Chapter 14 #2
I could be honest. I could tell Hunter how the guilt is flickering at the edges of my mind and threatening to catch fire. But I feel like if I do that, there will be no going back. The only way to keep it in check is by not giving voice to it. I look Hunter dead in the eye.
‘I’m fine. Seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.’
* * *
When I go to check on my dad and Doily, she’s explaining how contract stipulations have kept Celia Imrie’s Mad Madam Mim prequel in development hell for the better part of a decade, while my dad counters with practical solutions that could solve everything.
That should keep them both occupied for a while.
I retreat to my room to finish getting dressed, and before I know it, our guests start to arrive.
Hunter and I managed to come up with a few more people to make it look a bit like a normal wedding without having to drag in anyone I’d rather not involve.
There’s my ex-housemate Gunter, who quite literally owes me for a utility bill from 2017.
There’s a woman I met at a conference in Birmingham who has been incessantly messaging me on LinkedIn ever since, suggesting we hang out, who I have finally been able to oblige.
There’s a personal trainer who I had one free trial session with then never went back, but who still leaves motivational comments on all my social media posts.
All these people give the impression of being my friends, while allowing me to keep my real friends, or at least what’s left of them, safely out of the picture.
In fact, as I see this group of disparate people, I wonder why I didn’t come up with a few more random stragglers to fill up spots at the wedding instead of inviting the quartet who I am looking at on the far side of the garden.
Too late now. I take a deep breath, then cross over to say hello to Quentin, Flora, Nessie and Mariam.
‘Max!’ they call in unison.
I greet them one by one and take them in.
You can tell that Quentin and Flora are seasoned wedding guests.
Quentin is scanning the gathering, trying to figure out who’s worth talking to and where the canapés are located, while Flora looks less enthusiastic but ready to play the role that’s expected of her.
Mariam is wearing that same brown pantsuit, and Nessie . . . holy shit.
‘Oh wow,’ I say. ‘You did it.’
Nessie grins. She did it. She got the perm.
It looks awful. Worse than I feared, if that’s possible.
The hair has gained volume, but not in a good way, clinging to her head like a helmet.
She has gained about twenty years and thirty pounds.
I can confidently say this is the biggest glow down I’ve ever seen.
‘What do you think?’ Nessie asks.
I glance at my colleagues, but they all stay quiet. What do I think about the fact that Nessie has got a terrible perm that I explicitly encouraged? I don’t think my real opinion has any right to be aired. It’s hardly the biggest lie I’ll tell today.
‘I love it, Nessie. It’s incredible.’
Nessie places a hand on her heart. ‘That means a lot, Max.’
I can’t look her in the eye.
‘We’re so honoured you invited us,’ says Mariam. ‘This is very exclusive.’
Was that a pointed comment? It’s hard to tell.
‘It’s a last-minute thing before Doily sells the house,’ I say. ‘This place means so much to Edwin. And he means so much to me.’
‘So who else is here?’ asks Quentin.
I glance over at the man who gave me a single free personal training session four years ago, who is deep in conversation with the man who owes me ￡86 for a gas bill.
‘London friends, mainly,’ I say casually. ‘And my dad.’
‘Nice,’ says Quentin. ‘So are you thinking of doing a bigger thing at a later date?’
‘Potentially.’
I’m trying to stick to Hunter’s rules and not lie any more than necessary. If it was up to me, I would start over-compensating and commit myself to a ceremony for two hundred people in Manchester Town Hall.
‘Don’t bother,’ says Flora. ‘I don’t know why people blow all their savings on a wedding. This is much more sensible.’
As far as I can tell, she means it. In fact, as I leave my colleagues and go to greet the rest of the guests, I feel bad about how much they are all buying into this.
Quentin may have his suspicions, but everyone else appears to be completely convinced by what we’re doing.
Yes, it’s a little crazy of us, but love makes people crazy, and weddings make everyone sentimental. Shit – now I’m really feeling guilty.
I head over and start shovelling down canapés. After a while, Hunter crosses over to me.
