. It was a wonder they had come at all. Until they arrived, Max had believed their threats to boycott the ceremony. They were helicopter parents in the Godfather tradition, firm in their conviction that Max was not one of them and therefore not worthy of their precious daughter.
Beside them, Bella’s brothers wore equally grim expressions, focusing their displeasure on Max. They would kill him without a reason or at least beat him up to prove their dedication to their father and their little sister. Maybe they would do it for kicks. Max had heard stories and been on the receiving end of disturbing threats enough times to know that the bites of these young men was much worse than their barks.
‘Keep your eyes on Bella,’ said his best man. ‘She’s all that matters.’
‘I’m marrying into their family, and they hate me,’ whispered Max. ‘Look at her father. Cold as ice.’
Bella was only five metres from the altar now.
‘They don’t hate you. They’re just sad to let go of their little girl.’
‘I don’t see sadness on those faces,’ said Max. ‘I see death and destruction.’
‘Bloody hell, Max.’
The priest, until that moment, a silent, unobtrusive presence, rebuked him. ‘Language, please,’ he said. ‘You’re in God’s house.’
‘Sorry, Father,’ said Chris, bowing his head slightly in his best effort at contrition. To Max, he said, ‘Grow some, mate. This woman loves you, and I’m telling you that’s all that matters.’
Max was unconvinced. Surely ‘love conquers all’ was a myth.
Bella and her father arrived at the altar.
‘Who gives this woman away?’ said the priest, his smile soiled by his awareness of the tension.
‘I do,’ said Bella’s father, glaring at Max, his jaw set, his lips tight, his back rigid. He squeezed his daughter’s hand, then eventually let go. Max exhaled. Her father should have placed Bella’s hand in Max’s, in the traditional gesture of giving her into the care of another man, but he declined. His one last protest. Probably not the last, thought Max. Definitely, not the last.
Max took his bride-to-be’s hand. He and Bella turned to face the priest.
‘Dearly beloved,’ said the priest, ‘we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join these two people in holy matrimony.’
* * *
Max and Bella met by chance when he started moonlighting as a food delivery driver. Bella’s parents owned a restaurant called Saffron Pomegranate; an awful, pretentious tongue-twister of a name for a glorified café which served Middle Eastern cuisine.
Max arrived to collect a dinner order, and Bella was there to greet him. His first impression was black and white, much like her appearance: porcelain skin, thick black hair, and impossibly dark eyes. Her eye lashes were so long they could have been mistaken for awnings. At the sight of her, Max forgot why he came. He and Bella stared at each other until her father burst from the kitchen, demanding to know what Max wanted.
Max looked around the café, wondering if Bella’s father greeted all his customers with such bonhomie. Saffron Pomegranate was nearly full so he either didn’t or his customers were so keen on the food, they put up with his startling rudeness.
Having completed his business without saying a word to Bella, apart from a hurried and subdued farewell, Max took the delivery, but was then sent straight back to collect a second order. Bella was out front when he arrived, wiping off an entry on the menu board.
‘You’re back,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you brave?’ Bella smiled.
Max smiled. ‘Does he eat at work?’
‘Who? My father?’
‘That’s your father?’ Max was alarmed, because he’d already begun work on his date invitation to Bella though he didn’t even know her name. ‘Scary.’
‘You should see him when he’s mad.’
‘My name’s Max.’ He held out his hand.
Bella demurred. ‘You’d better get on with your business before Dad comes out and tells me to put your name on this menu board.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
When Max returned a few minutes later with the order, Bella caught him halfway back to the door. In a rush, he almost barreled her over. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘What did he say this time?’
Max lowered his voice. ‘He said if I don’t stop talking to you, he’s going to put my name on the menu.’
Bella laughed.
‘I’m glad you think death threats are funny...’ he paused, hoping despite his trepidation that she would supply her name.
‘Bella.’
‘See you next time, Bella.’
She discreetly waved at him. ‘Bye, Max.’
Without parental approval, and without ever entertaining the possibility of getting it, Max and Bella worked out a sneaky communication system and began seeing each other on the sly. Max was never able to relax during their dates even though they were always in public, and his behaviour was completely above reproach, always respectful. Bella pretended to relax and was good at it, but not so good that after only a few weeks, Max said he couldn’t handle the subterfuge anymore.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to see me anymore?’ said Bella, neither hurt or disbelief in her tone, as though she’d been here before.
‘No,’ said Max, ‘I’m not saying that.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying I’ve fallen in love with you, and I can’t cope with the symptoms of lovesickness as well as the constant danger of us being discovered together by your father or your brothers or anyone who knows you and is loyal to the family. It’s too much.’
Bella said nothing. Max studied her face while he waited for her to respond. He knew her face so well now. Flawless complexion. Largish straight nose. Full lips, adorned with a sensible rouge, her eyes made up but not overtly so. It was a face he loved now, a face he wanted to be able to see and enjoy every day. He wondered what it was like undressed. What she was like undressed. Max pulled himself in line, corralling his lascivious thoughts, deliberately averting his eyes and clearing his throat. Not now, mate, he told himself. Control it. All in good time, or maybe not. He swallowed, returned his eyes to Bella’s, smiled.
‘We’ve only got two choices then,’ she said, finally.
‘We do,’ agreed Max, he reached for her hand, held it firmly, but gently.
‘When do you want to tell him?’ said Bella.
Max didn’t want to tell Bella’s father. He didn’t want his face rearranged or any of his bones broken, didn’t want to be the chef’s special at Saffron Pomegranate. He waited for her to take the lead.
‘Come on then,’ she said, rising from her seat.
‘What? Now?’
‘There’s never been a better time than right now.’
The drive to Bella’s home was an agonizing twenty minutes, during which Max rehearsed the upcoming scene repeatedly, making adjustments to his words and his manner. Bella held his hand whenever it wasn’t needed for steering but said nothing. In the few brief moments when he wasn’t fretting and reconsidering, he drew strength from her.
Copyright © 2023 by D. A. Cairns
