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The True Story of How I Met My Bride-to-Be

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Jon Snow had never seen so much white in one room in his life, he decided. Or silver…or grey. There was an abundance of silver, it seemed.

Luxurious white sofas and white leather arm chairs with a dash of color here or there in the form of throw pillows. Light grey rugs across the dark-stained wooden floors. Silver lamps and lighting fixtures, some with little wolf heads ornamenting them. Silver platters filled with various sweet treats roughly the size of postage stamps.

And tea…good God, there was plenty of tea with nary a drop of coffee in sight, much less anything harder. There were also delicate little sandwiches that he could’ve swallowed three of at a time if allowed. The end tables, coffee table and the serving bar in the corner were all covered in crisp white linen and covered with the silver serving platters and tea urns.

Jon looked down at his serviceable old work boots and fretted once more that perhaps he’d not been diligent enough about wiping them off before he entered the house. At least the rest of his attire was appropriate for the occasion but that was mostly because he’d begged Sansa to help him choose something to wear.

He turned to look at the radiant woman next to him though and his worries and discomfort receded. Sansa was wearing a very becoming though perfectly modest plum coloured dress with matching pumps. She’d styled her hair in an elaborate bun. Her nails were freshly manicured and her make-up was perfect. She was laughing politely with one of the younger ladies present over some past event.

At times, it still amazed Jon what a sophisticated young woman he was about to marry. But he knew that this public façade was only part of who Sansa Stark was; his beautiful, funny, clever friend and lover who made his heart go rat-a-tat-tat with no more than a shy glance or a sly smirk.

He grasped her hand and drew it up for a heart-felt kiss, allowing his lips to linger perhaps a touch long on her knuckles as his tongue discreetly swiped her soft skin.

One of the older women present, a Mrs. Mordane, huffed audibly at the shocking public display of affection. The girls Sansa’s age or younger tittered and giggled like a flock of silly geese.

Jon’s cheeks grew hot and he looked uncertainly at his bride-to-be.

Last night, he’d had his hands on her ass as they swayed together to the music at their favorite pub. Her brother had given him a shove for it…and then proceeded to shove his tongue down his own girlfriend’s throat right afterwards. And now kissing her hand was scandalous? This was not his crowd to say the least.

“You’re perfect, Jon,” Sansa whispered to him, her blue eyes aglow.

If Sansa said so then, it must be so. Therefore, Mrs. Mordane and the flock of geese could bugger off.

“Here’s another, darling,” Mrs. Stark said eagerly, passing a very large gift to the happy couple.

Jon stifled his groan as the heavy package landed on…his package. He gave his future mother-in-law a tight-lipped smile despite the fact she’d nearly gelded him thanks to the sharp edge digging into his balls at present.

Huh…I would’ve figured you’d like for us to give you grandchildren someday.

Mrs. Stark did have the good grace to grimace when she noticed the way he shifted it on his lap and discreetly adjusted himself. Maybe she didn’t mean to harm him after all.

Sansa dove into the enormous tissue paper filled gift bag and squealed with delight as she pulled out the fanciest tea service set that Jon had ever seen. Mrs. Glover had given it to them. All the ladies present ooh’d and ahh’d and Jon wondered how much longer this would go on. Looking down at the array of gifts still surrounding them where they sat in Catelyn’s Stark elegant formal room, he realized it was going to be a while.

“A tea service set? When were we going to be serving tea like that, love?” he snickered in Sansa’s ear. “Will the Queen be popping by for a visit?”

But Sansa pursed her lips and arched her perfectly shaped ginger eyebrow into a warning. Tea service sets were not to be mocked or trifled with apparently.

“Thank you, Mrs. Glover, for the, uh…lovely tea service,” Jon said as genuinely as he could manage. He was pleased by the sunny smile Sansa gave him in response.

