He knows this is the absolute right thing to do: not just to marry Fleur -- he always wanted to do that -- but to do it this way, here, on the top of this tower, looking out over the city with all the lights blinking and flashing, and there's some poetic justice to this wedding taking place in a desert. Any desert, because it feels like home.
"Je t'aime," he whispers in his terrible French accent. "I love you, Fleur." He almost says Fleur Delacour but stops and realises for the first time that he doesn't know if she's planning on taking his surname or keeping her own. Not that it matters in the least: names are names are names, and they don't change who people are unless they want it to happen that way.
For this moment on this day, though, none of that matters. A cool breeze springs up for them and it makes her veil flutter back, and the bouquet of white flowers -- roses, lilies, calla lilies, stephanotis, greens -- cascading down dance in the sudden breeze.
The photographer-witness clicks away happily and it's quite possible that the... minister? justice of the peace? is also talking, but Bill doesn't hear either of them. He's simply transfixed by the look of pure sweet love on his bride's face.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2005-07-19 06:56 pm (UTC)He knows this is the absolute right thing to do: not just to marry Fleur -- he always wanted to do that -- but to do it this way, here, on the top of this tower, looking out over the city with all the lights blinking and flashing, and there's some poetic justice to this wedding taking place in a desert. Any desert, because it feels like home.
"Je t'aime," he whispers in his terrible French accent. "I love you, Fleur." He almost says Fleur Delacour but stops and realises for the first time that he doesn't know if she's planning on taking his surname or keeping her own. Not that it matters in the least: names are names are names, and they don't change who people are unless they want it to happen that way.
For this moment on this day, though, none of that matters. A cool breeze springs up for them and it makes her veil flutter back, and the bouquet of white flowers -- roses, lilies, calla lilies, stephanotis, greens -- cascading down dance in the sudden breeze.
The photographer-witness clicks away happily and it's quite possible that the... minister? justice of the peace? is also talking, but Bill doesn't hear either of them. He's simply transfixed by the look of pure sweet love on his bride's face.