Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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For a long, long moment, England just stared at him like he couldn’t figure out what the hell being married before la Tomatina had to do with anything. But then, slowly, one corner of his mouth twitched and was followed by the most evil grin Spain had seen on him since the sixteenth century. When he spoke again, his voice had commuted to practically a purr. “Phone book. Hurry up.”
On the one hand, Spain kind of regretted asking. He should’ve known that England was enough of a sexual deviant to see what he was thinking, and now he felt flushed and like he was suddenly not wearing anything at all. On the other hand, maybe England was right. Maybe this was an emergency.
---
There had not been a single moment, in the time from when he’d gotten engaged to the time that Spain told him that England fancied himself an extremely cranky and overbearing wedding planner to the actual morning of their wedding (which was admittedly simple but still looked very nice, not that he would ever tell England that) that Romano had gotten cold feet. He’d felt surprisingly calm about this whole marriage thing. It felt good. It felt right.
Then everyone showed up. The bishop who was in charge of the venue looked distinctly perturbed. Romano knew this was Spain’s favorite church, so he’d gone straight to the Pope to secure it - and been very thankful that he’d until this point managed to avoid the current pontiff enough not to develop any major enmity yet.
The Cathedral of St. Mary of the Assumption was over fourteen hundred years old, and now for the very first time there was a panda in it. For some reason, this didn’t appear to please the bishop of Córdoba, though the significantly less sour-looking priest Spain had brought from the church near his house to officiate just smiled kindly at everyone as they arrived and didn’t even seem to mind when the cat that had come in with Greece or Japan or possibly both started rubbing against his legs and getting fur all over his vestments.
Fortunately the bishop wasn’t likely to say anything. He’d been about to at one point, but the death glare Romano had shot his way seemed to have killed any possible protestations, and maybe the knowledge that if Romano - or, worse, Veneziano - went to the Pope and turned on the waterworks, he ran the risk of being excommunicated.
Even if Romano had committed a teeny little sin in telling the Pope that he was marrying a girl in the first place. He’d gone to confession and done his penance for the transgression, but he still had to hold back a snort whenever he thought about it.
He wasn’t laughing now, though. They didn’t exactly have a guest list a mile long, and everyone who was there was a nation, so it wasn’t even like he was having to put up with heads of state. He’d gotten into physical altercations with his current boss on more than one occasion and they were no longer on speaking terms - not altogether an unusual situation for Romano. And they’d thrown together this whole thing on such short notice that Spain’s bosses had both had to decline but sent their best regards as well as gifts that they hadn’t, of course, unwrapped yet but which probably contained something expensive and utterly useless.
It was a relief, not having to deal with all of that. Romano still remembered how awkward Austria and Hungary’s wedding had been, and he really couldn’t cope with Very Important People being around right now. It was always vaguely embarrassing when their bosses got to see how nations interacted with each other on an informal level.
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