Jon loved his fiancée very much. That was clearly the only explanation for this. For what man who spent a majority of his time out of doors, drove a beat-up old truck and used a pocket knife to clean underneath his fingernails would otherwise choose to spend his coveted Sunday afternoon off at this sort of gathering?

Actually, everyone knew he’d been a goner for her from the day they’d met.

Robb and Theon had had a good laugh when Sansa had informed them all that Jon would be attending the bridal shower that their mother was throwing for her.

“I am?!” Jon had squawked.

“Of course, you are,” Sansa had said. “I want you by my side. Don’t be a Neanderthal. Lots of men attend showers these days.”

“Baby showers perhaps,” Jon had conceded whilst doing his best to ignore the roars of laughter from the other two men present. “But bridal showers? I mean, the word bridal is in it, not groom. Plus, your mum’s posh friends won’t like me.”

“Nonsense. They’ll love you,” Sansa had argued.

She’d given him a kiss, a soft kiss but one with tongue, and that had been the end of his arguments because truly, he’d do anything she liked.

And thus, Jon found himself the lone cock amongst a room full of society hens on a drizzly Sunday afternoon in April the week before their nuptials were to take place.

“Oh, Mr. Snow,” Mrs. Cerwyn said as Sansa started unwrapping the next gift. Jon looked around for a second before he understood he was being addressed. No one called him Mr. Snow except the five-year-old daughter of his next-door neighbour. “Could you tell us how you met Sansa?”

“How I met Sansa?” he gasped as he choked on his tea. He sputtered and hacked and gave Mrs. Stark a grateful look when she passed him a napkin. “I, uh…we were at a…”

“At uni,” Sansa chimed in smoothly. “We met during a nature photography course.”

“Yes, I think it’s so lovely, too. Sansa has always loved taking photos and Jon’s a wildlife photographer, you know,” Mrs. Stark added for Mrs. Cerwyn’s benefit.

“Well, we did take that course together,” Jon corrected as he still tried to clear his throat of the blasted tea, “but actually we had met the night before at a pub. Robb introduced us. Honestly, it was…”

He was about to say love at first sight. At least on his end it had been. Though he had his suspicions that Sansa had felt a distinct inclination towards him right from the start.

However, he didn’t get to say it since Mrs. Stark was looking quite puzzled now.

“Robb introduced you?” Mrs. Stark asked. She turned towards her daughter. “But I thought you said that you met Jon in class, Sansa, and only later realized he was the same Jon that Robb was friends with.”

“Did I say that, Mother? I, uh…”

“No, no, no,” Jon continued stubbornly failing to catch the panicked look in his fiancée’s eye. “Robb didn’t mean to introduce us exactly. He and I had gone out for drinks with our mate Theon and Sansa was there with some girls and Robb introduced us.”

“Oh…but then you didn’t really get to know each other until your photography course,” Mrs. Stark said.

Jon opened his mouth to argue that they’d gotten to know each other rather well that night…if you can consider having loud and drunken sex by night’s end getting to know each other well.

But, Sansa spoke first. “Yes, of course. So silly of me to forget, Mother. Robb did introduce us at the pub but at the time, he barely made an impression,” she added with a frosty glance, daring Jon to say another word. He wouldn’t. He valued breathing too much. “That must’ve been why I felt comfortable enough to sit with Jon our first day of the course and we became better acquainted then.”

“That and you’d worn my coat home and wanted to return it,” he muttered under his breath. But his future mother-in-law was already turning back towards him for an affirmation. And just as he received an elbow to the ribs, he choked out a, “Yes…that was it, Mrs. Stark.”

The ladies all smiled kindly although a few looked disappointed as though they’d been hoping for something a touch more romantic than ‘we took a photography course together.’

Well, it’s not exactly a Harlequin Romance but I could tell you all the true story of how I met my bride-to-be.

However, Jon took one look at Mrs. Mordane as she nibbled on a biscuit and decided the poor old bird’s heart probably couldn’t stand it.




