Someone Else’s Bride Val turned heads everywhere—never advertising in print or on TV, yet his name and number spread by word of mouth, the talk of the town. Need an MC for a concert? Done! A host for an anniversary or wedding? Sorted! He even hosted a kindergarten graduation once, charming not just the little ones but their mums as well! It all began simply enough. A close mate was getting married, but the hired master of ceremonies failed to turn up—later, it emerged he’d embarked on a bender. With no time to find a replacement, Val grabbed the microphone himself. Back in school, he was centre-stage in amateur dramatics and the “Logos” theatre club; at university, he was always taking the lead in Student Spring and the comedy KVN team. That first impromptu gig went brilliantly, and right there in the banqueting hall, two guests asked him to host their upcoming events. After university, Val landed a junior role at a city research institute, earning peanuts. His first foray into running events proved inspiring—he took any job going, relishing not just the financial rewards but the thrill of it all. Soon, his event earnings far outstripped his official salary. After a year, Val made a bold decision: left the institute, spent his savings on professional kit, registered as self-employed, and made entertainment his day job. He even took singing lessons—turns out he had a voice and talent for music. In no time, he was the singing host, and moonlit as a club singer three nights a week. Now thirty, Val was handsome, comfortably off, and a sought-after musician, DJ, and event MC—the life and soul of any party. He wasn’t married—why bother? Women flocked to him, ready to say yes to any invitation. But his friends were settling down and starting families, so he found himself longing for quiet domestic happiness. The only snag: with whom? The easy options held no real appeal; he dreamed of meeting the one—for a lifetime. “You’ve got to meet a schoolgirl, bring her up to your standards, and marry her when she comes of age—the perfect wife!” he quipped. He even started accepting jobs at school proms, hoping to find a future girlfriend, but modern girls weren’t what he’d pictured. Still, he didn’t lose heart, forever on the lookout—as he put it, “on the hunt for a rare catch.” Then fate decided to play a joke on my cousin Val. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A woman rang, citing mutual friends: “We need a master of ceremonies for a wedding. Are you free on the 17th of June? Wonderful! Could we meet?” They met. And, as Val later put it, for the first time in his life he understood the meaning of “the ground shifting beneath your feet.” The woman, introducing herself as Christine, was dazzling—Val had never seen anyone like her. Confident, bright, intelligent—clearly both beautiful and smart, a rare combination. On first glance, she looked about twenty-five, maybe a little older, but in conversation she mentioned being a member of the Young Communists, so she must be at least forty! They discussed the details, came to an agreement, and signed a contract, although Christine objected: “Is it necessary? I trust you; I’ve heard great things.” But Val always insisted on paperwork: “It’s for my accounts, I don’t need any trouble with the taxman.” Though, truthfully, he just wanted tangible proof she existed. Christine’s phone pinged with a text. “Oh, there’s my fiancé come to collect me. Can I give you a lift?” Val declined but saw her out. He always did, especially if the engaged couple arrived separately—good to observe their chemistry. But this time it wasn’t curiosity but envy and jealousy that drove him. The fiancé surprised him—Val expected a man around forty, but out sprang a guy clearly younger than himself. “Christine, all good?” She just smiled, as if everything was always fine. She got in the car; the fiancé shut the door and turned to Val: “So, you’ll be hosting our wedding? Delighted. Slav has sung