The bride’s day turns into chaos when her mother interrupts the ceremony, declaring that the groom is ‘not good enough,’ but his response leaves everyone stunned.
You know how at weddings they ask if anyone has any objections? My mum took that too literally. She stood up, dramatically burst into tears and tried to ruin my wedding before it had even begun. What she didn’t expect was that my fiancé already had the perfect response ready for the microphone.
I met Brian in the most unexpected place — the underground. It was past midnight, and the train was almost empty, except for a few sleepy passengers…
I sank into my seat, my legs aching from a 12-hour shift at the hospital where I worked as a nurse. That’s when I noticed him sitting across from me, completely absorbed in a well-worn copy of The Great Gatsby, his brow furrowed in concentration.
There was something mesmerising about the way he sat there in his faded navy sweatshirt and worn trainers, completely oblivious to the world around him. I couldn’t stop stealing glances at him.
When he finally looked up and caught my gaze, I quickly looked away, my cheeks flushing.
‘Fitzgerald has that effect on people,’ he said with a soft smile. ‘He makes you forget where you are.’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve never read him.’
His eyes widened. ‘Never? You’re missing out on one of the greatest American novels ever written.’
I shrugged. ‘I guess I haven’t had much time for reading lately.’
We didn’t exchange numbers that evening. I decided he was just another stranger on the train… a brief, pleasant conversation that would be forgotten.
‘Maybe our paths will cross again,’ he said as he got off at his stop. ‘If so, I’ll lend you my copy.’
‘I’d love to,’ I replied, not believing for a second that it would happen.
‘Sometimes the best stories find us when we least expect them,’ he said, winking at me before the doors closed between us.
A week later, fate intervened.
During the evening rush hour, the underground was packed with people rushing home.
I was standing, holding onto the handrail, trying to keep my balance until the train jerked forward. At that moment, I felt a sharp tug on my handbag, and before I could react, a man snatched it from my hands and started pushing his way towards the doors.
‘Hey! Stop him!’ I shouted, but no one moved.
No one except Brian.
He appeared out of nowhere and rushed past the frightened passengers. At the next stop, the doors opened and both men fell onto the platform. I pressed my face against the window, watching in horror as they grappled on the ground.
Somehow, I managed to squeeze through the closing doors. When I reached them, the thief had already disappeared, and Brian was sitting on the ground with my handbag triumphantly clutched in his hands, a small cut above his eyebrow bleeding.
‘Your book recommendation service is very dramatic,’ I said, helping him to his feet.
He laughed and handed me my handbag. ‘I still owe you a copy of The Great Gatsby.’
We went for coffee to get his cut cleaned up. Coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into him walking me home. Walking me home turned into a kiss on the doorstep that made my knees weak.
Six months later, we were head over heels in love. But my mother, Juliet? She never liked him.
“A librarian, Eliza? Really?‘ she said with a grimace when I first told her about Brian. ’What kind of future can he provide?”
‘One with books and happiness,’ I replied.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Happiness doesn’t pay the bills, dear.’
My family is upper middle class, but my mother always tried to convince everyone that we were rich. She called us by name at dinner parties, distorted the truth about our holidays, and took great care to make our life seem more luxurious than it really was.
When Brian proposed with a simple but beautiful sapphire ring, I was over the moon.
‘It reminded me of your eyes,’ he said.
‘Is that all?’ Mum hissed when I showed her the ring. ‘Not even a full carat?’
‘Mum, I like it,’ I insisted. ‘It’s perfect.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Well, I suppose it can be upgraded later.’
The first dinner with Brian and my family was a disaster.
My mother wore her most expensive jewellery and constantly mentioned her ‘dear friend’ who owned a yacht in Monaco… a man who, I’m sure, didn’t exist.
Brian, to his credit, was consistently polite. He complimented our home, asked thoughtful questions about my mother’s charity work, and even brought a bottle of expensive wine, which my father, Clark, appreciated.
‘Where did you find this?’ Dad asked, studying the label with genuine interest.
‘At a small vineyard in Napa,’ Brian replied. ‘The owner is an old family friend.’
My mother snorted. ‘Family friends who own vineyards? How convenient.’
‘Mum, please…’ I warned.
Dad glanced at her. ‘Juliet, enough.’
She just sipped her wine, her disapproval hanging in the air.