Sixteen Months Earlier


“Jon! Jon!” Robb shouted from across the pub where he’d disappeared a few rounds ago. “C’mere! I want you to meet my lil’ sister, Sansa. She’s into photography as well.”

Robb’s words were somewhat slurred and Jon didn’t really catch them all. He couldn’t honestly do more than take note of the fact that Robb had spoken however as ‘Dreamweaver’ started playing in the background…or just in his mind.

Beside his best mate stood a stunningly gorgeous redhead wearing a friendly smile and an extremely short skirt.

She’s obviously a mirage, Jon thought, peering suspiciously into the bottle he held. He wondered if perhaps it was time to set it down for the night. Then again, he’d always heard that madness ran in the family on his father’s side. Maybe he needed to schedule an appointment with his physician if he was having visual hallucinations. But then, to his never-ending relief, the mirage spoke.

“Hello, Jon. Robb’s mentioned you a time or twenty,” she said affably.

She held out her hand and Jon gave himself a pinch. Shake hands with her, you idiot.

“It’s lovely to meet you, too, uh…Sansa,” he replied, shaking her hand a touch more enthusiastically than called for. She winced slightly at his grip and he shouted an apology. “Sorry! I mean…um, sorry. Robb said he had two little sisters but I guess I pictured…” His hand waved up and down in front of him aimlessly and he wondered what word it was that he was lacking.

“Children?” she offered helpfully.


Not a goddess with legs that go on for days and…dear God, I can see a hint of your lacy black bra peeping out from your blouse and now I’m imagining the matching knickers you might be wearing.

“Stop ogling my sister, you arse,” Robb laughed as he gave Jon a shove.

Jon flushed tomato red and gaped at his mate, fully prepared to lie through his teeth and deny he had been ogling.

“Shut it, Robb,” Sansa said. “This one’s handsome. And he’s bound to be a decent bloke the way you rave about him…unlike Theon. I don’t mind a bit of ogling from him.”

And then she winked at him.

Well, that’s it then. All done for me, I suppose, Jon decided as a ridiculous grin plastered itself across his face and refused to budge.


Over the next two hours, Jon and Sansa played darts, talked about photography…and had far too much to drink. Robb had taken a fancy to one of Sansa’s friends and was busy with her in a darkened corner.

And as for Jon…well, he was well on his way to being head over heels in love already.

Sansa was easy to talk to and had the loveliest laugh. He’d catch a whiff of the buttered rum she’d been drinking when she’d laugh or whisper something in his ear. He wondered if he was becoming more intoxicated by the liquor on her breath or all the Guinness he’d drank…or her.

Her soft white skin smelled like a citrus grove. Not that Jon had been sniffing her down like a dog. Jon Snow was not some perv who’d be sniffing girls he’d just met up and down, especially sisters of his best mate who incidentally wasn’t remotely paying them any attention at present.

Alright…maybe he was sniffing a bit. She didn’t seem to mind. She giggled when he told her she smelled heavenly and he wondered aloud if she’d taste half as sweet.

Yes, he’d had more than a few by that point.

And when the live band started playing a love song and Sansa mentioned dancing, Jon Snow was happy for once in his life to make a complete fool of himself on the pub’s small dance floor. Anything to get Sansa in his arms.

He caught Robb’s eye on them a time or two as they danced but Robb wasn’t an arse. He gave him a nod and returned his attentions to the brunette in his lap.

Theon, however, was not having much luck with the ladies and was ready to leave. Jon and Sansa had just returned to their stools at the bar after dancing and ordered another round when he waltzed over a slung an arm around Jon’s shoulders.

“This band’s shit and you and fuckface are monopolizing the only girls here worth hitting on,” Theon slurred. “C’mon, Snow. Let’s go to the titty bar across the way. My treat.”

Jon scowled at his friend who was normally not a complete wanker but after he’d had a few he did become slightly more obnoxious. Jon certainly had no interest in the strip club when he had a beautiful girl right in front of him who genuinely seemed happy with his company.

