Three weeks after the first letter arrived, they stopped without warning. I spend hours and hours on end reading the letters that have arrived, searching for the reason they might have stopped, other than the obvious.
Shawn could be dead, and I would have no idea.
So I wrote, a distress signal that I hoped would find Shawn, but it seemingly never did.
In one of the three letters, he described where his camp was, which is where I was marching, barefoot in the dead of the night.
The camp’s many fires were lit, casting an orange glow on the canvas tents.
I shove past soldiers who were talking looking for a specific curly haired one.
A hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me to look at them.
“Are you lost?” A voice asks. I don’t recognize this man, but he could be useful.
“I’m looking for my husband.” I press a hand to my stomach. “I have news.”
“Congratulations.” The man smiles. “Who’s your husband? I can help you find him.”
“Shawn Mendes.”
“Right this way.”
He leads me to a tent before wishing me luck and leaving.
I breathe out and move through the curtains. Shawn was sitting on the makeshift bed, reading what I recognized as my stationary.
“Shawn?” I ask.
He seems shocked, looking up to see me. “Y/N?”
“I thought you died.” I cry, throwing myself onto him.
His strong arms circle my waist before he speaks. “I’m alright love.”
My tears wet his undershirt as I cry onto his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you write me back?” He asks softly. “I thought we were in love.”
“We are!” I exclaim, pulling back to look at his handsome face. “I would write to you if you wrote to me.”
“I did.” He shakes his head. “I write you a letter every week.”
“I haven’t gotten a letter since the one three weeks ago,” I explain. “I thought that you were killed.”
“I thought that your father picked a husband for you.”
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t.”
Shawn seems puzzled. “If I’ve been sending letters, and you haven’t received them. Where have they been going?”
“Did you mail them to the wrong address?” I ask, standing.
He stands as well, the top of his head touching the ceiling of the tent. “No, I triple-check every time.”
“Maybe the messenger.”
“I pay him extra, he wouldn’t”
“Shawn, you shouldn’t pay extra.” I sigh, placing a hand on his chest.
“You’re a priority, I’d rather your letters and mine be handled with care.”
I shake my head at him.
“Could it be your father?” Shawn asks.
“He was over the moon when the first letter came in, he thought I’d finally found a suitor that would impress him.” I smile at the memory. “I hope you do.”
He smiles softly before going back to brainstorming. “Maybe the soldiers in your house?”
I pause. “That could be it. I’ve been helping a neighbor with her laundry recently, and the messenger boy comes then.”
Shawn’s soft expression hardens a bit. “Do you think they read them?”
“They wouldn’t steal them to not read them.” I sit on his cot, stressed. “That means they know.”
“They do.” He sits next to me, grabbing my hand. “Stay here with me.”
I look over at him.
He was looking at me with adoration in my eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a while, let's make it up.”
I nod. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
Morning comes around and chaos reigns. I awaken to gunfires and Shawn is gone.
I creep out of the tent to see Shawn pressed against a tree, a British soldier aiming his gun at him.
Instinct acts before my brain does as I fly toward the armed man. I ram into his side, setting him off his feet.
I recognize this soldier, he’s one of the few that reside in my house. I assume it’s the one that’s been stealing the letters.
The soldier's eyes lock to mine and he steps forward, his large hand wrapping around my throat. “I knew you were a traitor the moment I met you. Your act fooled your father and the other soldiers but not me, and the letters this young Frenchman has been sending you confirmed it.”
“Your father woke up this morning to find you gone, but what are the odds I knew where you were?” He shakes his head. “Your poor father will be so disgusted when I tell him why I had to kill you.”
I claw at his hand, trying to get free.
I hear a click of a gun and look over at Shawn, as my sight gets blurry, I see Shawn aim a gun his other hand on his side.
When the gun fires, the grip on my neck loosens, then disappears.
I gasp for air, moving quickly to Shawn.
A red patch on his undershirt grows as he falls into my arms.
“Y/N.” He stutters out. “I-I love you.”
“You are not dying right now.” I sniffle, undoing the buttons on his shirt.
He seems loopy, laughing when I press my hand to his wound.
I ignore him and yell for medics.
