Chapter 3

3

C heryl studied her future husband in the light of the rising sun. He was reclined by the edge of the pool naked, his eyes closed, his powerful arms spread across the sides. His chest was covered in bruises the size of tennis balls, but that only added to his lustre. It gave him an MMA hardness that contrasted beautifully with his thick, curly hair and long black lashes.

Watching him, Cheryl felt one of those weak-in-the-knees moments she’d ignored when she and Patrick had just been friends. The combination of lust and fear that he would figure out how hot he was and leave her forever. But unlike when they were friends, Cheryl didn’t force the feeling away. She didn’t let it ride either. Instead, she did what her therapist suggested and reminded herself that everything Patrick had ever done showed he respected her, adored her and was committed to staying by her side. Also, he’d just fucked her senseless, then brought her wine and suggested a naked swim. Hardly the actions of a man looking for an escape route.

“I love you,” she blurted out. “So much.”

He blinked, his eyes so warm it hurt. “I love you more. C’mere.”

As always, she wanted to run, but instead, she dog-paddled into his arms and let him kiss her. “Sorry your brothers sprayed you with paintballs.”

“Pretty much what I expected.”

His tone was dry, but Cheryl still felt a stab of irritation toward her future brothers-in-law. Not just for hurting her beautiful man—though she was definitely going to throw something at all of them at the wedding—but because Patrick was always hoping his brothers would rise to the occasion, and they always failed. They still called him ‘Youngest’ and shit-kicked him for playing AFL and got wasted and acted the fool in front of their kids at Christmas. Patrick never wanted to outshine his big brothers, but at this point, a drunk panhandler harassing people outside Bunnings would have surpassed them.

“How bad was it?” she asked. “Your brothers?”

Patrick shook his head.

“That bad?”

“Worse. I think you’re right. They’re all headed for trouble back home. Jase, especially.”

“Because the girl getting paid to dance naked in his lap is the new love of his life?”

Patrick didn’t smile. He brushed some wet hair out of her eye, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. “I’m never gonna be like them. Never.”

“I know,” she said, shocked he even felt the need to say it. “You’re nothing like them.”

“Because of you.”

Cheryl fought back a stupid smile. “Don’t make me melt into this pool.”

“Never.” Patrick bent down and kissed her again, slow and soft. And supported by the water and her fiancé, Cheryl allowed herself to melt. To feel as lucky as she was, if just for a brief moment. Despite what she’d told Sal, she hadn’t tried to talk to Patrick about the wedding while he was fuck-drunk. She’d retreated to the shower, accepted a glass of Pinot Noir and agreed to go for a late night/early morning swim. After what they’d done, she didn’t feel like getting into wedding drama.

She was supposed to be in control in the kitten roleplay, but as always, Patrick had taken over in the gentlest, most amazing way—guiding her to a place she couldn’t have found on her own. In light of how he’d made her body feel, it didn’t seem to matter much that he’d shelled out so much for their wedding or had a bunch of whacky ideas about carriages and flower arrangements.

In fact, in the light of a new day, clutched to her future husband’s chest, Cheryl knew she’d been acting like a weird reverse bridezilla. Why did she think she should have the final say on everything to do with the wedding? Yeah, she’d wanted things to be cheaper, but it wasn’t as though she had any ideas of her own. She hadn’t suggested anything, and if left to her own devices, they’d probably be scrambling to book whatever pub had a venue space.

Patrick had chatted with the caterers, interviewed wedding bands, and discussed the merits of roses versus lilies with the florists. He’d driven them to fifteen different churches when she would have just picked the one closest to their house. He was trying harder, as he always did, and she was acting like he was punching her in the tits. It was his wedding, too. Why shouldn’t he have the day he wanted?

Sure, she wished he hadn’t rallied his mum into taking her dress shopping and paying for everything, but he was right. She didn’t have the money for even an off-the-rack wedding dress. Had she and Eden gone shopping, she probably would have taken out a loan to buy one. Or gotten a knockoff from Etsy and been all self-conscious in front of his mates.

Fuck it, she thought. I can be Cinderella for a day. For him, I can do it.

“I love you,” she said again, lightly kissing the bruise on his collarbone. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Good.” Patrick leaned her backward, looking her right in the face. “But there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

She winced—a fatal tell for her all-too-perceptive fiancé.

