CHAPTER 7
“You dance really well.” I grinned as Matt spun me around before pulling me back into his arms.
“I’ll even admit you’re better than me,” When he chuckled smugly I hastened to add, “In regards to ballroom dancing that is.”
We were avoiding the many other couples on the polished dance floor, favouring the privacy afforded next to the elaborate columns.
“What time shall we leave, poppet?” Matt asked with a decided huskiness that did nothing to hide his unspoken intent.
The lecherous waggle of eyebrows confirmed my husband had boinking on the mind.
“We can’t leave before the bride and groom,” I smoothed back an errant lock of hair from his face.
“And you’re drunk.”
“I’m not.” he muttered back, but the flushed cheeks and glazed eyes told a different story.
There had been many toasts to the happy couple and the drinks were flowing at what was to date the wedding of the year.
Honestly, I suspected Matt was still recovering from Nathan’s stag do two days ago.
I had woken up that morning to find him sprawled atop the covers fully dressed bar one shoe and sock.
Not only reeking of alcohol but of cigars and expensive perfume with smudges on the collar of his shirt.
A pinkish sort of smudge which he denied was lipstick upon interrogation when I returned home that afternoon.
He also vehemently denied the presence of hot strippers at the private party, yeah, he knew I would tattle to Bella if there had been any.
Her hen do was a civilized event with waiters and sparkling champagne.
Secretly I felt cheated, no one got legless and there were no party games.
“And even if I was,” he continued.
“It doesn’t matter as neither one of us is driving tonight.”
He had a point there and I wondered if the limo driver was bored waiting for the night’s festivities to end.
It must suck being a driver.
“Blimey, is it just me or is it hot?” Matt paused to tug at his bow tie, causing the thing to unravel.
I sucked my mouth in to stop the snicker.
Hubby was totally wasted.
“It’s still February, hon,” I drawled, reaching up to pull the loose bow tie off and tucking it into my purse.
“Do you want to go for a walk outside? To cool off?”
He brightened up at the suggestion.
“Somewhere secluded perhaps?”
I smiled at him, he was persistent if nothing else; and we were still newlyweds in a manner of speaking.
“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” I teased.
Matt lowered his head.
“I’m not drunk,” he whispered across my lips before snogging me cross-eyed.
“And you’re beautiful tonight.”
“As opposed to every other night?” My deadpan expression had him blinking quickly, trying to avoid the trap.
“Maybe I’m a little drunk.” Matt admitted in defeat, resting his forehead against mine as I laughed in delight.
“Let’s go find a seat somewhere,” I stepped back from the warmth of his hold but only to wrap one arm around his waist and lead us forward.
“I think Bella looks amazing. Oh and that best man speech of yours was hilarious. Did Nathan really wax his whole body just to win a bet or did you make that up? I mean, a back, sack and crack is alright in my books, but his whole body? That seems wrong.” I shuddered at the thought as Matt took charge of the direction we headed.
For someone under the influence, he moved with perfect balance.
“He was as bald as a new born baby,” Matt confirmed, adding a very dry, “ Every where, poppet, omitting above the neck of course; and that last comment of yours makes me wonder about you.”
Eww.
I did not need an image in my head of what Nathan’s hairless body would look like.
Thank God this embarrassing incident had taken place in their early twenties.
Bella’s face during Matt’s best man speech had been priceless, while Nathan’s had been the telling shade of humiliating red.
“I dread to think of the things you guys got up to.” I retorted a tad self-righteously.
“I was raised better.”
Matt’s left eyebrow popped up.
“Pardon? This from someone who I know- ”
“Shh.” I ran a finger over his raised eyebrow to ease it back into place.
He huffed and I grinned as we ambled along until he came to an abrupt stop.
“Poppet,” Matt took my left hand, making a show of rubbing my wedding band and engagement ring.
“Should we have done this?”
Biting back the immediate ‘what the hell, what the hell ?’ response, I took an uneasy breath to ask, “Done what? Got married?”