“You go, Theon. I’m staying here,” he said.

He was extremely pleased at the way Sansa put her hand on his knee and smiled warmly at him for that. Theon smirked at the pair of them and wished them a good-night before he shuffled out the door.


It wasn’t long after Theon left that the evening took a turn from good to bloody fantastic.

Jon had been leaning in closer, thinking how much he’d like to kiss Sansa and wondering if he’d imbibed enough to give him the courage to say as much when the pub door opened and Sansa muttered a curse under her breath.


“What?” Jon asked as he lazily started to turn.

“Don’t look!  I don’t want him to see me.”

“You don’t want who to…”

He was still turning of course because anytime you're told ‘Don’t look!’ your immediate reaction is to look.

“That arse Joffrey,” she squeaked, putting her hand on his cheek to stop him turning. “We went out a time or two. He’s an annoying prick and I don’t want him to come over and start bothering me.”

Jon discreetly glanced over his shoulder at the blonde twat in the expensive clothes and scoffed. “I wouldn’t let him bother you.”

“I know. You’re very nice. But he thinks he’s God’s gift. You wouldn’t believe how rude he got when I refused to go out with him again. Oh, fuck…he’s seen me. Jon? Would you kiss me?” she asked next.

“Kiss you?”


Regardless of her reason for asking, there was no way Jon was going to pass up an opportunity to kiss Sansa. He’d been hoping for a chance to do so since they’d met earlier. He’d never dreamed that she’d be asking him. And Jon Snow was of the opinion that if you’re going to do something, you may as well be all in.

He grasped her round the waist and pulled her off her stool, positioning her between his legs. He ran one hand up into that silky red hair he’d been dying to touch all night and looped the other arm more firmly around her.

Sansa was tall but the stool was high enough so that Jon only had to tilt his head up slightly to meet her lips. He paused right before their lips met. Her big blue eyes were wide and her cheeks had a sweet blush tinging them. His own eyes darted between her lips and her eyes.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He leaned in and kissed those luscious pink lips that tasted of buttered rum and something infinitely more delightful…Sansa. His tongue swiped her closed lips and they parted for him. She sighed into his mouth as he explored hers. He tightened his hold, not wanting to let her go…ever.

He wasn’t sure how long they kissed. He vaguely heard the pub door bang open and close again. He heard one of Sansa’s friends whistle and laugh at them. The bartender cleared his throat as he sat down the drinks they’d ordered.

Beyond that, Jon was lost as he dove in head first, heart and soul in the moment. Sansa had ensnared him thoroughly.

She pulled back first and Jon may have chased her lips for half a foot before he paused, not ready to stop kissing her. He panted and opened his mouth to speak but she was quicker.

“He’s gone,” she whispered. “I’m sorry about that.”

His heart sank. She’d asked him to kiss her for a reason that had nothing to do with him. She might’ve asked the same of Theon. He’d let the drinks and his romantic feelings go to his head.

“It’s alright,” he muttered, looking down at the floor to hide his anguish.

He felt her hand cradle his cheek and leaned into her touch like a broken man seeking salvation.

“I’m sorry that I asked you to kiss me over Joffrey when I should’ve just asked you to kiss me because I like you.”

His eyes lifted up to seek hers, too afraid to believe his ears. She winked at him again. Dear God, he was a goner for this girl already.

Her eyes were alight with mischief when she added, “And I’m sorry because what I’m about to do is completely unladylike and might cause Robb to punch you. But no one has ever kissed me half so well as you just did and I think we deserve to explore that some more.”

And then she climbed up on his stool. She straddled his hips as he stared at her slack jawed and gobsmacked as she proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of him…and then grind against him.

Right here in the pub! a small but gentlemanly part of Jon Snow thought as Sansa Stark gave him a stiffy whilst writhing across his lap and sucking on his tongue.