“There it is,” Patrick said, dipping her lower so that her hair trailed the pool surface. “Talk to me, KitKat. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s not on my mind anymore,” she admitted. “But I was getting freaked out about… I dunno… The scope of everything?”

Patrick didn’t seem surprised. “I get that it’s a lot, but I want you to have the wedding of your dreams, KitKat.”

At that, Cheryl felt a spark of her old resentment. Pushing a palm against Patrick’s chest, she released herself from his hold. “There is no wedding of my dreams. I never dreamed about getting married.”

His face was as stony serious as it had been before. “I know. But I did. I dreamed about getting married to you.”

Oof, what could a girl even say to that?

“I don’t mind,” she said. “I don’t even care. I’m getting up my own ass.”

“Hey…” Patrick took her hand from his chest and kissed it. “You’re not getting up your ass. You’re allowed to feel however you want. And I know I’m getting a bit big with the ideas…”

Cheryl couldn’t resist a snort.

“ What? You don’t like the big ideas?”

“I mean… a horse and carriage?”

He grinned. “Two horses.”

“Two horses?!”

“Still, I get your point. I guess I’m getting carried away?—”

“You think?”

“But I’m just excited. And I’m starting to get scared you’re not all the way in this with me. I’ve been having runaway bride nightmares.”

Cheryl gasped. “I’d never do that! Seriously, even if I got mega cold feet on the day, I’d do the wedding, and then we’d talk it out afterward. I’m not gonna just not show up!”

“Really?”

Patrick’s obvious relief stung.

“Seriously, you’re my fiancé, but you’re still my best friend. I’d never embarrass you that way. I’d die first.”

“I dunno. I am actually scared you’re gonna run off on me...”

“How can you feel like that? You’re the love of my life. If it weren’t for you, I’d be single and sleeping with dads.”

Patrick grinned. “I dunno. Toward the end, you were getting into grandad territory...”

“F-Fuck you,” Cheryl sputtered, swatting his chest. “I regret being honest.”

“Don’t,” Patrick said, kissing her hand again. “Christ, you’ve made me feel better.”

“Hmmph.”

“You still salty about that grandad thing?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

Patrick kissed her a third time. “I’m sorry. You’re the love of my life, and I’m so glad you gave up your, uh, lifestyle to be with me.”

She tried to glare at him, but it was too hard. “God, this wedding shit is so complicated.”

“Yeah, it is. But this isn’t what actually being married’ll be like.” He gestured between their bodies. “This is.”

“The two of us swimming nude?”

“Exactly. No parents. No bachelor parties. No dance floor. Just you and me. Together forever.”

Relief flooded Cheryl’s body. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to hear you say that.”

“Then I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” He scooped her up and kissed her forehead. “None of this matters, KitKat. I want you to have this big, amazing wedding, but if it’s gonna come between us, then it can all get fucked. We can run away and get married naked in Vegas for all I care.”

“I don’t think we can get a refund on my dress….”

“Fuck it, we can sue them or some shit. Sell it on Facebook Marketplace.”

Cheryl laughed. “I mean it, Patty-Bear. I don’t mind. I guess my insecurity is coming through. I’m scared of the day, but that doesn’t mean I’m not excited to be there. Does that make sense?”

“What’s scaring you?”

“Oh, you know, just that I’ll make an idiot out of myself in front of the Sharks’ forward line and their wives, I guess.”

He shook his head. “You never make an idiot of yourself. Not even when you’re pissed; what’s the real thing keeping you up at night?”

“I just told you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Patrick looked her straight in the eyes. “For real, baby. What’s the issue?”

Cheryl drew a deep breath, all ready to say that six courses were too much food for anyone to digest in a two-hour period, but then she opened her mouth, and something else came out. “My mum.”

“Your mum?” Patrick repeated. “Like… how she’ll see all of this?”

Until she said it, Cheryl hadn’t realised she felt that way. But now that she had said it, the truth was as heavy as a boulder on her chest. “Yeah. She never got to be married. Never got to have this huge romantic parade of a wedding, and I know she really wanted to. I feel so selfish like I’m taking it from her.”