He gave me an exasperated look, considering his inebriated state, I was surprised at how well he pulled it off.
“Don’t be silly,” he chided.
“I was referring to the wedding aspect of things. Do you regret not having this?”
I thought back to our wedding day.
The lack of pomp and circumstance.
The lack of family and friends.
“Not really,” I reassured him with a squeeze of fingers.
“Bella’s dress is lovely though.”
And it was.
In fact it was outstanding, and completely expected as the bride wore Oscar de la Renta.
“Really beautiful,” I said wistfully.
Ok, maybe there was a little jealousy.
When she had walked down the aisle in that dress…
my heart had paused.
There was a collective gasp from everyone and Nathan’s face had shone with joy as he watched her take those steps that would bring her to his side before they pledged their lasting love to each other.
“And their vows made me cry,” I admitted, slightly embarrassed at my sappy behaviour.
“And their first dance as husband and wife was sweet,”
Matt regarded me with the tiniest of frowns, not in anger but remorse.
“But,” I said firmly, leaning over to kiss the tip of his nose.
“I wouldn’t change how we got married for anything. It was perfectly us and you did offer me a big wedding which I refused.”
“Mmm,” he muttered, pensive and tense.
“Perhaps we should’ve-”
Whatever he planned on saying was put on pause when a broad arm got slung over his shoulder from behind.
The unexpected and boisterous appearance of my brother-in-law had me jumping in my heels.
“Bloody hell, Adam,” Matt grumbled.
“Have a care, will you?”
“Where are you two heading?” Adam drawled.
He too had flushed cheeks and glazed eyes.
Pissheads, the whole lot of them.
The next time Matt complained about me getting drunk I would remind him of this night.
“What do you want?” Matt shrugged him off as he asked.
“Hannah and Stuart just left with our parents,” Adam advised.
“And Dad mentioned Ralph Minshall wanted a word with us about that thing.”
Matt groaned under his breath.
“I’m in no frame of mind to discuss business, Adam. Can’t I have a moment’s peace with my wife without someone dragging me away?”
I held my tongue.
Matt had the enviable title of best man and it came with responsibilities.
Adam had his fair share as a groomsman too, but Matt had been under siege by the wedding planner.
Bella’s maid of honour, who looked picture perfect on my husband’s arm, was also at the dragon lady’s beck and call.
I had tried not to feel left out.
Even though Bella and I had the beginnings of a beautiful friendship, being part of the bridal party wasn’t extended to me.
At times, specifically the meal and the photo taking, I had been left to my own devices.
Why I hadn’t been sat on the table with my in-laws was still a puzzle.
The folks at my table were pleasant, but not friendly.
Needless to say I had kept my conversation to the bare minimum and avoided the champagne.
No way was I going to end up as the drunk, outspoken fool at someone’s wedding, trust me, there’s always one.
Seeing Louisa and her date milling around had me on extra good behaviour.
She would love to see me mess up.
“Fifteen minutes at most,” Adam negotiated and Matt grunted in annoyance before chucking me under the chin.
“I’ll be right back, poppet.” he assured me before he and Adam sauntered away.
Left to my own devices again.
Pasting a smile on my face, I wandered away from the dance floor, seeking a place where I could hide and not be forced to make small talk with strangers.
Then we saw each other.
It was almost comical, the shared glance of solidarity and relief followed by a second of embarrassment when you avert your stare.
A brother was fine though!
Strong features, smooth dark skin, nice build, tailored tux…
yeah, he was fine.
And also one of the few people of colour on the guest list tonight.
I hadn’t seen him at the church earlier on so he may have only been invited to the reception, but I was infinitesimally grateful to not be the only black spot on a white page.
I snuck another peek at him as I took up position on the outskirts of a chattering group of people.
Not so close they thought I was a weird lurker, but far enough they wouldn’t feel obligated to draw a stranger into their conversation.
