Chapter 4
Romeo
If anyone’s supposed to be this nervous the morning of a wedding day, I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be the bride.
Not her neurotic little bother.
“So the flowers are being delivered in half an hour, and the cake is arriving at eleven. The bridesmaids are in with hair and make-up and I just got a text from the violinist saying she’s running a little later than she’d like but will still very much be here in plenty of time. And—”
“Romeo,” Bea cries. I don’t think she’s cracked out my full name as much in my whole life as she has over these past several weeks.
I wince, fully aware I’m operating at about a hundred and twenty percent right now. “Sorry,” I tell her sincerely. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
“And it will be.” She reaches for my hand from where she’s sitting in front of the dressing table mirror, letting her personal hair stylist work her magic.
My sister decided to get her curls braided for the big day.
Now they’ve been put up in an impressive knot with an arrangement of pink pearls and flowers that’s so beautiful it honestly makes me want to weep.
“Oh, Bee,” I say, my breath catching as I clutch my chest with my free hand. “Isaac is going to lose his shit when he sees you!” The older woman working on my sister’s hair arches an eyebrow at me and I laugh sheepishly. “Sorry, ma’am.”
Beatrice squeezes my hand to get my attention back to her. “Please stop apologizing, Ro. You’ve poured your heart into making today perfect for me and my man. That’s all that matters. You can relax now. Whatever will be, will be. There could be a rain of frogs and I wouldn’t care.”
“Shh!” I cry, waving my hand at her. “Don’t tempt fate!”
She just laughs and kisses the back of my other hand, though.
“I checked the weather forecast. There isn’t going to be a cloud in the sky, let alone rain of any kind, I promise.
No amphibians. But seriously. Everyone is going to have an amazing day, and pretty much all of that will be down to you and your brilliant planning. ”
I smile tightly and let go of her hand so I can sit in a chair opposite her while the stylist finishes her work. Once she’s done, the make-up artist can begin, and Bee won’t be doing much talking at that point.
“This was the first wedding I actually planned,” I whisper, pulling at my fingers.
My sister gives me a warm look. “I know, baby bro. I had every faith in you. It was an honor to be your guinea pig. Now you have your first case study, you’ll be able to start drumming up business in no time, I’m sure!”
We have to get through the day first. And I’m praying that the photographer I hired delivers, otherwise I won’t have anything to build a portfolio with.
Obviously, Bee and Isaac need pictures to treasure forever as well.
But I’m starting to feel like if I don’t break away from the bridal boutique and start my own business soon, it’s going to be too late.
Sure, I adore working at the store, and my boss, Hedi, is fair even though she can be scary.
Helping brides pick out their perfect dresses never gets old, and it was a privilege to have been a part of each and every one of their journeys.
Not only that, but Redwood Bay’s annual wedding show is coming up in a few weeks, and Hedi actually let me be in charge of organizing our runway presentation, which has been nothing short of an honor for my gay little ass.
But I’m ready for more. I want to be a part of the entire experience. To help couples bring their visions to life from the moment they get engaged until they jet off on their honeymoon.
Especially queer couples.
I’m not sure how much business I’ll get in a little town like Redwood Bay. But seeing as we’re slap bang in between LA and San Diego, I would hope I could find the clientele I’m looking for without too much trouble. Everyone deserves to have the wedding of their dreams.
Especially if someone has tried to make them feel like they don’t deserve that.
My throat is suddenly tight.
“Thank you, sis,” I tell her for her kind words.
I rise to my feet and smooth down my shirt.
Of course I’m dressed hours ahead of when I need to be, but at least I resisted putting on my blazer just yet.
“I think I’m going to go for a little walk.
Chill out, you know? Call me if you need anything, okay? ”
Beatrice frowns slightly. “Are you alright?”
I always have a dazzling smile to pull out of my hat, so I give her my best one.
“Of course! You’re right. I don’t want to stress myself out so much that I don’t enjoy the fruits of my labor.
They’re so sweet and juicy, after all!” I shake my imaginary boobies at her, making her laugh just like I hoped.