“KitKat…”

But now she was talking, Cheryl found she couldn’t stop. “It’s not just that. She’s agreed to, like, walk me down the aisle in her wheelchair when she hates strangers and hardly ever leaves the nursing home. I know she doesn’t want everyone to see her face; it just feels like adding insult to injury, making her a part of this whole big thing when it’s really about me.”

“Baby,” Patrick said softly.

Tears sprung into Cheryl’s eyes, and she scrubbed them away, embarrassed and angry. “What?”

“Your mum loves you.”

“I know,” Cheryl gasped, scrubbing harder. “That’s what makes it shit.”

Patrick was silent, waiting until her breathing was under control before tilting her chin and making her look at him. “If you told your mum what I was planning for our wedding, how do you think she’d feel?”

But Cheryl didn’t need to think; she already knew. Once she’d let her own dreams of happiness burn out—around 2008 or so—all her mum had wanted was for her to have the wedding, the house, the husband, the life she’d always dreamed of. It was infuriating the way she hid herself away from the world while expecting her child to embrace every opportunity to take up space. She’d felt that way Cheryl’s whole adult life. Her mum might not want to be at the wedding—might be insisting on wearing a veil the entire time so no one could see her ALS-affected face—but Cheryl knew she wanted her to shine so brightly her bridal light blinded everyone in the eastern suburbs. Maybe even flashed across the Atlantic Ocean and into her deadbeat dad’s eyes.

Whenever she’d seen her mum, Cheryl had told her the wedding was entirely under control because if Sharon Walker got involved, she’d urge Patrick to heights of wedding opulence seen only in dictators and reality TV stars.

‘Nothing but the best for my baby girl,’ she’d say while refusing to let anyone but a handful of staff at her nursing home visit her room— rules for thee, not for me.

Cheryl started sobbing then, genuinely sobbing. Patrick held her as he always did, rocking her softly against his chest, and as she cried, Cheryl felt her fear tugging away like unravelling wool, collecting in the cool water of the pool. Their pool.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “I’m glad we talked.”

“Me too. Thanks for being honest.”

“Does that mean we can get rid of the horses?”

He laughed. “If you want to, of course we can.”

“I don’t really mind. I’m just scared the football bitches are gonna think I’m silly.”

“You don’t need to be intimidated by them.”

“But they’re terrifying!”

He gave her a stern look. “They’re not. They remind you of the girls you went to school with. They’re mostly harmless and excited about the wedding.”

“I know.” Cheryl rubbed her face against his shoulder like a grumpy kitten. “Whatever.”

“Good KitKat. Besides, you’re more beautiful than all of them put together.”

“Kasun’s girlfriend is a literal supermodel…”

“Ah, she’s too skinny. Gimmie a girl with curves any day.” His hands slid down her back, cupping her butt. “That’s the stuff.”

Cheryl giggled. “I might make a half-assed bride, but I’ll always have a full ass.”

“You will.” Patrick squeezed then let go. “Baby, I’ll stop trying to figure out what the perfect thing for the wedding might be, but you need to tell me the things you really can’t stand so we can change them. It’s not too late.”

“I know, but?—"

“Forget about me. Forget about your mum. What do you want?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Can we not do the bouquet toss? It’s cringe.”

“Done. What else?”

“That thing where you take the garter off my leg and throw it to all your boys so everyone can make sex jokes at us?”

“Cancelled. Next?”

“Ooh, I demand to buy my mum’s wedding outfit.” She pointed accusingly at Patrick. “No secret deposits. No sneak behaviour. I wanna pay for everything. ”

“Sold. Go on?”

Cheryl frowned. “I dunno. I might need to get a list with all my thoughts together. Is that okay?”

“KitKat,” Patrick said, a funny look on his face. “Everything you want is okay. Always.”

She was too wrung out, tired and wet to cry again. She decided to save the flick of pleasure-pain at Patrick’s words for later. There was always time to cry tomorrow. Tomorrow or next week. Twenty years from now.

“God, it’s really getting light now,” Patrick said. “Right, Future Mrs Normal, should we go inside and try to clean the tail? I really wanna keep it…”

Cheryl laughed as she paddled to the side of the pool. “Whatever you say, Current Mr Normal. You try to rescue the tail; I’m going to sleep.”

“Cool.” He grinned up at her as she climbed out of the water. “I can’t fucking wait to marry you, kitty.”

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.