Fidgeting with the clasp to my purse, I began the countdown until Matt returned to my side.
After the meal, when he’d been more or less released from his best man duties, he had tucked my arm into his and proudly introduced me as his Mrs to anyone who came up to us.
Once again I looked over at Mr tall-drink-of-chocolate.
Was that brunette his date?
She looked fine too.
Mmm, the swirl was taking root in good ole England.
Or perhaps he was gay?
I amended when a man leaned in close to say something in his ear.
Real close.
Mind your business, DuMont.
My mental reprimand hit the spot as I let my thoughts drift to Bella and Nathan.
Today had been perfect, cold outside but a bright sunny day; and tonight things were just as beautiful.
No one could have asked for a better wedding…
hmm, did I regret eloping with Matt and missing out on the whole white wedding dream?
Bella’s dress did make me feel a sliver of girlish regret.
Being the centre of attention amongst your family and friends as they wished you the best on this new journey you were embarking on.
Yeah, a small part of me was sad Matt and I got hitched the way we did.
But the wedding was just one day in a lifetime of marriage.
A smile curled my lips up.
So what if I hadn’t had the big church wedding?
I’d take a happy marriage over that any day.
God.
I was someone’s wife.
How had that happened?
Maybe karma liked me after all.
Five minutes turned to ten, then ten to twenty.
The group had wandered off and I looked like an anti-social loner.
Damn it.
Where was Matt?
Needing another human camouflage, I sauntered off towards the nearest grouping.
Halting within my invisible ‘just smile politely but do not approach’ zone, I focused on the people still twirling around the dance floor.
My gaze searched futilely for my better half, then I nervously licked my gloss-covered lips.
Mr tall-drink-of-chocolate was heading in this direction.
Nah, he probably spotted someone he knew and – oh man!
He was coming over here.
Be cool, be ice cool.
“Hello there,” he greeted in a silky posh voice when he stood in front of me.
Mm, mmm, mmmm.
He was even finer than I thought.
Hair close-cropped and shiny…
would it be impolite to ask what black hair care products he used?
My hair didn’t shine like that.
“Hi,” Oh great, squeaky voice.
Just great.
He grinned at me and extended a hand.
“I’m Harris Norbert, and I’ve noticed you don’t have a drink.”
I did not blush, nor did I secretly titter.
I was a newly married woman and although Harris Norbert could give my Dante a run for his money in the looks department, he’d better not be searching for any wedding poontang.
Everyone knew that went down at weddings, of course, maybe this wedding was different, it was filled with people from the top wealth 1 percentile.
Maybe they – I caught a glimpse of a tipsy man trying to feel up some unamused woman.
Ha.
No poontang for him.
But back to Mr Harris Norbert, aka tall-drink-of-chocolate.
I shook his hand firmly.
“Madison DuMont and I don’t drink actually.” So I lied and shit, I forgot to tack the Bradley on my surname.
Sue me.
He was black, I was black; I wanted to make a good impression.
Show him that I represented our people.
I was cultured, classy, looking damned good in my dress and heels; and my hair wasn’t as shiny as his but the up-do was my own version of salon sleek sophistication.
What hair products did he use?
Was it just for men or could I get in on it?
“Ah,” He eyed his own half-drunk flute of champagne before hiding it behind his back.
“Neither do I.”
I laughed, ok, it was more of a giggly chuckle.
Damn it.
Did I just allow a flirtatious moment?
No, no, this was building solidarity.
“So bride’s side or groom’s?” he queried.
“Both,” I quipped and reached up to smooth a non-existent stray of hair over my left ear, with my left hand.
He spotted the rock and band and I felt much more at ease over forgetting my recently elongated surname.
“What about you? Bride or groom?”
“Groom,” he replied then cocked his head at me.
“I sincerely hope you don’t take offense, but from the accent you’re obviously American. What on earth are you doing over here?”
The Gravitational Force of Blackness.
It was an amazing thing.
When numbers were low, the sight of another like you sparked the pull.