After a few moments, four other women run towards us, arms full of supplies.
They shoo me, lifting him and taking him away, and at that moment, I allowed myself to cry.
What seems like centuries later, one of the medics retrieves me from Shawn’s tent.
She tries to explain the wound in layman’s terms, but I don’t listen, only wring my hands nervously.
We get to the tent that’s bigger than the rest.
The metallic smell of blood looms in the air as the woman leads me inside.
Shawn was on the other side, the nearest soldier four cots away.
I kneel next to him, watching him rest, his long eyelashes laying on his cheekbones.
The pinkish tones on his cheeks and the rise and fall of his chest is the only thing that signifies the fact he’s alive.
My hand fiddles with his hair, combing out the curls with my fingers.
The corners of his mouth perk up, and his eyes flutter open. “Hello, my love.”
“Hello.” I breathe. “I forgot to tell you something.”
“Which is?”
“I love you, too.”
Dear Sir,
I have been writing your daughter for nearly two months and I adore her from the way she writes to the way she speaks. Your daughter and I have met on a few occasions and just by that I know she is the one I want to marry. She has told me about your avid patriotism and how we wouldn’t get along if we were to meet. As a lieutenant under Lafayette, our views are not eye to eye. Regardless, we both want whatever would make Y/N happy. Sir, even if you are an avid patriot, it would be pleasant for the two of us to meet so I can ask formally for your daughter’s hand in marriage.
Please write me back,
Shawn Mendes
i’m not going to put my tagged list in this one because its part of a series, and also i can’t access my google forms :)))))))))))))))))))))))))
3 months since Shawn was shipped out for his latest tour.
Now when I say tour I don’t mean going around the world performing for millions. I mean that he’s been out fighting to protect those millions going to shows.
It’s been a long 3 months.
Skylar turned 3 while he was away, and well you also found out some very exciting news.
He’s ready to come home, missed his girls, missed his life at home. It’s so much better living with his girls than it is bunking with his pack.
His girls gave him love and cuddles, while the guys? They gave him shit and loud snoring.
His flight feels like forever, it’s just dragging by slowly to torture him.
He can’t stop thinking about his girls, and what they might be up to at that point in time. He wondered if they were getting ready to pick him up, or if they were already at the airport. What his wife was wearing? And if she was matching Skylar?
“Mendes!” Geoff hisses from next to him.
“Hmm?”
“I get that you want to get home, we all do. But for the love of god stop bouncing your foot.”
He looks down, noticing that he is in fact bouncing his left leg, chewing at his nails.
“Sorry.”
“Just wanna fucking sleep, so stop!”
He stops, the seats momentarily stilling before he’s lost in thought and the subconscious has him bouncing his leg again.
“Fuckin!” Geoff grumbles hitting Shawn in the arm.
“Sorry!” Shawn looks over, eyes wild as he glares at Geoff.
“Go to sleep man, when you wake up we’ll be there.”
**
“Mommy where’s Daddy?” Skylar asks looking around the crowded terminal as all the other families wait for their loved one to return home as well.
“He’s coming, the plane just landed.” You smile at her, swinging her hand that’s in yours back and forth, bringing giggles out of her mouth.
You’re spinning her around, an attempt to keep her distracted while you wait for Shawn, dancing in the middle of the airport while others look on adoringly.
“There’s my Princess.” Shawn smiles when he sees his little girl twirling.
But she quickly stops, turning and standing as Shawn slowly approaches.
You smile as she squeals.
“Go get him!” You encourage, Shawn opening his arms for her to run into.
“Daddy!!!” She yells, taking off in a full charge for him.
He scoops her up, holding her tight, kissing the side of her head as she wraps her little arms around his neck.
“I missed you!” She says into his ear, shutting her eyes as she hugs her Dad.
“I missed you more.” Shawn sighs, a part of him finally falling back into place now that his baby girl was back in his arms.
You let them have their moment, even though the fact that Shawn’s standing in front of you and not in your hold is killing you.
He’d been gone for so long and you just wanted a hug and a kiss, want him to hold you and keep you safe with his arms around you.
He seems to think the same as he opens his eyes, smiling at you over her shoulder.
