Timothy and I laughed, as did the guests. Breaking apart from our body to body contact, we walked, hands entwined down the aisle, and then everyone stood up. Among their good hearted laughter, we heard lots of congratulations and well wishes. I thought with the big ceremony over, that it would be time to party, but I guess this celebration contained another mysterious loop.
Andrew drew in close behind me and whispered in my ear. “Simone and I plan to walk you upstairs and witness,” he said.
Witness? I twisted my head to look back at him. His face showed a firmness I hardly recognized, not since he’d come to know me and had become my friend. Then there was the strangeness of Andrew’s hand firmly clasped on my arm with Timothy not protesting it.
I stopped and backed up, suspicion flashing a caution. Except then I ran smack into Simone. “Not so quickly, Penelope,” she said. “You have duties to perform.”
Timothy was laughing. I thought that meant that he’d kid the two out of whatever custom this was, but he did the opposite. He swooped me up in his arms, kissed my forehead, then carried me the whole way up the stairs! All around us, the guests were clapping, like this was part of a traditional wedding ceremony.
There was no question about which bedroom we were heading for. Andrew opened the door, and Simone almost pushed Timothy inside.
“To bed,” Andrew shouted.
The two busybodies turned about, shut the door, and left us, thankfully, alone.
“What was that all about? We have guests downstairs,” I said, more curious than scared at that point since Andrew and Simone weren’t in the room with us.
“First we have the bedding ceremony,” Timothy said. “I must prove to all that our marriage is consummated.”
Prove? Was this a custom from the dark ages? How did one prove such a thing anyway?
Timothy placed my feet on the ground and began to unfasten the back of my dress.
“This is silly. We’ve already done the consummating about forty times,” I said.
“Is that all?” he kidded, continuing the unbuttoning. “But since you’re now my bride, and we haven’t had our bed ceremony yet, that is unacceptable. Just be glad that this part of our wedding will not be witnessed by all our friends.”
“What!”
“I have been to many weddings where such was done,” Timothy said, bending to kiss my shoulder.
“Not in this century,” I retorted, slightly alarmed by his seriousness.
My gown was soon over my head and tossed onto a chair. Then my undergarments came under attack. But by then, since Timothy was so insistent, and so deliciously adorable, I gave into the plan. Actually, as his kisses stroked my skin in various place, I agreed that a marriage consummation seemed a fine convention.