Slowly eyeing each other before risking the tentative seek and bond process.
Solidarity in numbers.
It was something I hadn’t really paid attention to prior to meeting Matt.
London was very multicultural, but it was becoming more and more difficult for me to forget the overall percentage of black people in the UK was a mere 3-5%; other minorities did a touch better.
It was completely different from the States, and where my daily life was filled with seeing and interacting with people of many backgrounds, my life when it intersected Matt’s did not.
The wealth barrier at his level was almost impenetrable, and that made me sad.
“I’m actually English, but fostering good international relations is my game,” I quipped back.
“My aim is world peace and inventing the best hot sauce known to mankind.”
Harris choked on a laugh, eyes widening in disbelief.
This was my attempt at showing him I was funny too.
I had to impress him before he realized I wasn’t one of them.
That I didn’t truly belong.
Was it messed up that I felt the need to impress him?
This was messed up on so many different levels.
“So you work for the UN?” he queried dryly.
“And what exact ingredients are you planning on putting in this hot sauce?”
“Trade secret, I can’t tell you that.” I replied with a grin.
He eyed me for a second then returned my smile.
“Well, I’m a hedge fund manager based in Dubai.”
I was certain my eyebrows had merged with my hairline.
Damn it.
For sure we had nothing in common other than skin tone.
“That’s sounds-”
“Completely boring,” he cut me off with a shrug.
“I’m more interested in this hot sauce idea of yours.”
Again I tucked imaginary loose hair over my ear, yes, with my bejewelled left hand.
There would be no misunderstanding here.
No poontang on offer, just the desperate wish to not feel like a racial quota being filled.
If there were more than one, then it wasn’t really a token black situation.
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” I replied with cheek.
Harris laughed again, finally bringing his flute from behind his back to take a sip.
“I thought you wanted world peace. Threatening murder doesn’t lend to world peace.”
And fragile solidarity was forming.
Yay!
Soon enough Harris and I were embroiled in a discussion about the advantages and disadvantages of living somewhere other than your home country.
It was wrong, the way I automatically allowed myself to feel at ease with him.
He was no different to the majority of people here tonight, highly educated and extremely wealthy.
But where I would unconsciously be on guard with someone else, I wasn’t with him.
He was black.
Shit.
Did that make me racist?
Reverse racism wasn’t an actual thing.
“Harris?”
I turned at the sound of Matt’s incredulous voice, so did Harris.
And his face split into a wide beam.
“Good grief, Matt.” Harris exclaimed.
“It’s good to see you.”
My gaze roved over Matt’s features as he closed the distance between us.
He had a glass in his hand and I was certain he’d been imbibing more alcohol during his time away from my side.
A vigorous hand shake took place between them and I kept my blinking to a minimum.
Was I slightly shocked?
Yes.
Did I want to delve into the reason I was shocked?
No.
“God. It’s been a few years, hasn’t it? How long are you in London for?” Matt asked cheerily.
“I fly out the day after tomorrow.” Harris advised.
“Couldn’t miss Nathan’s wedding. I still can’t quite believe he’s done it.”
Matt turned to smile at me then.
It was one of his panty soaking smiles.
“Where are my manners?” Harris shook his head in self-reproach as he waved his now empty flute from Matt to me.
“Matthew Bradley meet Madison DuMont.”
Matt arched an eyebrow and beckoned me over.
“I know who she is, and it’s Bradley, not DuMont.”
Harris’ confusion was palpable and I shook my head at Matt.
“DuMont-Bradley,” I reminded my husband as I took my place under the crook of his arm.
“Pardon?” Harris’ eyes went wide and round as saucers.
His mouth remained open, in shock perhaps?
“Harris, I’d like you to meet my wife,” Matt took great enjoyment from doing his introduction.
“But it seems you two have already met.”
“Your what?” Harris was definitely shocked.
“Wife? You got married? To her ?”
What the- why did he have to say it like that?
