CHAPTER TWENTY ~ GRAEME ~ FOUR YEARS AGO #2
Abby blows out a long breath through pursed lips. “I couldn’t be happier for them. I’m so honoured to be such a big part of their special day, but I’m also a bit nervous. The aisle in the ballroom feels endless, and it’s daunting knowing everyone’s attention will be on me when I come in.”
“I’d tell you to picture everyone naked, but I’ve always found that to be rather disturbing advice. So maybe just keep your eyes on me.”
“And picture you naked?” The second the words are out, her eyes go wide, and she claps a hand over her mouth.
The question, paired with the blush that rushes to her cheeks, makes my blood heat. “Abby...”
She drops her hand and reaches for the glass of wine in front of her. “I can’t believe I just said that,” she whisper-hisses. “The champagne Drew and I had in her hotel room clearly went straight to my bed. My head! Straight to my head! Oh my god, please forget everything I just said.”
There’s absolutely no chance of that happening, but I simply smile and change the subject.
* * *
Soft string music fills the ballroom, paired with the low hum of voices. Mum and I reach the front row of seats, and she kisses my cheek. Her eyes are already swimming with tears, and we’ve barely begun.
“You lads look so handsome,” she whispers, smoothing her hands over my jacket.
Brodie and Drew decided the men should be in full Scottish wedding attire: kilt in the MacKinlay tartan; black waistcoat, jacket, and tie over a white dress shirt; black ghillie brogues; knee socks with flashes; and a sporran.
As the groom, Brodie is wearing a plaid fly over his left shoulder, pinned with a large silver stag head and thistle brooch that belonged to our grandfather.
Drew joked it would likely take us longer to get dressed than it would take her.
“Love you, Mum,” I say, kissing her cheek and then going to stand with Brodie and Dougal. Brodie’s signature smile is firmly in place as he scans the guests, occasionally nodding and waving.
“All right?” I ask.
“I’m the luckiest man on the planet,” he says, his blue-grey eyes shining as they meet mine. “I’m about to marry the love of my life.”
I chuckle and clap him on the back, hoping to hide the fact I’m nearly overcome with emotion.
My heart is filled to bursting with love and pride for my little brother, and yet buried underneath that is a deep ache I’ve done my best to shove down over the last decade.
I don’t begrudge him a second of happiness, I just wish we were both so lucky to be with the loves of our lives.
“How do you think Drew would react if I suggested cutting the cake with my sgian dubh?” Brodie asks, referring to the traditional ornamental dagger each of us has tucked into the top of our right sock.
I laugh again. “If it were anyone else, I’d say the reaction wouldn’t be a positive one. Knowing Drew, though, I’m sure she’d be all for it.”
The volume of the music picks up as the ballroom doors open.
Fern is first down the aisle. I meet her eyes and smile, and then my gaze is drawn like a magnet to the stunning vision behind her.
Abby stands in the doorway, clutching a bouquet of flowers in rich, autumnal tones.
Her crimson dress is sleeveless, with a long skirt that flows around her like water as she starts walking down the aisle.
The MacKinlay tartan shawl my parents gave her all those years ago is wrapped loosely around her upper arms.
Emotion swells in my chest and rises into my throat. Seeing my family tartan on her stirs up the same longing and possessiveness now as it always did. Spying the Luckenbooth around her neck intensifies the feeling. She’s so fucking beautiful I can hardly breathe.
She wasn’t kidding last night about how long the aisle is.
I hope her nerves have abated, but I’m selfishly glad I get all this time to admire her.
And I’m not the only one admiring; her gaze sweeps over me, taking in my outfit and lingering on my kilt.
Her bottom lip moves slightly in a familiar way that tells me she’s biting the inside.
Her eyes meet mine, and the flash of desire there makes me weak in the knees.
Time seems to stretch and slow as she draws closer. I have a sudden, overwhelming thought that I should be standing where Brodie is, and Abby should be walking down the aisle to me. She’s meant to be a MacKinlay, a member of this family. She belongs with us. With me.
Our eyes remain locked until she reaches the head of the aisle, where she finally pries her gaze away to look at Brodie and blow him a kiss.
From the corner of my eye, I see Brodie return the gesture, although I still can’t look away from Abby.
She joins Fern off to the side, and they both face the back of the ballroom.
