When Anthony was still in high school, he was asked what his type was. He answered by pulling out a MySpace photo of Lara.
Years later, he and Lara stood there, hand in hand, in front of the people who saw the whole thing happen from the very first (and very awkward) date.
After all, their relationship involved their whole group of friends from the start, so it was only natural for them to be all in that room.
During the speeches, George, Anthony’s best man, talked about how he had been there from the beginning, bonding with Anthony over detention, Adidas tracksuit and Nando’s, until one Friday, Anthony arrived with a different plan.
He had a date, and he wanted George to come with him.
George went, of course, fully prepared to be a very awkward third wheel. Instead, he met the woman who one day would become Anthony’s wife, as well as one of the best friends George could ever ask for.
Elise, Lara’s maid of honour, shared her own story about her and Lara going to Fiji for a vacation, only for Lara to sneak away for hours just so she could talk to Anthony, because for her, even paradise had someone missing from it.
“Nothing can come between them,” Elise said. “Not even an ocean.”
Their relationship had a history by the time they got to this day. Eleven years of choosing each other. Eleven years of inside jokes and family dinners, long phone calls and shared plans and all the everyday evidence that love is not just about the big things.
Lara stood in front of the room and said getting married was daunting but Anthony was the only person who could have got her there. She thanked him for being him.
Anthony ensured everyone saw what a beauty she was, then delivered an emotional speech thanking their parents for two reasons: they couldn’t afford the wedding without them, and they wouldn’t exist.
Fair. Hard to argue with either.
He spoke about his sisters with the affection that hides inside very specific memories — Alyssa giving him the good parts of her Nutella sandwiches and eating the crust herself, Julia reading him Harry Potter because he was too lazy to read it himself.
Then he turned to George.
“If I wasn’t marrying Lara today,” he said, “I’d probably be marrying you.”
The room loved that one.
Lara’s mother Francis brought her own warmth to the night. She had apparently been given a two-minute limit, which she accepted in spirit if not in practice. “That was never gonna happen,” she admitted, after cutting five pages.
She looked at Anthony and told him he had promised to protect Lara, and he had kept that promise. “Bless your heart, beautiful boy.”
Then the dancing started, and the night became exactly what a Greek and Italian family wedding should become. Zorba. Tarantella. “That’s Amore.” Guests who had flown in from around the world, joining in because that is what you do when the music starts, and the family gives you no real choice.
Thank you, Lara and Anthony, for allowing us to be there. Your wedding story, eleven years in the making, was a reminder that love doesn’t have to be sudden and all-encompassing. It can be tender, slow, and take its time to get to the altar.