your praises—said you’re the best!” He offered his hand. “Sorry, didn’t introduce myself—Christine will give me an earful. I’m Rob, the groom.” All Val wanted was to sock Rob, wipe that grin off his face, but he simply shook his hand: “Val. Pleasure.” From that moment on, Val lost his peace of mind. He sought any excuse to call Christine, to hear her voice, to see her. The wedding day drew nearer; Val thought he was losing his mind. The one friend he confided in asked mockingly: “What about those schoolgirls—the ‘ideal wife’ project?” Val just waved him off: “Forget that! Christine is the ideal woman, and I don’t need anyone else.” “Tell her!” the friend suggested. “Are you mad? She’s getting married—she must be in love. Why would she care about my feelings?” Occasionally, a beaming Rob would pop in: “Christine asked me to drop this off…” At those moments, Val had to bite his tongue to avoid a sharp retort. He contemplated pulling out of the wedding, reputation be damned! But then he’d never see Christine again—and he always chickened out. Two days before the big day, Christine visited once more, “to polish the script and make sure it’s perfect.” The office was undergoing renovation, so they met at Val’s flat. They chatted, joked—on top form. Finally, the last detail was settled; Val suggested a glass of champagne. “To a perfect wedding!” Christine agreed playfully: “Gladly!” Christine laughed, impossibly beautiful. Emboldened by champagne, Val kissed her—and she kissed him back. Their heads spun. Val woke up suddenly. He sat up in bed. Had he just dreamt the best night of his life? But the pillow beside him had her distinct perfume—so it had really happened. Was the wedding still happening? Val called Christine. “Hi…” She greeted him as if nothing had happened: “Hello! How are you? Sorry I slipped away, but you know, so much to do before the wedding tomorrow!” “So, the wedding’s still on?” Val asked hollowly. “Of course! Why wouldn’t it be? Everything’s fine!” Are all women so cold? How could the wedding still go ahead? How could she look her fiancé in the eye? Val was beside himself—should he crash the wedding? Did he really want such a callous woman? He asked himself honestly: Yes, he did. Whatever happened. Next day at the restaurant, decorations were being finished, and Val spotted Christine. “Hi. I left straight after the ceremony—couldn’t wait to see you,” she said, beaming. “What’s wrong, Val?” “I don’t get it—so the registration went ahead? And then you left?” “Of course, you silly man. Why should I go traipsing round town with the youngsters when I can spend time with you? Or don’t you want me to?” “Wait—‘youngsters’? Aren’t you the bride?” Christine stared, then burst out laughing, so joyfully that Val couldn’t help but smile back. “Of course not! It’s my daughter, Chrissie! She’s at uni in Edinburgh—just flew in yesterday.” Christine suddenly went serious. “Did you really think I was the bride?” “And that, two days before getting married, I’d sleep with someone else? What must you think of me?” Only then did Val realized: Christine had never said “I” or “we”—always “the bride and groom.” And Rob had never called her Chrissie, just Christine, and always been formal. How did he not notice? It was all rather hilarious… Then he asked the most important question: “And you? Are you single?” When she nodded, he blurted out, “Marry me, please…” The wedding was a triumph—the host surpassed himself, the guests were thrilled. The newlyweds thanked Val at the end: “Thank you! We honestly don’t know how to thank you for a magical evening.” “I’ll thank him myself,” Christine chimed in. “You run along; your limo’s waiting. I’ll see to everything here.” The news that Val was marrying a woman nine years his senior spread like wildfire among relatives. There was hesitation at first—until they saw the bride. Then everyone agreed, “How could you not fall for her?” Christine and Chrissie both gave birth two weeks apart.

