15. Drew
Chapter Fifteen
DREW
I can’t believe my brother’s getting married here this week. I stare up at the twin Gothic towers and stained glass rose window. Westminster Abbey. The perfect place for a perfect guy to have his perfect wedding. Though to give Mick some credit, I doubt it was his idea to have a big show here. It was Davina’s. The bride-to-be. She’s obsessed with the Duchess and seems to be playing out her royal fantasy with all this.
Smack .
Someone swats my arm. “Is that Drew?”
Hey, I know that lilting voice.
Dahlia Bonnaire, my cousin, greets me with a wide grin, dressed in a sunflower-patterned summer dress and Converse sneakers. The sun glistens off of her dark sunglasses while her auburn hair sits haphazardly atop her head.
“Dahlia!” I bring her in for a hug. “How are you, love?”
“I’m living my best life and happy to see you!” she says, turning on her British accent, which she does sporadically during conversations. Dahlia is the product of my Uncle Grant’s second marriage after he ran off to America for a better life. Specifically California where she grew up. Every summer she would visit the U.K., arriving with a valley girl accent and leaving with a London one. But she’s also an actress and loves to play with dialects, depending on her mood.
“Good to see you too. It’s been a while. You must be busy landing all those auditions.”
Her lip snarls. “Hardly. I keep toying with the idea of ditching L.A. and moving here to do theater. But what Cali girl in her right mind would give up 365 days of sunshine for dreary old London?”
“Looks like you brought the sunshine with you.” I peer up at the clear blue sky overhead, shading my eyes with my own dark glasses. A stark contrast from the rain and rolling thunder in the ethers last night while I dove into the depths of the California girl I’ve been dreaming about. Kate. I can’t help smiling at the thought.
“What happened to your hand?” she asks, bringing me back down to earth.
A gauzy dressing covers a scrap from the tree bark on my left hand. A souvenir from last night’s adventure in the park. But I don’t want to disclose this to my sweet cousin. “Cat scratch.”
“But you don’t have a cat.” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I get it. A cat scratch.” She mimes air quotes at the word. “Still up to your old tricks, huh? Haven’t changed a bit.”
I wear the title of bachelor like a badge of honor. I’m free. I’m fun. And everyone knows it. But there’s something unsettling about her words. I’m not a trickster. But she’s right about one thing: I haven’t changed. The way she says it infers that I can’t change. Is that true?
“Anyway, we should probably go inside. We’re late.” Her gaze draws up to the grand cathedral. “Mick’s getting married here, eh? Westminster freaking Abbey.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“You know, they shaped these to symbolize a woman’s pussy, right?” She points up at the high arches as we enter the building. I’d much rather be entering Kate’s arches now than parading around as a groomsman.
“I wouldn’t say that to anyone here if I were you.”
Dahlia and I walk down the black-and-white checkered floors, our steps echoing along the way. My father, dressed in a three-piece suit as if he’s just returned from Sunday service, approaches us.
“Uncle Dean!” Dahlia calls with her arms wide and crashes into my dad, embracing him in a hug. A loving gesture he could probably use more of. His eyes bulge like her hug takes the air out of him.
“Dahlia, darling, lovely to see you. You’re looking quite . . .” his eyes scan her outfit, and I’m confident he doesn’t approve of her wearing sunglasses inside Westminster freaking Abbey. “Summery,” he finishes, and she responds with a proud grin. “I believe the wedding coordinator is looking for you. Why don’t you trot on over there.” Dad points ahead toward the rest of the group, who seem to be in deep discussion about the big day, and Dahlia runs off as told.
Dad turns to me with a scowl. “You’re late.” No warm greeting for me.
“Nice to see you too, Dad,” I say and walk ahead.
“Drew! You made it. C’mon, mate!” Mick greets me with his big, handsome smile and brings me into the group. “We’re just about to rehearse the wedding procession.”
Yippee.
Davina, flanked by her four bridesmaids, sends me a tightlipped smile. One of the birds nudges her in the arm. “Well, introduce us,” the bridesmaid says, fluttering her fake lashes at me. Davina politely introduces them one by one, but her jaw seems tight, and I get the sense she’s annoyed at the task. Each girl is prettier than the last.
Like typical birds, they begin pecking at me. One touches my arm, another tugs on my leather jacket, and another even swipes her finger along my chin and comments that I have a scrumptious face. Yes. Scrumptious. All four of them reach for my bandaged hand with wide eyes and soft words, asking if I’m all right. I enjoy engaging with good-looking, thirsty women as much as the next bloke, but today, it doesn’t really do it for me.
