Chapter 2
Chapter two
Birdie
“Forrest, we have to go now!” I laughed affectionately as my fiancé sat at the piano with two of his grown children, working out one of the musical scores for his upcoming show Phantom of the Bloody Opera.
Even on his wedding day, he was still an artist and musician to the core, and I absolutely loved that about him.
Sometimes after five years it was still surreal that I got to be with the man whose musicals I’d had memorized since my teen years.
That we got to passionately argue the finer points of musical arrangements until all hours of the night and then devour each other until we were both dripping and exhausted.
Of course I loved how Forrest helped his kids with their careers, and the newest project would be the twins Paige and Hieronymus’ first time directing, with their mother, Forrest’s famous ex, playing the leading role of Christine Daaé.
Hieronymus and Paige Davies-Jones were 35, five years older than me, both tall and elegant. Today they were dressed in sophisticated black, Hieronymus with a bit of a receding hairline he tried to hide with a messy updo, and Paige with her sleek dark ponytail.
My wedding dress tucked firmly under my arm, I walked over to the group.
The grand piano was massive, and opened out onto our big backyard, the pool looking just about warm enough to swim in.
My beloved had a pen in his mouth as he bent over the score, hitting a note on the piano that they all sung in unison, Forrest’s deep bass voice matching with their higher ones in a perfect harmony.
I couldn’t help joining a little bit with my alto, and Hieronymus and Paige instantly both stopped and shot disgruntled looks at me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Birdie, but your sound always throws me off,” Paige said with a fake little smile.
“We’re going for more of a classical tone here,” Hieronymus added.
Forrest wasn’t even listening, still staring intently at his score, and I didn’t care what they said because he looked sexy as hell, halfway dressed with his tuxedo shirt opened, the bowtie hanging against his chest, his silvery hair rumpled in the way it always was when he was working out something.
Since this was such a family production he wanted to make sure it was a big success for them.
And, of course, I was rooting for its success too. Even though I was just a tiny bit jealous not to be more involved. After all, Phantom of the Bloody Opera was my favorite musical. It would have been cool to be one of the chorus, perhaps? But maybe with the next one.
“We have to go,” I said lightly, putting a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling the corded muscles underneath. “St. Martin’s Cathedral is very strict about when the wedding begins.”
Forrest turned to me, his blue eyes sweeping down my body to where I was covered up in a little pink robe, and even that casual glance was enough to scorch me.
“They’ll wait for me. Just a few more minutes.”
And the hell of it was? They absolutely would.
I know what everyone says about the two of us. That because he’s 65 and I’m 30 that I’m a gold-digger.
They’re wrong, though.
I’m marrying Forrest Davies-Jones because I’m madly, wildly in love with him.
After all, I would’ve been shit out of luck if I married him to advance my career. Despite being the partner of the most powerful musical and theater producer in the US, I have yet to record a CD or even get cast in one of his huge, glamorous productions.
And of course, people only say that I must be a gold-digger if they haven’t met Forrest.
If you’ve met him, you understand.
He’s magnetic, raw with power and arrogance and brilliance. Being 65 hasn’t dimmed his incredible charisma at all. I was his from the first moment he looked at me, and I’ve been his every single day for the last five years.
And if I was a gold-digger wouldn’t I have had some lawyer look over the prenup?
I didn’t. Because I don’t want Forrest’s money.
It’s enough just to be near him, get to wake up every morning next to him, hear him riff on the piano, watch his creative process, and get to sing with him late into the night.
Everything is fun with him and he’s endlessly fascinating, from teaching me all about wine to introducing me to snorkeling.
And my god, the man can fuck.
More stamina than a man 1/3rd his age, with the ability to command an orgasm out of me from any position he chooses.
And it’s all culminating in today, my wedding day.
When we finally made it to the cathedral, I could barely resist jumping up and down with glee as I put on my dress.
Today was the day!
I had decided to walk down the aisle by myself, since I had no living relatives, and I was trembling like a leaf before I even made it a step into the giant cathedral.
The cavernous space was gorgeous, classical murals and art on every surface, lilies and roses wound in intricate patterns all along the velvety aisle.
Forrest had spared absolutely no expense to celebrate our marriage, and it was the wedding of my dreams.
The organ began to play Handel’s Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.
And I only had eyes for him, every single step of the way, and it felt like I was going way too fast, practically sprinting, because I was so excited to marry this man.
But finally, I was up to the front and Forrest was grasping my hand, helping me up the steps so my heavy, diamond-encrusted train stayed in a perfect glittering swirl behind me.
His hand was firm, dwarfing my own. It felt like I was radiating joy, bursting out of my skin like sunbeams.
I wanted to memorize every single moment of this, so I could remember it forever. The strength of his jawline, the way his silvery hair looked so artistically disarranged, his bowtie just a bit askew, like he was still thinking about the musical compositions for Phantom of the Bloody Opera.
What even was the priest saying? It didn’t even matter. Just let me fly to the moment where I’m his wife!
“And if anybody has any objections to this marriage, speak now, or forever hold their peace.”
Forrest winked teasingly, like a special naughty moment between the two of us, and I wanted to drop to my knees and drain his balls so badly.
In thirty seconds I was going to be Mrs. Birdie Davies-Jones.
I squeezed his big fingers back and grinned.
Who could object? This was the happiest moment of my life.