‘Max, are you OK?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘What do you mean of course? Anyone would be stressed by this.’
‘Not me.’
I gobble down another canapé.
‘Max, I’m serious. You helped me the other night when I needed it. I’m happy to do the same for you.’
I force a smile.
‘That’s kind of you. But I don’t need it.’
Before Hunter can press further, Doily invites everyone to gather on the semi-circle of chairs – everyone aside from Mr Peanut, who has located something of immense importance beneath a lavender bush.
Someone has reserved a seat for Elton John’s gnome, which feels like the kind of bravado that’s going to come back to bite us, but I have to admit it’s also quite funny.
At least, it would be, if my heart wasn’t pounding out of my chest.
This is really happening.
Hunter and I decided against walking down the aisle, so we go and stand in front of the pergola that is acting as an altar while everyone takes their seats.
In any case, the star of the show is Doily.
She’s dressed low-key by her standards, wearing a dove-grey silk shirt dress with a soft vintage shawl and a wide-brimmed straw hat.
‘Quick bit of housekeeping,’ says Doily.
‘Phones off, unless you’re expecting an urgent call from an ambassador or a midwife.
Loos are through the French doors and to the left – don’t open the door with the pink ribbon.
Please only biodegradable confetti, out of respect for the birds.
The conservatory has been designated as a quiet zone, should anyone feel faint or overcome by emotion.
Finally, and most importantly, in about fifteen minutes, a brass band will pass the garden gate en route to Dulwich. Do not acknowledge them.’
You can’t say she’s not keeping our guests entertained. I find myself desperately relieved any time Doily draws attention to herself and away from me. I didn’t anticipate feeling this guilty. Even my one-time personal trainer looks swept up by the occasion. I’m desperate for this to be over.
But Hunter and I came up with all sorts of ways to make it feel like a real wedding.
Mariam reads an extract from All’s Well That Ends Well that goes on forever.
Zosia and Thiago sing an a cappella version of ‘It’s Raining Men’, slowed down in a way that is meant to be sultry, but makes it feel like a funeral march.
Throughout all of this, my dad won’t stop taking photos.
‘Right,’ says Doily. ‘Now for the legal part.’
I feel a drop of sweat trickle down my cheek. My armpits are damp and my throat is dry. We’re about to get married. Legally married. If I felt sick before, I now feel like I’m going to collapse. Doily invites Hunter to say his vows.
‘Max,’ says Hunter. ‘Before we met, my love life was a disaster. My last relationship ended so badly I had to move continents.’
This prompts a sympathetic laugh.
‘I stopped expecting anything,’ Hunter continues. ‘I thought romance novels belonged in the science fiction section.’ He pauses for effect. ‘Then you walked in.’
People are hanging on his every word. He really is a flawless actor.
‘You see life like a movie where you’re the hero,’ Hunter continues. ‘Where everything always works out. And the plot twist I never saw coming—’ He looks at me, open-hearted. ‘Is that I get to be your co-star.’
The crowd aahs. My dad sniffs and swallows hard. This is a man who didn’t cry at his own wife’s funeral. But I’m not far behind him. My eyes are locked on Hunter, and I’m feeling every word he says as if he means it. It’s honestly kind of disorienting.
‘Max, I would call you my golden retriever, but I wouldn’t want to upset Mr Peanut.’
Everyone chuckles and looks over at Mr Peanut, who is gleefully chewing on an old croquet ball. Hunter turns back to me, smiling.
‘You’re my sunlight. My source of warmth. And if you ever see me squint when I’m looking at you, it’s not only because I’m secretly mapping your freckles like they’re the Milky Way. It’s because my eyes are still adjusting to your brightness.’
There’s an audible sigh from the audience.
‘Lovely,’ says Doily. ‘Max?’
My heart drops like a stone. How can I match that?
How is anyone going to believe me? I thought I could do this, but now that the moment has arrived, I feel like I’m going to faint.
I stagger around the back of the pergola and fall to a crouching position.
I hear people gasp, but I can’t look back. Hunter follows me round.