Her fingers were lightly scraping his scalp as she buried them in his curls. He moaned into her mouth and held her to him as he kissed her back with abandon. His eyes crossed as she ground against his rapidly hardening cock. He worried over her short skirt though. None of these arseholes deserved a peek at her perfect bottom, he was certain.

“Come back to mine?” he begged when they both came up for air.

She nodded and nuzzled into his neck, giggling softly, before she climbed back down off him.

Jon paid their bill and avoided eye contact with Robb. He’d explain it all later…or not. Perhaps it’d be best to not speak of this night in too much detail with Robb…ever.

Right now, he could only focus on taking the future Mrs. Jon Snow back to his flat so that he might worship her all night.




“Were you really about to tell my mother the true story about the night we met?” Sansa asked with a grin after they’d loaded the last of the shower gifts into his car.

“Well, I might’ve left out a detail or two,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“Such as?”

“Such as the way I kept trying to hump you in the uber on the way back to mine until the driver threatened to kick us both out.”

“We were both rather sloshed, I’m afraid. No wonder he feared unwanted bodily fluids in his backseat.”

“Rightly so.”

“What else?”

“I may have not told your mother all about what I did to you in the lift on the way up to my flat.”

Sansa flushed that lovely shade of pink he adored. “Jon…”

“Well, your skirt was so short and I was dying to see if your knickers matched your bra. And then once I found out…I couldn’t resist a taste. And once I’d tasted you…”

“You left me no choice but to push the hold button. It would’ve been cruel to not let you finish what you’d started,” she claimed in mock seriousness. “Though I’m quite grateful you didn’t tell her about me sending that rather revealing selfie to Theon on your phone asking if he was enjoying his titty bar and that you were enjoying a private one of your own.”

“God, we were sloshed. He still hates me, you know.”

“He does not. He’s one of your groomsmen.”

“And he still says I’m the luckiest bastard he’s ever met that doesn’t deserve a goddess like you with such perfect tits.”

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me,” she says laughingly. “I still can’t believe I did that.”

“I can’t believe Theon was blessed enough to see your tits…and hear us. Maybe I’ll never forgive that wanker for being privy to the truth.”

It was a tad unfortunate that one of them had accidently hit the call button after they’d laughed drunkenly over Sansa’s message and that Theon had heard more than he ever wished to of the private photography session that had followed…and what had followed that before he’d shut his phone off in disgust.

She snickered and smacked his arm. “And now we must behave,” she added with a demure glance towards Mrs. Mordane who’d parked behind them.

He grinned and kissed her hand when the old bird gave him the eye…and then proceeded to pull Sansa into his arms for a passionate round of kissing.

Her protests died on her lips as she gave in and kissed him back with equal ardor. As unbelievable as it may seem, Sansa was as mad for him as he was for her.

He vaguely heard the slam of a car door and the screech of tires. He could not have cared less…not when Sansa was in his arms.

“Someday, I’m going to tell someone the true story of how I met my bride, you know,” he said as he finally released her so they could draw breath.

“You can tell the blokes at your stag night…at the titty bar Theon says he’s dragging you to.”

“I told him we’re not going there. Drinks at the pub is all I’ve agreed to.”

“Better not drink too much then,” she said with a leer.

“Oh no. I don’t want to be hungover on my wedding day. And, I’m not about to share all the details of the first, best night of my life with those idiots. Well…except Theon who already knows too much.”

“First, best night?” she asked with a loving, shy smile.

“Yeah…first night with you, love. It was the best night of my life. Except each succeeding night with you has been better and better.”

“Oh, Jon…” she sighed.

“And I’ll especially not share the truth and nothing but the truth at my stag night since your brother is my best man and I’d really prefer to live long enough to see my bride the next day.”

“That’s true,” she sniggered. “So, when shall the truth come out, Mr. Snow?”

“I suppose I’ll have to wait and share it with our grandchildren someday.”

“Our children would never forgive us.”

“Right. Well then, I suppose the true story will remain our secret.”

“And Theon’s.”