“Skylar Mendes!” Geoff calls walking up behind Shawn, holding his hands out for her.
“Uncle Geoff!”
“Give me some love so your Daddy can give Mommy some love.” Geoff says taking Skylar from Shawn’s hold.
The minute his hands are free he’s reaching for you, pulling you into his arms quickly, wrapping you up in a tight hug. He sighs when he smells your perfume, nuzzling his face into your neck, desperate to wrap himself around you completely. To remember how it felt when you held him.
“Oh my god,” He whispers when you slip your right hand into his curls, leaving a quick kiss to his neck. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you.” You cry into his chest, hormones getting the best of you, tears spilling onto your cheeks.
“No Baby, don’t cry.” He pulls back, taking your face into his hands.
He wipes at your cheeks, catching your tears.
“Come here.” He whispers, pulling you up so his lips could kiss yours.
He takes in the salty taste of your tears, but also the sweet taste of your vanilla chapstick.
Your hands reach up and clutch his biceps, pushing all your love into the kiss.
“I’m so glad your home.” You whisper against his lips.
“Me too.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Shh,” He nips at your lips. “Don’t make me cry too.”
You laugh through your tears, letting him kiss your forehead and hold you for a moment longer before Skylar requests to be back in her Dad’s hold.
“I’ve got you.” Shawn says taking her, resting her on his right hip, left arm securing you into his side. “Got you both.” He drops a kiss to the top of your head, and then to Skylars’, smiling as you both cuddle into him.
**
You sit in the living room, playing with the corner of the pillow, lips pursed out while you wait for Shawn.
He was currently putting Skylar to bed, but it’d been a while since they went to her room.
Understandable though, having not seen each other in so long. Skylar was such a Daddy’s girl and she really missed Shawn this time around. She cried for him almost every night, just wanting cuddles.
She got needy for Shawn when she was tired, so every night was a struggle.
You stand up, padding off to her room, peeking in through the crack to see Shawn laying on her bed, Skylar on his chest, both of them asleep. His arms were holding her little body to his, she’s clutching his shirt tightly, both showing the same expression while they sleep.
You giggle softly, loving your cute little family, falling more in love with Shawn as you watch him lay on her little Princess bed that he’s 8x too big for.
You gently make your way in the room, grabbing her blanket that’s been bunched up on the side of the bed, draping it over Skylar and Shawn’s legs.
You lean down, kissing the top of her head, and then Shawn’s forehead. He stirs a bit, eyes fluttering open to watch you turn slowly and start to walk away from them.
Before you can get too far he reaches out and grabs your hand, startling you.
You jump, yelping a bit, turning with wide eyes to meet his tired brown eyes.
“Where are you going?” He asks, voice sore and rough with sleep.
“To bed?”
“I’m coming.” He looks down at Skylar.
“Just stay with her for the night.”
“No,” He pouts, shaking his head at you. “I’m coming with you, got cuddles from one girl, now i need cuddles from my other girl.”
You smile at him, nodding.
“Just give me a minute.” He says looking back down at Skylar. “Just want a few more seconds.”
“Take your time,” You rub his hand with your thumb, “I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?” His eyebrows furrow.
“I’ll wait, take your time.” You lean down and peck his lips before retreating to your room to get ready for bed.
You can hear him moving around down the hall, her door shutting softly and then his footsteps getting closer to you.
You stand in your bathroom, in front of the mirror. You’re in his baggy green shirt, his dog tags hanging around your neck.
He walks in, shuffling behind you, smiling at you as he hugs you from behind.
“My wife’s so pretty.” He mumbles into the skin of your neck, planting a small kiss there.
You blush, shaking your head at him, leaning back into his chest as he holds you a bit tighter.
“How are you?” He asks, looking at you through the mirror, fingers playing with the tags that rest between your breasts.
“I’ve been okay,” You say softly, his eyebrows scrunching together.
“What’s going on?”
“My body’s just different.” You shrug at him.
His confused demoner deepens as he stares at you through the mirror, he’s scanning you from head to toe, not finding a single thing different.
“I’m confused.” He says through pursed lips.
