The Manor really does look just like an exclusive resort, but I know what’s on the next floor, and all of those beds are currently dancing on the ceiling above me, like they’re lonely. Marrying at The Manor is an added stress that I really don’t need on my wedding day, but when my challenging, neurotic birthday boy had me surrounded by his hard, warm strength and sprawled across the terrace, I agreed-no sense fuck required. I wish I could cement her backside to a stool and feed her Mario’s Most Marvellous all day and night. My mother, with her love of all things luxurious, is gushing over the place and has suddenly taken the role of tour guide, keen to demonstrate just how magnificent Jesse’s county estate is. But my mum and aunt are a different story entirely. I’m not so worried about the male members of my family, they’ll all just prop themselves up at the bar and only move on demand. They humour me, just rolling their eyes and giving me a reassuring shoulder rub or a sympathetic look, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Jesse’s poor army of employees have all endured my constant whittling and persistent reminders that my family are oblivious. I’ve also grilled the staff of The Manor repeatedly. I’ve checked it a million times, and I’ve double checked that all wooden, cross-like wall hangings and suspended, gold grid frames have been removed from all of the private suites. That’s why I have a five kilo padlock on the double doors to the communal room. They’re all poking around the building and gushing at the opulent splendour. My parents, brother, and family members are all roaming around the grounds of Jesse’s supposed country retreat. My nerves aren’t only a result of me being the bride. The biggest day of my life is taking place at the plush sex haven of my Lord. And why I’m now sitting in my robe on a chaise lounge in one of the private suites of The Manor-the suite where Jesse cornered me all those weeks ago-trying to gather myself. That’s why only two weeks after he fell to his knee on the terrace of Lusso, I’m marrying this man. It’s the day I promise myself to this man for the rest of my life-not that I need a piece of paper or a metal band on my finger to do that. I know these moments will likely be precious from this day forward. I need this moment, just me to myself, absorbing the massive leap that I’m taking trying to gather myself together. I’ve been waiting for this tiny snippet of time, begging for it among the chaos surrounding me. I’m alone, my first few, silent, reflective moments of the day so far and probably the last. I know I’m doing the right thing, but damn I’m a stupid mass of nerves.

This man by jodi ellen