Flash! Friday

So, recently I discovered an interesting contest called Flash! Friday, which offers a photo prompt and word limit for short fiction.  This is my first attempt, based on today's prompt (number 19).

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Bridal Shower

Okay, this is not what I meant when I said I would have liked a small bridal shower!  The tiny droplets were crystalizing on her dress before seeping into the fabric as Amy rushed to the little gazebo that had been the reason she had finally been talked into using this hall.  On the plus side, nothing was getting through the shellacked casing that held her hair in place.  Her mother would be pleased.

She desperately wanted to slump onto a bench, but they were all covered with dusty rivulets and she was wearing, well, white.   Amy closed her eyes and silently counted the pitter-patter.  A flash startled her out of the strained attempt at meditation.  Her eyes and lips snapped open, ready to admonish the wayward photographer, with a righteous indignity learned at the hands of her mother.

“Beautiful,” Charlie grinned, taking another photo.

She melted under the crooked smile that never failed to fix everything.  “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding,” Amy pointed out, lips twisting wryly to the side.

“Oh, is it bad luck?” He stepped closer, still smiling.  She tilted her face up, and he obliged her with a soft kiss. “What are you doing out here?” Charlie asked finally.

“Enjoying the beautiful day, obviously.”  She twisted away from him, crossing the small gazebo.  “It’s not fair, suits can survive the rain much better than wedding gowns.”

He came to stand beside her.  “Do you care?”

“No, but they do.  Remind me why we’re doing this?”

He looped his free arm around her waist, squeezing gently.  She switched her glance from the rain-splattered plants to his still smiling face.  “Because your parents insisted.  And they bought us an amazing honeymoon trip as a bribe.”  His smile slipped into a heated glance.  “You look beautiful, even with those raindrops on your face that look like tears.”

She swatted at his chest lightly.  Charlie was an artistic photographer, and his photos were absolutely stunning, which didn’t mean she liked being his occasional model.

“I love you,” Charlie said, reminding her that, despite this fiasco-farce of a wedding, at least by tonight, they would be married.

“I love you, too.”  She would have leaned in for another kiss, but her mother’s shrill voice somehow managed to echo across the open lawn.

“Amalia!” She was barreling toward the gazebo with an entourage of umbrellas.

“Ready to share one of the most intimate moments of our lives with five-hundred people?” Charlie murmured by her ear.

Amy crinkled her nose.  Think Paris, she chanted silently.  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

(431 words)