You take his hands in yours, sliding them down to your stomach, hoping he’d get the memo.
“What?” He asks.
You giggle, taking his hands and sliding them up and down your stomach, making sure he felt the small bump there.
“What is that?” He asks, standing up straight, eyebrows jumping to the top of his forehead.
“What does it feel like?” You ask him.
“It feels like a baby bump.” He murmurs, feeling it again for himself.
You smile at him, biting your lip as he takes in your expression.
“No you’re not.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah.”
“No.” He says again, looking at your belly now.
“Yeah.” You laugh, nodding at him.
“When? How far are you? What?” He spits out questions.
“I’m four months.” You smile at him. He looks at you with wide eyes, shocked and speechless.
“I don’t,” He stutters over his words.
“When Aaliyah took Sky, we had your banquet.” You answer his question.
He thinks back to the night, blushing red at the thought of what you guys had done.
“Wow,” He sighs, hands still on your bump, molding to the shape of it.
“Are you happy?” You ask softly, worried that he’s upset since he hasn’t said anything.
“What?” He looks at you dumbly, “Of course I’m happy.”
“You just, hadn’t said anything yet.” You shrug.
“I’m so happy Baby.” He turns you in his hold that way you’re facing him. “I’m so happy.”
“Okay,”
“But if I’m honest,” He sighs, “I’m a little mad at myself because now I’m gonna have to leave the three of you. It’s hard enough leaving the two of you, now there’s gonna be three and I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Oh Shawn,” You sigh, taking his sad face into your hands.
“And lord help me if it’s another little girl.” He smirks at you.
“You know you want another Princess to spoil.”
“I do, but a little rockstar wouldn’t be bad either.” He says, hands on your tummy, dropping to his knees in front of you.
He lifts your shirt a bit, showing off your small baby bump.
After planting small kisses to your stretched skin he whispers to his baby.
“Hi in there,” He smiles. “I’m your Daddy, and I want you to know that I love you so much. I might be away sometimes, but not because I don’t want to be around. I’m just going out to protect you, and your sister, and your Mommy.”
You smile at him, letting your fingers curl into his thick curls.
“Speaking of your Mommy, I need you to do something for me.” He rubs your belly. “I want you to be good in there for her. I’m not always here to hold your Mommy, and you really like to mess with her hormones and body. So just be nice, don’t kick to hard okay?”
You stare at the human puppy that’s trying to reason with your Baby that wasn’t even born yet. You lightly tug at his curls, making him look up at you.
“Can we cuddle now?” You ask softly, his face lighting up with a smile as he pulls you off to the bedroom, cuddling you.
“I have to go back in a week, it’s only a week leave.”
“I know,” You nod against his chest.
“Fuck I hate leaving.” He sighs, hands practically glued to your growing belly, wanting to get as much of it and you as he can.
“I know, but you love what you do.”
“After this year I’m done, I’m not resigning. It’s time to come home, and be with my family. It’s time to be a good Dad and husband.” He whispers.
“No, don’t do that.” You turn towards him. “Don’t sit here and tell me that you’re a bad Dad or husband. Because that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. You are the best Dad, Skylar’s infatuated with you. And if you ever call yourself a bad husband again I will slap you. You are the best damn husband a girl could ask for and I got so lucky.”
He stares at you intently, leaning forward and kissing you deeply.
“I love you.” He sighs, resting his forehead against yours.
“I love you to Soldier.” You grin.
He chuckles, smiling gracing his features.
“Soldier eh?”
“You’re my Soldier right?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Think this little guy will be one too?” He drums his fingers on your belly.
okay okay okay, so if you read about my little rant about my writing drought, I’m getting out of it, however, I just want to write what I want to write, may be bad but, let’s just get into it. might not be historically accurate lmao ALSO I tried to find on google if Shawn was French, I couldn’t find anything but I do know he’s Portuguese so, just go with it.
The year was 1775, my home was being slept in by strangers, soldiers of the opposing side.
My father made it clear we were loyalists and opened or home to them. The men slept in the parlor and living area.
In the wake of the Revolution, I wasn’t exactly what one would call a Tory, I was quite the opposite.