Someone Elses Bride

You know, Mark was in hot demand. He never put out an ad in the papers or anything on telly, but his name and number just seemed to pass along by word of mouth one of those everyone knows a bloke sort of situations. Hosting a concert? No problem. Doing a milestone birthday or a wedding? Piece of cake. Hed even run a leavers do at a nursery school once, and not only charmed the kids, but won over their mums too.

It all started rather casually. His good mate was getting married, their booked Master of Ceremonies didnt show up as it turned out, the bloke had simply gone off on a bender. There wasnt time to find anyone else, so Mark just grabbed the mic.

Hed been big on drama at school, got stuck into the local amateur theatre group, and was always a keen part of Unis big spring festival funnies. That impromptu bit was a smashing success, and right there, over the chicken vol-au-vents, two other people asked if he could do their events.

After Uni, Mark got a job at one of Oxfords research centres, earning next to nothing. But these new gigs gave him a bit more in his pocket and honestly, he loved doing them. Soon enough, what he was making as a host was ten times more than his official salary as a junior researcher.

A year on, Mark made the leap: left academia, used his savings to buy some top kit, set himself up as a sole trader and became a professional entertainer. While he was at it, he took singing lessons he had a half-decent voice and ear, after all. Before long, he was a singer-host, pulling a couple of nights a week crooning in a restaurant, too.

So there he was at thirty: decent-looking, quite comfortably off, known as a pretty good singer, DJ and an outstanding host who could salvage any gathering. He wasnt married honestly, why would he be? Girls practically threw themselves at him; a wink from him and they were on board. But his mates were settling down and starting families, and Mark started thinking maybe it was his turn for some quiet domestic bliss. The trouble was, there was just no one around who fit the bill. A quick fling was fine for a bit of fun, but he wanted the real thing, once and for all.

You know what you need, his cheeky mate Tom once said, find some schoolgirl, mould her into your perfect Missus, and when she hits the right age, pop the question. Youll have an ideal wife.

Mark even started taking bookings to run school leavers dos, hoping to meet someone nice. But the younger women didnt really do it for him; not what he had in mind at all. Still, he kept looking, joking that he was on the hunt, tracking a rare animal. And right when the fates decided to have a good laugh at my cousins expense, things took a turn.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A woman phoned, said shed been given his details by friends.

We need someone to run our wedding. Are you free on June 17th? Wonderful! Can we meet?

So they met up. And for the first time in his life, Mark understood what people meant by the ground just vanished from underneath you. The woman, who introduced herself as Victoria, was simply stunning the sort hed only ever seen on magazine covers. She spoke clearly, sensibly, knew exactly what she wanted. Mark couldnt help but stare what a lucky bloke, he thought. She wasnt just gorgeous, but sharp as anything. You dont get that every day. At first glance he guessed she was perhaps 25, maybe just a bit older, but during the chat she mentioned being big in Young Labour, which meant she must have been at least pushing forty!

They went through all the details, agreed terms, and signed a contract, though Victoria hesitated.

Do we really need it? I trust you your recommendations are brilliant.

But Mark always insisted on contracts never missed a beat, and expected the same from clients. Just had to keep the taxman happy, he said, but really, he just needed concrete proof that Victoria was real and not some wonderful dream.

Her phone beeped text.

Oh, my fiancés just arrived to pick me up. Need a lift?

Mark declined but walked her out all the same. He usually did that if the bride and groom turned up separately gave him chance to observe how they behaved together. But, honestly, he followed them mainly out of jealousy and a bit of malice. The groom was not at all what Mark expected: instead of a dashing forty-something, a lad younger than Mark himself jumped from the car.

All good, Victoria?

She just smiled as if to say, when is it ever not all good with me? She jumped in, and the bloke shut the door, grinning at Mark.

So youre doing our wedding with Victoria? Nice one, Ive heard youre the best, Tom said so. Sorry, Im Rob, the groom.

God, did Mark want to smack the happiness off Robs face, but he just shook the lads hand.

Mark. Pleased to meet you.

From that day, Mark could barely sleep. He searched for any excuse to ring Victoria, just to hear her voice, to see her. The wedding day loomed, and it drove him half-mad. The only mate he confided in teased,

What happened to your sweet plan, then? Raising your own perfect wife from scratch?

Mark just waved him off.

Oh, forget that now! Victorias the real deal I dont want anyone else.

Well, tell her, then! the mate advised, only to get a sharp response.

Are you crazy? Shes getting married; she clearly loves him. What could a sap like me possibly offer her?

Sometimes Rob would call by, grinning wide.

Oh, Victoria asked me to drop this off

Mark absolutely loathed him at moments like those, and barely held in a sharp word. More than once, he even considered cancelling the gig reputation be damned! But then he realised: if he bailed, hed never see Victoria again. That thought always pulled him up short.

Two days before the wedding, Victoria turned up again she said she just wanted to polish up the script so it all goes off without a hitch. Since Marks office was mid-renovation, they met at his flat. They spent ages nattering about everything but the job, laughing; both in great spirits. At last, when every last detail was sorted, Mark suggested a toast.

