Free Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes by Amanda Martin Page B

knowing that
I’m fulfilling only a supporting role to Mia’s leading lady.
    Marcio opted to think about
Mia; her caramel skin, warm and smooth as sun-drenched wood. Her
curvaceous body undulating like lazy waves, sensuous and sexy,
particularly when she was wrapped in her favourite skinny jeans.
His heart swelled with emotion and the anticipation to see her
approach down the aisle built inside.
    The atmosphere changed as the
organist struck a familiar chord. So Mia has opted for a
traditional English wedding march? Marcio grinned in
appreciation. This day was going to be a beautiful blend of Spanish
and English, traditional and modern. Mia had done them both
proud.
    Heads began to turn at the back
of the church, rippling towards the front like the incoming tide.
Marcio fought the urge to turn and face the door. His role, he
knew, was to face the priest and the altar, and sneak a peek at the
last moment. Mia had done so much; the least he could do was play
his part.
    It was torture, not turning. In
the end he could resist no longer. Twisting his neck ever so
slightly Marcio looked over his left shoulder, seeking the face of
his future wife.
    His breath caught at the sight
of her as she walked slowly towards him. Time paused for a moment
before Marcio’s pulse began to race. It wasn’t the beautiful dress,
clinging to her curves but still staying within the bounds of
modesty dictated by their religion. Nor was it the cascades of
black curls that fell over her kissable shoulder. It was her face
that made him gasp. She had applied careful makeup but nothing
could disguise her pallid countenance nor the deep bags almost
concealed. Not wanting to, but powerless to resist, Marcio raised
his eyes to meet hers. There was love contained within, but
something else besides. Fear? Grief? Marcio had never seen such
pain. He wanted to envelop her, protect her, erase that look
forever from her espresso-dark eyes.
    Behind Mia’s shoulder he could
see Leandra, her face also ashen. Anxiety began to curl around
Marcio’s intestines. There’s something going on here, something
I don’t know. What are they not telling me?
    Mia arrived at his side and he
turned to face her. His face held the question as he reached out a
hand towards his fiancée. Mia took a final step towards him and
returned his grasp, her hand trembling within his. Pulling her
close, Marcio breathed in her familiar scent and felt his eyes itch
with unshed tears.
    “What is it?”
    Instead of responding Mia
looked over her shoulder at Leandra, who gave an encouraging
nod.
    Marcio began to think he had an
idea what was going on. With snakes coiling in his stomach he
leaned in to whisper again to the girl he’d known all his life, but
thought that maybe he didn’t know at all.
    “You don’t want to do this, do
you?”
    Mia looked up into his face,
her expression a mixture of despair and relief. She nodded almost
imperceptibly, but it felt like a killer blow and Marcio reeled
back.
    “Why? Is it something I’ve
done? Or is it because I didn’t help you plan the wedding? Am I
spending too much time on the boat? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
    Mia swallowed and inhaled
deeply, as if trying to find the strength to speak. Marcio was
distracted by what her deep breath did to the amazing dress, but
pushed the thought away as ridiculously inappropriate.
    “I…” she stopped, aware of the
priest waiting expectantly for them to approach the altar. Marcio
could hear the beginnings of shuffling sounds coming from the
congregation. He squeezed Mia’s hand, trying to give her the
strength to tell him even if her words robbed him of a life of
happiness.
    “Tell me,” his voice was urgent
but full of love.
    “I… We… I’m so sorry.” Heavy
tears began to fill her eyes, making them sparkle.
    We. Marcio thought that said it
all. We. She didn’t mean him and her. She meant her and
someone else. We. It was obvious although it had never
occurred to him until that