I riot in the streets with the other patriots, protesting the unfair treatment from the King. My father wasn’t exactly aware of my pro-war attitude, but I didn’t care I would riot for what I believed in even if it killed me.
Like now, it seemed to be the case. Red-coated Soldiers tear through the streets, Bayonettes in arms, fighting against the waves of people.
If this doesn’t kill me, my father surely will. In the midst of my panic, a hand grabs my arm, pulling me to their direction.
“Miss, come with me.” The French boy says, tugging me in a direction opposite of the action.
We find our way to an alley, where others were escaping through. He leads me through, seeming to know the back alleys of New York City better than I do.
The tall French man leads me into an apartment, where a few other men reside.
“A girl.” One says, standing from his chair.
They were playing cards, a bottle of whiskey between the four other Frenchmen.
“She was rioting with the others, couldn’t just let ‘em get her.” The one by my side says. “The red-coats got their bayonets and started tearing through the crowd.”
“Poor rioters.” The bearded man says, taking a swig of the bottle. “What’s your name, darlin’?”
“Y/N.” I answer. “And I would rather say poor you, a drunk living with four other men? Get yourself on your feet, how could you call yourself a soldier?”
“Well, before you get shot, how about I walk you home?” The tall curly haired man says, placing his big hand on my shoulder.
I look up into his chocolate brown eyes. “Yes, thank you.”
By the time we’re at the beginning of my street I’m laughing, and he’s cracking an adorable smile. Hesitantly, I stop, grabbing his arm so he does as well. “You should probably stop here.”
“Why, is your fiance home?” He asks.
“My father’s a loyalist, and I’m afraid he would kill me if he sees you.” I look down.
“Hey, it’s okay, we all have our flaws.” The Frenchman coaxes, tilting my head up by hooking his finger under my chin.
“Do you have a name?” I ask.
“Shawn.” He smiles. “Shawn Mendes.”
“Y/N Y/L/N.” I formally introduce, curtseying.
Shawn takes my hand pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Nice to meet you, m’lady.”
“And you too, sir.” I blush, watching as he stands from his brow.
“Your father awaits,” Shawn says, gloomily.
“So he does.” I nod. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Will I ever see you again?” He asks.
“I hope the stars have aligned in our favor.” I smile, breaking away from the handsome Frenchman.
I was invited to a ball, organized by rebels, to get to the ball, I had to wait for everyone in the house to fall asleep before I escaped through my window, which was on the ground floor.
I follow the directions I memorized for this moment, coming to a big house, fit for a king.
I peer through a window, the parlor cleared for dancers and other party-goers, I use the knocker to knock on the door, waiting for someone to open the door.
A man opened the door, nodding me in quietly.
The moment I step in, I feel underdressed, as every woman there was wearing pearl-adorned dresses. My simple white dress was enough to blend in though.
I recognized a group of women from a protest and make my way to them, before being stopped by a hand.
“Ey, it’s the girl!” A familiar voice says.
I turn to see the soldier I insulted. “Sir, you must have the wrong person.”
“I would recognize you from anywhere. Big doe eyes, nice pretty hair.”
“Y/N?” Another French accent comes from behind the first. “Get off of her Isaac.”
The other soldier takes his hand off me, Shawn stepping into view. “It seems the stars are on our side.”
“It does.” I smile, touching his chest. “Shall we dance?”
“I’d like to, but I’m very bad at it.”
I smile. “I’ve never really ball danced before.”
“You aren’t missing much,” Shawn says. “But I’ll teach you if I must.”
“Please?”
“Fine, but don’t complain when I step on your toes.”
Ballroom dancing was quickly abandoned when I stepped on Shawn’s feet, properly bruising them as he puts it, but he wasn’t limping, so he’d be fine.
“Y/N?” He asks, looking at me through the moonlight.
We sit on the porch outside getting some alone time.
“Yes?” I ask, looking over at the handsome soldier.
“I’d like to write to you.” He says. “I’ll use a pen name if you wish, but I wish not to lose you.”
“No need for a pen name, my father doesn’t exactly know all of the Patriots by name.” I start. “But, you can write to me, I’ll write back.”
