Jumping on the Train (Thomas Sangster fanfic)

Modern Bride

Windward Crossings is a decent sized building twenty minutes away from your apartment. A windmill stands right out front of the building. It's one story, and has three large dinning halls. Tonight, you'll be using the largest of all three.

You bite your lip and step out of your car. Warm air surrounds you. You're so glad you're having an indoor wedding tomorrow. It would be miserable (or as miserable as you can be when you're marrying Thomas Sangster) out in the southern heat.

You snatch your purse off the seat, close your car door and take long strides towards the building. You're not really sure what kind of style the building is. It looks like a mixture of Italian and Roman, with a magnificent flower garden growing around the stone walls.

You pull the door open. A few workers mingle about, setting things up. The front hall is the first room the guests will be walking into. A fire place sits tucked into one corner and potted plants ground the floor here and there. Straight ahead is the largest dinning hall, called the Great Hall.

You set forward and peer into the Great Hall. All the tables have been put up. On the far side of the room, A stack of table cloths sits on the stage with long tables. That's where you'll be sitting. On the stage. Right in the center. You and Toms chairs are slightly more elevated than the others.

Oh, crap. Everyone is going to be looking at you.

Nervousness claws at you inside, leaving small traces of excitement.

Suddenly, you hear a shriek off to your right. You don't even have time to turn before your being squeezed by a pair of elderly arms. Who knew old people could have so much strength? She squeezes your lungs, leaving you breathless.

"Mrs. Aire, can't breathe. Nessicary to breathe." You wheeze.

She laughs and releases you from her grasp, "Sorry, Iris, dear. Look at you! You're so grown up and BEAUTIFUL!"

You smile, "Thank you. You're not looking too bad yourself." You say with honesty.

She doesn't look too bad. She has a few gray streams in her chestnut colored hair. Her eyes still sparkle with creative wonder, just like they did so many years ago.

Her mouth twitches up ward, a pleased look over taking her face, she lightly pushes you, "Oh, stop it! I've gotten old! You're still as fragile as a flower!"

You smirk at her wording.

She clears her throat, "Anyway! I didn't have you come here early just to chat, although, there'll be pleanty of time fore that later. Let's get your makeup done!"

- - - -

"There we go. Anyway, as I was saying, I'm not really fond of the shapeless clothing style nowadays. Girls shouldn't be afraid to show off their curves! Like you, you don't wear shapeless clothing very often, which makes me so happy, because you have such a lovely tapered hip and-" Mrs. Aire talks quickly and gestures often.

You'd come to the conclusion that maybe all makeup artists do that. Except Mrs. Aire has known you forever, and she knows things about you. The thing about modeling - your agent has to get up close and personal with you. For example, see you in nothing but you underwear, measure your legs, waist and several other things that are definitely more awkward.

You listen you her rattle on. Not really minding her talking due to the fact you're so nervous. Not nessicarily for tonight but also for tomorrow. You nod in response every now and then, closing your eyes and taking deep shakey breathes.