“So I’m going to have a petit promenade to make sure everyone’s on schedule and no crises have emerged in the last hour, then I might even get myself a nice cup of tea. ”
She snorts and waves me off. “Tea? Yeah, okay. You better come back with a bottle of Champagne for us to share, or else.”
I’m sure her bridesmaids will have that covered, so my plan is actually to come back with tea for her. But I play along with a salute as I make my retreat from the room.
“I won’t be long!” I call as I enter the hallway.
“Just don’t miss the wedding, okay?”
We both laugh even if the idea makes me shudder.
After all the work I’ve put in to make this day perfect for my sister, it would take a hell of a lot to make me miss it.
But what if I get dragged off by a wild tiger?
Or a weathervane falls on my head and gives me amnesia?
Missing this wedding would be the worst thing to ever happen to me!
Well, probably not the worst.
My throat tightens again, reminding me why I needed to take a moment to myself in the first place. I can smile and twirl and throw glitter all I like. Eventually, my thoughts had to come back around to the elephant in the room on such an important day.
I can pretend it doesn’t hurt all I want. The fact that my parents are boycotting my beloved sister’s wedding still cuts like a knife in the heart.
From out of nowhere, a sob escapes my throat.
Not wanting anyone to see me, I scurry along the hotel corridor until I find somewhere to hide for a minute.
Luckily, it doesn’t take long. I find a small, empty bar that feels almost like a living room.
Exactly the kind of comfy vibe I need to take a moment to catch my breath.
My shoes clack on the terracotta tiles as I cross the room and drop into one of the plush cream sofas.
I let my head fall back and look at the dark wooden beams across the ceiling.
My parents made their feelings clear long before Beatrice even got engaged.
Before I even turned eighteen, when their present to me was kicking me out.
Ever since I could walk and talk it was clear that I was a gigantic sissy, and no matter how much they tried to punish it out of me, they never could.
I think back to the clothes I used to change into once I got to school.
The make-up I used to wipe off before daring to set foot back into their house.
The music I would listen to through my earbuds, never out loud.
Even the way I would speak and move under their roof had to be so carefully considered.
It was exhausting. If they hadn’t given me their ultimatum, I was planning on moving out anyway, even before I graduated school. I was so desperate to be myself and live authentically, it was making me physically ill.
The sad part is, I genuinely believe they could have coped if I was a straight passing, conservative sort of gay.
They’ve always been so obsessed with keeping up with the Joneses and blending in, to the extent that I’m sure they were ashamed of their Blackness.
They certainly never wanted to celebrate it the way that Bee and I do.
And who names their kids after fucking Shakespearean characters, anyway? Pretentious dicks, that’s who.
Then they had the audacity when the boy they named Romeo—Romeo—refused to conform no matter how much they tried to shame him.
Me being a flaming queer absolutely mortified them, and apparently still does.
They live such small, bitter lives, strangled by their own desperate need to show how civilized they are.
I’d feel sorry for their uptight asses if I didn’t hate them so much.
All I ever wanted was their love. All I ever got was their disappointment.
I don’t know how I got so lucky to have the best older sister in the whole world, but her love has always been more than enough for me.
She took me in when I turned eighteen, despite the fact that she was still in med school dealing with issues of her own.
She supported me even though I ‘only’ wanted to work in retail.
She understood that connecting with people and helping style them so they feel fucking fantastic wasn’t settling for me.
It was a calling. She encouraged me to apply for the position at the bridal store when I wasn’t technically qualified enough, and has been the biggest cheerleader when it comes to my little dream of setting up my own wedding planning business.
So fuck our parents from here to eternity. They’re the ones missing out, because despite their best efforts, they managed to produce two incredible kids.
Today is about Beatrice, not them. With a huff, I wipe my eyes, hoping my setting spray has kept my subtle but still outrageously gorgeous face intact. There’s really no need to be sad for a second longer.
Because it turns out, they were pretty easy to substitute. It gives me a thrill to think how much that would infuriate them. But this Rainbow Reach charity that Isaac found is really quite something.