“I’d like that.” He smiles. “You look beautiful tonight.” He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You look very handsome.” I lean into his hand. “Probably more so than me.”
“Nonsense.” He murmurs, leaning in. “May I kiss you?”
“Please.” I lean in and he presses our lips together.
It’s like one hundred gunshots in my stomach, that push me closer to him, a handful of cloth in one hand, my other hand playing with his hair.
The moment we pull apart, I yearn for more but lean my forehead to his, looking into his eyes, my eyes half-lidded.
“I can walk you all the way home tonight.” Shawn smiles. “Your father’s asleep.”
I smile. “Bring me home please.”
Dear Y/N,
I miss you like a fish misses water the moment it leaps from its safety. I no longer fight this war for freedom, but for you. I pray that the stars align in such a way that your father will become more accepting to patriots like myself. I no longer yearn to go see my family in France, because every glimpse of you in the street fulfills that need, even if you’re walking with your family to church. I hope you pray for us.
The moment we win this war, I’ll be asking for your hand in marriage, and taking it even if your father rejects me.
Something Old, Something New|| soldier!shawn part 3
hey, I honestly tried to research weddings back then for this and realized if I use something that I’m not experienced in as the center of a writing piece it’s not often good, so I’m taking the creative decision and writing this with a more modern twist to it. please forgive me aha
part 1 part 2
-
Shawn and I wait at the harbor for his family. His arm firmly wrapped around my waist. It would be the first time I meet his family, which he has been writing to ever since my father gave him my hand.
We see the ship, the sail steadily blowing as the big ship nears the harbor.
Shawn lights up, a smile brandishing on his face. “I cannot wait for you to meet them.”
I grin up at him. “and I cannot wait to do so.”
The feeling spreading across my body reminds me of the feeling when my father wrote back to Shawn, a detailed letter about how the matter of my hand wasn’t one to be discussed over letters.
Shawn was invited to a family dinner, where my youngest brother grew attached.
“Shawn, do you fight in the front?” Matthias asks, leaning on his elbows, looking over at him.
“I do, not recently though, I got shot in battle,” Shawn answers my brother's question with a smile.
“And you didn’t die?” Margaret asks, bewildered.
“The medics at camp are amazing.” Shawn answers.
“So Shawn, what can you provide for my daughter?” My father asks, looking at him skeptically.
“I’ll provide her with safety and a home of our own, as lovely as all of your children are, I suppose she would like a place of her own.” He looks over at me fondly.
My father looks over at me for a confirmation, which I nod to. “And I suppose she would go back to France with you?”
Shawn nods. “It’s in my plans to return to my family.”
“What are they like?” Timothy asks.
Shawn smiles and goes into description about his mother and father, and his younger sister.
-
That’s when I learned that Shawn was quite a family-orientated person, which made the fondness in my chest flourish further.
The ship docks and people get off, looking around at the new land.
Shawn breaks away from me before I even spot his family.
I watch lovingly as he hugs his mother and sister, his father wrapping his arms around his family.
The sight makes butterflies erupt in my stomach.
Shawn and his family part from the hug and he leads them over to me. He speaks confidently in French, probably describing his time here, before introducing his family in English.
“Y/N, this is my mother, Karen.” Shawn smiles.
I stick out my hand for a shake but she takes me into her arms for an embrace.
The feeling of being wrapped in Shawn’s mother’s arms remind me of being wrapped in my mother’s before she fell hopelessly ill.
She breaks from the hug. “You can call me Mom, Shawn told me that you’re at an absence of one.”
I smile. “Thank you,” My eyes make their way back over to Shawn.
“This is my father Manuel.”
“Manny.” His father corrects. “Nice to meet you.” He bows politely.
“And finally, my sister Aaliyah.” Shawn presses his hand to his younger sister’s shoulder.
“Nice to meet you.” I smile, offering my hand.
She shakes it. “Shawn never stopped writing to me about you, I hope you live up to the expectations he has made.”
I smile tightly. “I do, too.”
-
I look at myself in the tall mirror, my hair pinned away from my face, a veil covering it instead.
My oldest sister fluffs out my gown, looking at me through the mirror.