To the perfect wedding, he grinned, pouring out some fizz.

Victoria laughed and raised her glass. With champagne buzzing in his veins, Mark found courage and kissed her. To his astonishment, she kissed him back. All thought just vanished.

He woke up next morning, sat up and looked around. Had he really just had the best night of his life, or had he imagined the whole thing? But the pillow next to him still carried the faint trace of her perfume. So it really happened? Half in panic, he called Victoria.

Hey

She answered without missing a beat.

Hi! How are you? Sorry I slipped out without a word you know how it is, madness before the big day!

So the weddings still on, then? he asked, his voice hollow.

Of course! Why wouldnt it be? Everythings fine!

Was this what all women were like, that cold? Going through with the wedding, looking her fiancé in the eye without a hint of guilt? Mark was in bits what should he do, ruin the wedding? Would he even want someone so heartless? And honestly, he admitted to himself, yes. Yes, he would. Any way at all.

That day, he turned up early at the venue. The decorators were just putting the finishing touches on the room, giving him flirty looks. And then

He could hardly believe it: Victoria walked up to him.

Hello. I legged it straight after the register office so I could see you I just couldnt wait, she said, grinning, Whats the matter, Mark?

I dont get it he mumbled. So, you got married? And then you ran off?

Well, of course, you silly thing. Why trawl around town with a load of kids when I could be with you? Not happy to see me?

Hang on kids? Arent you the bride?

Victoria stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing a pure, honest, contagious laugh. Mark couldnt help but join in, albeit sheepishly.

No, you daft thing! Its my daughter, Tilly. Shes at Uni up in Edinburgh, just flew in yesterday, suddenly her face softened, Did you really think I was the bride?

And Id go off with another bloke two days before the big event? Good grief, Mark what do you take me for?

Finally, it dawned on him. Victoria had never said I or we, always the bride and groom. And Rob had always called her Victoria, very formal, never Tilly, and always you. How hadnt he twigged sooner? He felt utterly ridiculous, but then blurted the only thing that mattered.

And you? Are you single? he asked. When she nodded yes, he said almost shouted Marry me! Please

The wedding was brilliant Mark was in top form, surpassed himself, the guests loved him. The actual newlyweds came over afterwards to thank him:

Thank you so much! We dont even know how to repay you for such a wonderful evening.

Ill thank him myself, Victoria said, stepping in, Go on, your honeymoon cars waiting. Ill see everythings taken care of here.

Word soon spread through the family that Mark was marrying a woman nine years his senior. At first, the whispers were a bit wary, but when people met Victoria, they just said,

Well, how could anyone not fall in love with her?

Funny thing is, Victoria and Tilly ended up having babies two weeks apartMark couldnt have agreed more. The day after the wedding, while the confetti still clung to the grass, he and Victoria sat on a park bench, half-eaten pastries between them, their nerves and excitement fizzing beneath the ordinary sunlight.

So, she said, nudging him gently, what do you think do we do this the usual way, or make it up as we go?

Ive never done things the usual way, Mark replied, his heart fuller than hed ever dared hope. He grinned. If youre game, Im in.

Victoria laughed, and her laughter rich and true seemed to unlock something inside him. For once, Mark didnt have a script, didnt need the perfect line. Here, finally, was the real thing: unpredictable, honest, and utterly captivating.

They held hands all the way home, drawing glances, drawing smiles, their age difference forgotten in the warmth between them. That night, for the first time in ages, Mark didnt think about tomorrows bookings or next weekends party. He simply listened to Victorias breathing, steady and close, and thought: Im exactly where Im meant to be.

Word traveled fast, as it always did. This time, it wasnt about Marks parties or his charm. It was about how even a man whod seen every kind of celebration could still be surprised by joy and how, when love finally arrived, it was a thousand times better than anything he could have planned.

From then on, Marks laughter at every gig rang out a little lighter, and he always found himself looking for Victoria in the crowd and every time, there she was, smiling back, as if shed always been waiting just for him.