‘Max,’ he says, rubbing my back. ‘What’s the matter?’
He looks at me like he’s done something wrong. His only crime was being so convincing that it’s brought home the gravity of what we’re doing.
Will I ever get to exchange vows like that with someone I truly love?
If I do meet someone, I can’t not tell them about Hunter.
But at what point do I tell them? What will they think of me?
Will anyone honestly want to get involved with someone who treats love and marriage this casually, lying in front of friends and family?
Or am I doomed to taste only a fake version of true love, never the real thing?
Hunter gives me a sympathetic look. ‘Tell me what’s going on, Max.’
‘I can’t do it.’
Hunter frowns. ‘You want to call this off? Because we can.’
Simply hearing him say it fills me with relief. He’s on my side. In fact, knowing that allows my fear to clear a little. I don’t want to pull out. But I also don’t want to rub what we’re doing in people’s faces.
‘No, I want to do this. But I don’t think I can stand up there and tell them I love you.’
Hunter looks surprised, but he holds steady.
‘You don’t have to use those words. I didn’t.’
‘You nailed it. Did it not feel weird to you?’
‘Not really.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, Max, it wasn’t all lies.’
It hits me like a freight train. No wonder I bought it. He was speaking from the heart. There’s no time to process what this means, but as I look at him, belief runs through me. I have no idea where the words are going to come from, but I feel like I can do it.
Hunter takes me by the hand, and we head back out. There’s an audible sigh of relief from the crowd as we emerge and Hunter explains that it was simply a case of nerves. Doily invites me to say my vows. I take a deep breath.
‘Today is a weird day,’ I say. ‘And I think we all know why.’
Hunter shoots me a look, but he needn’t worry – I’m not going to be that honest.
‘It’s because my mum isn’t here.’
It’s only as I say it that it hits me how true that is.
‘She would have loved today. She would have loved the chaos. The spontaneity. But most of all, she would have loved Hunt— I mean, Edwin.’
Shit. That was close. But only because there was not a word of a lie there.
Hunter nods at me, urging me on.
‘And yes, it hurts not to be able to share this with her. But there’s one thing that’s getting me through it, and that’s the man opposite me.
Even in the short time I’ve known him, he’s changed me.
He holds me to account. He never indulges me.
He doesn’t let me put any walls up. He sees the real me. ’
Hunter wipes away a tear. I’m not even sure he’s acting. He was right – the truth is enough. That’s the key to selling this relationship. It isn’t real love. Our destinies will send us in different directions. But there’s something real at the heart of it.
‘Gosh,’ says Doily with a tearful smile. ‘That was beautiful.’
She proceeds with the marriage vows. Thankfully, the legal part of the marriage is the paperwork, so we can get away with calling Hunter Edwin in the ceremony. Before I know it, Doily has declared us husband and husband.
‘You may now kiss.’
My breath catches. I forgot about this part. It has all the potential to be awkward. Not because we’re faking it, but because of the way I just laid myself bare.
I hold Hunter’s gaze, wondering if he’s as wrapped up in the moment as I am. Can he separate fact from fiction? Because I no longer can.
I close my eyes and lean in. The first thing I sense is the woody scent of his aftershave. Then his breath, warm and minty, which sends a shiver down my spine. Finally, his lips find mine, softer than I was expecting, just the gentlest touch. Heat surges through me.
I reach up and put my hand on his cheek as if to stabilise myself. We’re barely touching, but my knees have gone loose and my pulse is racing, sending a rush of blood to my head. I feel like if we kiss any harder, it will burn straight through me, unleashing a passion we won’t be able to contain.
But I also don’t want it to end. The taste of him is addictive. This was meant to be a kiss for the cameras, yet it feels like the start of something dangerous and exciting.
Or is it just me?
Applause rises around us, and I open my eyes. Hunter’s mouth curves into a smile, and I find myself smiling too. It’s not just relief, but gratitude, a dash of conspiracy, a hint of affection. More to the point, it feels utterly genuine on both our parts.
For the first time since we met, we’re not faking anything.