“You look stunning.” She promises. “Shawn will love it.”
I smile, twisting the blue bracelet around my wrist. Something blue.
“I can’t wait until I find a husband,” Margaret says from the corner. “You’ll be my maid of honor.”
I grin over at my sister. “And you’re my flower girl.”
“I am.” She grins. “Wait daddy told me to give this to you.” She grabs a velvet box from the chair. “He said it was something borrowed.”
Bethany grabs the box from my other sister, opening it. She gasps at the sight.
I take the box from her and looking back at me is my mother’s locket. I copy my sister’s gasp before taking it out of the box.
“I’ll help you put it on,” Bethany says, walking behind me.
I give her the necklace and she effortlessly clasps it around my neck.
Something Borrowed and Something Blue.
“The new thing can be the dress or your veil.” Bethany reads my mind. “And the old thing can be Father.”
“Of course. And I’ve got a sixpence in my shoe” I grin.
She smiles. “I’ll go see if everything’s ready for you.”
“Thank you, Bethany.” I smile.
“It’s my duty as your maid of honor.” She smiles, walking out.
-
The church doors are still closed but I hear the violins and piano through the old oak doors.
“Hold your head high, they deserve to see you.” My father grins at me, before readying himself for the doors to open.
I take his advice and hold my head high, confidence in my posture.
The oak doors swing open, my two brothers peeking their head around.
Margaret skips through, followed by the ring bearer, a son of one of Shawn’s friends.
The familiar tune plays as everyone stands.
My father and I make our way down the aisle and I make eye-contact with Shawn.
He looked at me with nothing but love in his eyes, his mouth slightly agape, he snaps out of his trance when the priest nudges him with his foot.
Shawn moves forward to collect me, my father pressing a kiss to my cheek as I step up to the arch, Shawn standing opposite of me.
Our hands were intertwined between us.
The priest rambles on about the sacredness of love the congregation listening and watching patiently.
“Now, for the vows.” The priest nods.
Shawn smiles, stepping away to face the crowd. “Many of you don’t know how we met.” He looks over at me. “Y/N was attending a riot for freedom and a few British soldiers were shooting into the crowd. I heard the guns and went to investigate and that’s when I saw Y/N. In the smallest chance she would get shot, I grabbed her and took her back to the apartment I was sharing with a few other French soldiers at the time. The first thing she did when she got there was lecture the men living with me for being dishonorable.”
The congregation chuckles.
“I knew at that moment I wanted to marry her, because I planned on doing the same thing to them when I got home assuming I didn’t find Y/N.” He laughs. “Putting all this aside, I vow to never hurt you and to never make you cry, not only that but I also promise to be the best me I can be, because you will always bring that out. I promise to be the best husband a woman could ever ask for.”
I smile at him, tears brimming my eyes, before turning to look at the crowd. “As many of you know, my mother died fighting pneumonia two months ago. Her last words to me were to fight for what I deserve. That’s why I went against my father’s wishes and went to the rally, and that’s why I shouted at Shawn’s friends. I would’ve fought for Shawn and I’s love but my family fell in love with Shawn nearly as quick as I did.”
I clear the sobs out of my throat. “I promise to always fight for you, not on the battlefield but in the streets. I promise to always stay faithful and to be the wife and mother anyone could ask for.”
I finish my vows and turn back to face Shawn.
“Now, Shawn, repeat after me.” The priest orders. “I, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes, take you, Y/F/N, for my lawful wife/, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”
Shawn does, looking down at me fondly.
“Your turn, Y/N.” The priest clears his throat. “I, Y/F/N, take you, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life."
I do, holding back tears that threaten to spill.
The priest holds out the rings on their pillow and Shawn grabs the smaller one.
I hold out my hand shakily. He takes it and slips the ring onto my finger, leaning down and kissing the ring.
I grab the remaining ring, slipping it onto Shawn’s finger, intertwining our ringed fingers.
“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest announces.
Shawn smiles, pressing his lips to mine.
With this kiss, I remember our first, the second time we met, on the steps outside of a ball. I remember when I kissed him when I thought he died and I remember when I kissed him when he almost did, and now I’m kissing my husband.
