They had a wedding—a big hoopla where she wore the poufy white dress and he wore the tux and her dad couldn’t stop crying, and his uncle threw a swing at someone while he was drunk and they found the best man I a closet with her brother and that night in bed they basically agreed the whole thing was a disaster.
But—that’s not where they got married. Four weeks prior, they cashed in all of their frequent flier miles and headed off to Scotland. They met with the friend of a friend of a friend—an ordained minister and got married overlooking a valley. They didn’t tell anyone, not friends, not family, no one. Just him, her, and the wind. I couldn’t have been more perfect.
So, who cared if a drunk sister set a flower arrangement on fire, and a cousin tried to grope every single one of the bridesmaids in spite of their marital status or sexual preference?