“You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Here.” He takes my hand and tucks it through his arm. “Hang on to me.”

“I am capable of walking still,” I say, even in the face of evidence to the contrary.

“Nevertheless, I promised your mother I would return you in one piece, and I have no intention of getting on her bad side.”

I wonder if he feels how my pulse quickens at his touch.

“Lead the way, then.” I smile up at him. He looks down at me and his expression is peculiar, as if he is unsure about something. I see his features harden with decisiveness and he stops suddenly, our hips bumping together.

“Wait,” he says. “As we seem to be all about honesty today, I have a question for you.”

“Sounds slightly ominous. But go ahead.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asks.

I am deliberately obtuse. “This? What, wearing a wedding dress? Posing for photos in a field?”

“No.” His face tells me he knows I understand. “This whole wedding thing. Isn’t it a little bit…morbid?”

My eyes widen at his choice of word and he hurries to elaborate.

“Not morbid, maybe. But you have to admit it’s unusual. I understand the concept of bucket lists. And I’ve read about people marrying on their deathbed. But what you’re doing, having a wedding celebration by yourself, doesn’t that just strike you as a little bit, well, sad?”

“Of course it’s sad. Believe me, I never planned on walking down the aisle alone, no one waiting at the end, and I’m aware that I probably sound like a total loser doing just that.”

“Then why?”

I sigh.

“Sorry.” He holds up his hands. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me or anyone. I’m not trying to upset you, just trying to understand. I find the whole idea a bit uncomfortable, if I’m honest.”

“Did you always dream of being a photographer?” I ask quietly.

He frowns at the change of subject but allows the indulgence. “Yes.”

“When did you know, exactly, that it’s what you wanted to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think.”

He takes a deep breath in through his nose and then exhales slowly, his face watching mine. “From when I was a young boy. I don’t remember the exact age. My mother was an amateur photographer and she used to take me out with her on weekends. We’d explore the local forests and lakes.”

“She must be proud of you.”

“I’m sure she is. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

I look at the ground, willing tears to stay away. “I never had that moment, or epiphany. Growing up, I didn’t dream of being anything. While other girls aspired to be ballet dancers, or teachers, or Olympic equestrians, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. The only thing I ever knew with any certainty was that I wanted to get married. I’ve been dreaming of my wedding for as long as I can remember.”