A Certain Mr. Rit Co Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Voyage of the Vows

If the Moss wedding had been a lesson in controlled, furry chaos, Ellie’s next clients, Maya and Sebastian Finch, promised a different kind of pandemonium: one with a riptide.

They were not just travelers; they were human compasses with restlessness in their bones. Their apartment was a museum of souvenirs: a didgeridoo leaned against a Mongolian saddle, a taxidermied pangolin wore a sombrero, and the bookshelves groaned under atlases with cracked spines. Their love, they explained, was forged not over coffee, but over contested border crossings and shared anti-malarial medication.

“We want our wedding to feel like our greatest expedition,” Sebastian declared, his fingers tracing a route on a nautical chart spread over Ellie’s desk. “The destination? Matrimony. The terrain? Water.”

Thus was born the concept for the “Aquatic Amore”: a ceremony and reception entirely on, and partially in, the gentle, wide River Lyne. Guests would arrive by a fleet of decorated punts and gondolas. The ceremony would take place on a stunning, circular hydraulic platform in the center of the river, which would rise just above the surface, adorned with flowers and surrounded by elegant fountains. Reception tables would be on sturdy, interlinked floating docks. Dress code: “Nautical Chic,” which effectively meant formalwear from the waist up, swimwear below.

“It’s daring, it’s us,” Maya said, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of impending logistical nightmares. “And of course, the crew comes with us.”

The “crew” was their two animal companions.

Sinbad: A majestic, mackerel-striped tabby with the soul of a discontented admiral. His preferred expeditions involved sunbeams on the windowsill and the daring conquest of the treat cupboard. He regarded baths with the horror of a cat facing a witch trial.

Ziggy: A relentlessly optimistic, web-footed Portuguese Water Dog whose life’s mission was to be within splashing distance of Maya at all times.

The preparations were a study in aquatic opposition.

The Platform Inspection: As Ellie and the Finches surveyed the magnificent floating stage, Sinbad, in his travel carrier, emitted a low, continuous growl that vibrated with ancient feline distrust of liquid. The moment he was set on the stable riverbank, he dug his claws deep into the earth as if claiming the last solid ground on Earth, his gaze toward the platform one of profound betrayal. Ziggy, meanwhile, took one look at the water and executed a perfect, joyful dive from the dock, soaking Sebastian’s trousers.

The Attire Fitting: Maya’s elegant, water-resistant silk gown passed inspection. Sebastian’s linen suit was approved. Ziggy’s custom-made canine life-jacket with a bow tie was a hit. Sinbad’s miniature admiral’s jacket, however, was met with a hiss so potent it could have peeled paint. He vanished for two days after the fitting, returning only to glare accusingly from the top of the fridge.

The “Boatiquette” Lesson: Leo took charge of coordinating the animal transportation. “Right. Ziggy in Life-Jacket Alpha, on the lead boat with the couple. He’ll be fine. Sinbad….” He looked at the cat, who was now stubbornly fused to the root of an ancient oak tree on the bank. “Sinbad will be secured in his luxury, mesh-sided carrier, on the shore, under the dedicated care of your niece with the sardine treats. He will witness everything from a place of dry, dignified safety. This is non-negotiable.”

The wedding day dawned clear and brilliant. The river sparkled. The fleet of punts, adorned with flowers and ribbons, looked enchanting. Guests in their half-formal, half-beachwear attire laughed nervously as they boarded, clutching champagne flutes with determination.

Sinbad, true to plan, was installed on a plush cushion under the oak tree, his carrier door open. He sat like a stone sphinx, staring at the aquatic spectacle with an expression of utter contempt. He was, Ellie noted, the calmest living creature on the premises.

The ceremony was breathtaking. As the couple punted toward the central platform, fountains erupted around it in glittering arcs. They stepped onto the stable, flower-decked stage. Vows were exchanged over the gentle lap of water. It was sophisticated, unique, and going perfectly.

Then came the pronouncement: “You may kiss your—”

Splash.

A frantic, joyous paddling sound cut through the romantic silence.

Ziggy, from the lead boat, had watched his beloved Maya step onto that strange, distant island. The distance was unacceptable. The call of the water was irresistible. With a whimper of devotion, he had launched himself over the side of the punt.

Gasps and giggles rippled through the flotilla. There was Ziggy, his bow-tied life jacket bobbing proudly, doggy-paddling with immense vigor towards the platform, a living, furry arrow of disruption aimed straight at the climax of the ceremony.

On the shore, Sinbad closed his eyes slowly, as if praying for a meteor to strike the river and end the collective embarrassment.

Maya burst out laughing, tears in her eyes, as Ziggy reached the platform. Sebastian, quick on his feet, hauled the dripping, wagging dog up. Ziggy shook himself off in a spectacular spray, showering the officiant and the bridal bouquet, then planted a wet, happy kiss on Maya’s cheek.

“Our first crewmate to board!” Sebastian announced to the cheering guests, and kissed his damp, laughing bride over the head of their sopping dog.

The reception was a masterpiece of controlled, soggy chaos. Plates were passed carefully over water. Dances on the floating dock had a delightful, wobbling rhythm. Champagne corks popped over the river. And through it all, from his royal perch on the bank, Sinbad watched. He did not deign to participate. He presided. He was the dry, furry anchor of sanity in a world gone madly, wonderfully aquatic.

As the sun set, painting the river in gold, Ellie stood on the bank near the oak tree. She watched the floating party, the shimmering lights, the couple dancing with a damp dog between them. She listened to the laughter skip across the water.

Then she looked down at Sinbad. Sinbad looked back, his green eyes inscrutable. He gave one slow, deliberate blink—a gesture not of approval, but of weary, superior understanding. They are fools, the blink said. But they are our fools.

Ellie smiled, a real, relaxed smile. She didn’t need her clipboard. The blueprint was written in wake trails, in a dog’s devoted splash, and in the immovable, dry judgment of a cat on the shore. The chaos had a pattern all its own, and she was, finally, starting to appreciate the choreography.