A quiet gasp beside me pulls me from my trance.
Brodie is staring in the same direction as the girls, his eyes bright with tears, and his expression full of what can only be described as wonder.
I clue in to the fact the music has changed once more, and I swivel my head to see Drew and my dad standing just inside the ballroom doors.
“You really are the luckiest man in the world,” I murmur to Brodie, who makes a choked sound of agreement.
Drew looks radiant in a glittering white gown with a MacKinlay tartan sash draped over her shoulder and pinned at the waist. Tears shimmer on her cheeks, even as she grins broadly, her eyes never leaving Brodie.
When they reach the front, Dad embraces Drew tightly.
I choke back tears when I hear him quietly say, “I love you, a nighean.” After Mum hugs her, Drew surprises me by reaching for my hand and squeezing it.
Abby steps forward to take Drew’s bouquet, and then Drew and Brodie face each other and clasp hands.
A nervous giggle spills from her lips a second before the pair give each other a brief kiss.
“Not yet,” the officiant says with a good-natured chuckle.
“Don’t care,” Drew says, kissing Brodie again, which draws laughter from the guests. I manage to laugh too, even though my throat is as dry as a desert. My gaze flicks to Abby once more, and my stomach does a somersault when I see she’s watching me with a soft, affectionate smile.
Her attention shifts to the happy couple as the officiant begins the ceremony. I watch her for a moment longer before forcing myself to pay attention to what’s happening in front of me, lest I miss the entire ceremony.
* * *
The reception is winding down, although you’d never know it from the way Drew continues to command the dance floor like she did back in our university days. She and Abby are currently surrounded by a group of Drew’s coworkers, shimmying and shout-singing along to an ABBA song.
As usual, I can’t take my eyes off Abby.
She’s completely uninhibited as she swings her hips and arms to the music.
Drew grabs her hand and spins her enthusiastically, and Abby’s laughter rings out, hitting me square in the chest. She’s glowing so brightly it’s as if she has a spotlight shining on her.
“I requested a slow song next in the hopes I can convince my wife to call it a night,” Brodie says with a low laugh.
We’re sitting at the edge of the dance floor, each nursing a bottle of beer.
Mum and Dad said good night and headed up to their room an hour ago, and Fern and Dougal have been conspicuously absent for the last twenty minutes or so.
Only about half the guests remain, seemingly as reluctant to leave the party as Drew is.
“It’s nice to see them having fun,” I say.
He watches them with a fond smile. “Aye, it is. That’s why I haven’t attempted to pull her away.”
Brodie and Drew wanted the reception to have the high-spirited, community feeling of a cèilidh without the traditional live band, and they’ve succeeded at that.
After the first dance as a couple, they encouraged everyone else to join them on the dance floor, and that’s where we spent most of the evening.
Brodie and I only sat down a few minutes ago to catch our breath.
The moment the uptempo song transitions into a ballad, Brodie is on his feet.
Drew meets him halfway, and they fall into each other’s arms, their mouths meeting in a kiss that makes me think Drew is closer to being ready to leave than Brodie thought.
Abby heads off the floor, freezing when she spots me.
Without thinking, I set my beer aside and stand, joining her where she seems rooted to the floor.
We haven’t had much of a chance to talk today; we chatted casually while the photographer snapped pictures of the wedding party after the ceremony, but we sat separately at dinner, and once party mode kicked in it was impossible to carry on a conversation.
This feels like my last chance to get her alone before the night ends.
I hold out my hand and she takes it, letting me pull her close.
Her posture remains rigid until our eyes meet, and the tension leeches out of her.
She surprises me by resting her head on my chest and closing her eyes.
She might not be able to hear the elevated thumping of my heart over the music, but surely she feels it.
“This is one of my favourite nights ever,” she says.
“Mine too. I’ll never forget it.” It takes all my strength not to press my lips to her forehead. I allow myself to give in to the urge to rest my chin on top of her head. If I inhale deeply, sucking in a lungful of her fragrant hair, well, a man has to breathe.
“I’m not sure who cried more today: Drew, Brodie, my parents, or me,” I say with a laugh. “I didn’t expect to be so overcome with emotion.”
“Funny, I had all these emotions right at the surface, so I expected to cry more than I did,” she says. “I had that moment during my speech, but Drew saved the day, as always.”