I never thought in a million years I was going to marry a Beatle. It was a miracle I even met one, and that he liked me.
The day had been perfect. It had stopped raining for once, and my family was getting along with his. My best friends were there and my gown was stunning.
George nearly cried when he saw me walking down the aisle. Everyone cheered when we kissed for the first time as husband and wife. It was the way I had always envisioned my wedding. Until our first dance.
Apparently, John Lennon didn’t know anything about behaving at weddings. George and I were in the middle of the dancefloor and everyone else was on the outside, watching and cheering as he spun me around. I was on cloud 9. That is, until I felt George stiffen against me and I turned my head. John. On the dancefloor. John, when he shouldn’t have been there, because everyone knows the bride and groom get the first dance. Our song wasn’t even over.
“May I cut in?” John asked. I wanted to slap that stupid little half smirk off his face. People began to murmur on the outskirts. I squeezed George’s clammy hand.
“Erm.” George cleared his throat and looked at the floor. “Alright.”
That was George. George, the shy Beatle, the pushover to John, who he idolized when he was younger. George, who hated to fight more than anything.
I squeezed his hand again and he smiled sadly. With our song still playing in the background, I let go of him and walked towards John.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, reaching out his hand.
“Do you say that to every girl you interrupt the dance of?” I took his hand regardless. Even John’s grip was different that George’s. Firmer. He pulled me closer, and in the back of my mind I realized I was dancing with John fucking Lennon, and most girls would kill to be me.
“Only for you,” he said softly, and I shivered realising how close we were. He was so… confident. He didn’t trip over himself and his arms felt strong and heavy enough that I felt like I was being hugged. It felt right. Safe.
No! I almost jolted back. I was a married woman with a husband I very much loved, and it was just John. Stupid John with his arms and whiskey eyes.
He spun me around, launching me out of my thoughts, and the song ended. Some people clapped and others whispered to each other. I looked over to John who, of course, wore a smirk on his face. He looked at me, winked, and walked off to the bar.
What the hell was that? I really wanted to sit down and process what just happened, but I knew that I needed to talk to George.
I saw him sitting in his seat, barely touching his food. Which was nothing like him. I saw down next to him and he looked at me and weakly smiled.
“That was interesting,” I said.
“Not exactly the word I’d use,” he replied, starting to smile a bit more genuinely now.
“Well, that’s just John being John.”
“I suppose so.”
“It’s doesn’t matter now Georgie. I’m all yours for the rest of the night. And for the rest of our lives.”
George’s eyes lit up at the mention of our lives together. He extended his hand out to me and I took it. He led me to the dance floor so that we could hopefully have our first complete dance as a married couple.
The rest of the night passed blissfully. It seemed like our guests had a good time, thanking us for the invitation as they left. George seemed pretty pleased too, standing with his arm around my waist as the people filtered out.
John sidled up to us. “Thanks for the dance,” he said, winking at me. George frowned.
“Sure,” I muttered, blushing a little and in shock. Fuck. Did he really just wink at me with my husband standing right there? “We’ll see you later, John.”
“Yeah, you will.” With that, he left.
“Well that was odd,” I commented.
George was silent, probably retreating into his mind.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, feeling like I was speaking just to fill empty space. “John flirts with anything that breathes.” But we both knew something about this felt off.
“Has… has he flirted with you before?”
“I guess so, yeah, but I thought he was joking.” I’d popped into the recording studio to visit George on my lunch break, and when he was out of earshot, John tried to charm me. I’d seen him do it to every girl alive, and brushed it off as John being John.
“It’s ok, Georgie. I love you. Not anyone else. Let’s just go home now, ok?”