“Ladies,” my friend says, appearing at my side.
“Collin! What are you doing here?” I ask, greeting him with a grin. Last I checked, he wasn’t in the wedding party.
“Your brother needed a stand-in. One of the groomsmen won’t be back in London until Friday.”
“Brilliant,” I say. Knowing Collin, he’s probably praying the guy’s flight will be canceled so he can take his spot at the nuptials—like an honorary Bonnaire.
The wedding coordinator shuffles the bridesmaids and groomsmen to their respective starting positions. Kent, the best man, stands in front of me while my mate, Collin, stands behind me with my cousin Dash behind him.
‘Ave Maria’ begins to play, and the rehearsal begins. Walking down the aisle, I gaze at the magnificently prodigious cathedral. I’m never getting married. But if I ever do, it won’t be in a gaudy place like this. We perform this song and dance a few times. Not only the procession but the full ceremony. And it’s quite boring.
“Why is this wedding so formal? It doesn’t seem like Mick,” Kent mutters to me.
“Don’t know, but I hope you don’t make me wear coattails at your wedding too,” I reply.
He scoffs. “Don’t have to worry about that, mate. I’m never getting married.” Kent and I share the same marriage aversion but for slightly different reasons. My younger brother is a workaholic like our dad and never wants to put a wife and kids through that. “But I’m not opposed to a little fun at the wedding.” He nods to the bridesmaids, who are all gawking at us. “You in?”
I pat his shoulder. “No, little brother. They’re all yours.”
“That’s a first,” he says.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Maybe another ride request from Kate? I check the message. Just a mate asking if I’ll watch the game at the pub later. I’d much rather play with my American girl. I think I’ll call her when I leave here for a little Sunday fun day.
With a few clicks, I pull up the untouched photos of my little vixen from the shoot, the ones I sent over to Lux’s photo editor this morning. I bite my lip, practically drooling at her in those black, lacy knickers with that bow on the back. My body wakes up thinking back to pulling on that ribbon and tugging the fabric loose. I’ll never be able to look at these photos without thinking about last night. Without thinking about any of it.
“Blimey, who is that?” Collin asks over my shoulder.
“Her name is Kate. She’s a lingerie designer I shot for Lux this week,” I say, hiding the screen. She’s mine to look at. At least until these are published in a couple of months.
“Let me see that.” Collin snatches the phone from my hand and stares at the screen. “Ah, this is the girl from the tabloids yesterday. You shagging her?”
“Give it back, Collin,” I say, clenching my fist.
“Oh-ho-ho. You fancy her or something?” Collin clutches the phone, smirking.
“What’s going on over there?” Mick calls over. Now everyone is looking.
“Drew has a new girlfriend,” Collin says.
Ken scrunches his face. “Girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend!” One of the bridesmaids adds to the bunch.
I reach for the phone with gritted teeth, but Collin dodges me. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Then why are you being so protective?” He tosses it back to me. Bloody tosser.
“Okay, I think the boys need a break, yeah? Plus, I want the tea on this one.” Davina struts over to the groomsman’s side. Fuck. “So what’s the story? Will there be another Bonnaire wedding soon?”
“Noooo,” Kent says. “Absolutely not. Can you imagine? Drew saying I do ?” He busts out a big belly laugh.
“More like I’ll do you .” Collin joins in, and now Davina’s having a laugh at me.
“Leave him alone. It’s nobody’s business.” Dash chimes in, coming to my rescue.
“Not if the gossip rags have anything to say about it,” Collin adds because this is how he is. This is how we are. We take the piss. But right now, he’s really starting to get on my wick.
“Do me a favor, Drew, and try to stay out of Cheeri-Ooh! the rest of the week. I don’t want anything salacious tainting the wedding, okay?” Davina says.
“Sure,” I say, wondering how the hell I became the troublemaker in all this. Then again, that’s my role in the family. I’m the rebel. The black sheep.
Davina walks away and everyone else seems to be moving along too. Except for Mick who walks over, passing his bride on the way. He looks at her with an adoring smile and kisses her cheek.
“Do you really have a new girlfriend?” Mick asks under his breath.
“No, she’s just. I don’t know . . .”
“Is she nice?”
I nod, not looking at him. “Yeah, she’s a nice girl.”
“Then bring her to the wedding.”
“It’s not like that. She’s going home to the United States. And everyone here expects me to leave with someone, not bring someone.” Sometimes, it’s easier to fit the mold you’re in instead of breaking it.
Mick tilts his head. “Since when do you care what anyone thinks?”