I knew what people said about us, of course. Hot brainless little gold-digger, big rich sugar daddy.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve loved this man from the moment I walked into the audition. It was pure animal magnetism, and I’ve never cared that he was thirty-five years older. Would have married him if he was a penniless man under a bridge playing the cello.
I beamed up into Forrest’s eyes, reveling in his gaze, wanting to drown in the moment when, for a split second, his brilliant eyes drifted away, out somewhere into the audience.
And then—disaster!
The priest opened his mouth to speak to pronounce our vows, when a clear, carrying voice rang out in the cathedral. I’d know it anywhere, because I had all of her CDs memorized. The Voice of a Generation, the world’s most impeccable Soprano.
Phee Vanderhart
Forrest’s ex-wife
“I do. I object to this marriage.”
All the blood drained from my body as I heard her voice.
No. This couldn’t be happening. She’d always been nice to me. . .
“Forrest, you’re making a huge mistake. Please.
I’m here to say what I should have a long time ago.
You and I belong together. We need to fix this toxic cycle of breaking up, marrying other people, then making it up again.
As the mother of your children I’m begging you to put a halt to this wedding and listen to what I have to say before you make a mistake you’ll regret forever. ”
And now Phee was crying, big fat photogenic tears rolling down her beautiful face, and how dare she be begging for sympathy at my own wedding that she was ruining.
“Security!” I cried, but the words came out as an undignified squeak.
Surely Forrest would say it even louder, speak for me when I was too choked with indignation and humiliation.
I knew what people said about him and his ex-wife, of course. How could I not? Music’s ultimate on and off couple. Already on their third breakup before I was even born. The hard-loving, hard-fighting couple who once got kicked out of the Grammys for throwing drinks at each other.
How dare she try to turn my wedding into a cinematic moment for her, the insane, self-deluded bitch—
But Forrest was still looking at her.
“One moment of your time,” Phee said. “That’s all I ask for.”
Surely now was when Forrest would call for security, order her to be hauled out of his wedding by her beautiful chestnut hair.
His head turned and he finally looked at me again.
“Birdie, can you give us a minute?”
The entire church was salivating silently. And I could tell what part I’d been relegated to.
I was now the bit piece, the obstacle to their epic passionate love story.
And I should have been sad. I was dimly aware that when the pulse-pounding adrenaline wore off that I was going to be devastated, that the pain was going to floor me, the rejection hitting harder and deeper and more brutal than anything I’d ever experienced, but now? Now all I felt was rage.
Rage that this man I’d devoted everything to, had loved with every fiber of my being, was giving me a “hold up, let me consider my options,” speech on my wedding day.
“Give you a minute for what?” I snapped, grabbing my bouquet from where it sat like a prize on the jeweled table. “To talk to your ex-wife? In the middle of our wedding?”
“I need a minute,” Forrest repeated, raising an eyebrow but not answering the question. “To talk to Phee. Wait here.”
Oh, he was a cool, unflappable bastard, all right. That was how life had gone for fucking Forrest Davies-Jones, hadn’t it?
He was the kind of man who could say “wait here” to his fiancée and a church full of people, and expect them to do it.
Forrest didn’t even wait to see if I agreed, because his eyes were already locked on Phee, his body turned toward her.
I hit his broad chest with the bouquet, watching as the beautiful, perfectly chosen pink cherry petals flew off, clustering on his tuxedo front, sticking to his bow tie.
I was going to save that bouquet forever. I even had a shadow box especially for it.
“I’m not going to wait here! Are you marrying me or not?”
My breathing was ragged, raw, sounding to my fevered ears like the only thing in the cathedral.
Was anyone in this whole church here for me?
I was an only child and had been raised by my grandmother.
This was the event of the season, but who was here for me?
It felt like they were all Forrest’s friends and associates.
So many Broadway stars, a movie producer, tech billionaires, real estate moguls.
Once again he didn’t answer the question.
“I told you to wait here. I need to talk to Phee. Then I’ll be back to talk to you.”
Ice filled my veins, turned me into a frozen, petrified thing.
“Fuck you!”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Fuck you, Forrest.”
I took off my engagement ring, already feeling the sense of loss beginning to reel in my brain, and threw it at him as hard as I could.
“Birdie. Stop being a child. She’s been in my life a lot longer than you have.”
The fucking body blows just kept coming, didn’t they?
“To hell with you both then!”
There was only one way out of this, and it was right back down the aisle.
I gathered my long, poofy skirts and fled. It had been so easy for me to find a dress. Never had any indecision. I wanted it all. The big, beautiful princess dress for my fairytale wedding.
Everyone’s eyes were on me. Eager, horrified, shocked. They wanted to consume my shame and humiliation, I could tell it was a delectable thing to them.
Phee had her arms crossed across her chest. She was a few decades older than me, a stunningly beautiful brunette, and the way her perfectly plump scarlet lips turned up had me seeing red.
“You can have him!” I cried, tearing off a handful of the diamonds on my bodice, and throwing them at her.
“It’s not personal, Birdie,” she said with that smug little smile still on her lips, and I reached the end of the aisle and shoved at the custom-made ice sculpture, feeling the intake of breath in the audience like a fire on my skin, pushed until the entire thing tipped over and fell, shattering ice like gunshot onto the floor in a million shards.
Then I left.