The volume of solidarity I felt took a dip.
“Yes,” Matt was obviously a merry state of drunk.
The immediate tension I would have expected from him at Harris’ outburst never came.
“A little over a month now we’ve been married.”
Harris rubbed his temple, then said, “Well congratulations. This is – I never pegged you as one to get married.”
Matt laughed and gave me another one of his sultry looks.
“Things change as we get older.”
“Congratulations.” Harris repeated, regarding my husband and I as if we were pod people.
Matt turned his attention back to Harris, a devious gleam to his eyes as he gripped my hip.
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy? Were you flirting with my wife, Harris?”
“What? No!” My exclamation came hard and fast.
Harris’ denial followed mine immediately and the volume of solidarity rose up once more.
“Come off it,” Matt chuckled.
“I know you, Harris, you can’t fool me. The question is: was she flirting back with you?” Matt leaned away, mock suspicion on his face.
“Matt,” I started, a touch alarmed.
He was just teasing, wasn’t he?
“She wasn’t,” Harris came to the rescue with a smirk.
“Flashed her rings a few times, warning me off I daresay.”
Damn.
I thought I had been subtle with my poontang blocker.
“That’s my girl.” Matt crooned before kissing my forehead.
Harris laughed in delight before thumping Matt across the back.
“Congrats, she’s lovely.”
Hmph.
Why was Harris acting as if Matt deserved the praise?
He didn’t make me lovely.
I was lovely because I was me.
Stupid men.
“Listen, if you’re ever in Dubai, give me a call and we’ll arrange to meet up,” Harris shook Matt’s hand again then winked at me.
“A pleasure meeting you.”
Matt cleared his throat in a very pointed manner and I had to laugh.
“It was a pleasure meeting you too.” I replied.
This time it sounded as if Matt was coughing up a lung, so loudly had he cleared his throat.
“Behave,” I murmured as Harris gave us a wave and sauntered off.
Mhmm, he was fine, nothing wrong with acknowledging a prime specimen of blackness.
“I leave you alone for ten minutes and you’re already capturing hearts.” Matt berated me with a playfulness that elicited warm and fuzzy feelings inside the pit of my stomach.
“Uh, more like forty minutes and how much have you had to drink, mister?”
Shrugging with a fluid nonchalance, Matt fingered my necklace then let his touch drift lower.
“A bit.”
More like a lot, I thought to myself but refrained from saying it.
Instead I asked, “So are you and Harris good friends? Where do you know him from?” I was curious, nothing wrong with that.
“Good friends? No, Nathan knows him better than I do,” Matt said.
“We have some mutual acquaintances and before he was based in Dubai, we sometimes socialized within the same group.” Matt peered at me.
“Why?”
I shook my head.
“No reason. You just seemed quite friendly.”
Matt gave me a quizzical look.
“Well, I’m not going to be rude to the man, am I?”
Right.
As I suspected, Matt was simply being English.
You could never tell what went on behind their unflappable polite reserve.
Did he have any black friends?
I hadn’t met any, but then again, I hadn’t really been immersed in his extended circle of friends.
My ducking techniques were still on full power.
Maybe I should make more of an effort to meet them all.
Maybe Matt had loads of non-white friends…
maybe I should stop thinking about this.
Pushing all thoughts of colour away, I beamed at my husband.
He continued lightly caressing the skin beneath my necklace.
“Let’s go home, poppet.”
“We can’t leave before Nathan and Bella. That would be rude.”
Matt snorted in disagreement.
“Many of the other guests have left.”
“Yeah, the old ones.” I retorted as he began moving us along.
“I want to dance some more.”
“We can dance in the privacy of our home,” he cajoled.
“And I’m exhausted.”
“Wasted more like,” I mumbled then smiled brightly in case he’d overheard the comment.
“Alright, we can leave if you really want to.”
“I do,” Matt changed our direction.
“Let’s find the happy couple and say our goodbyes.”
With an efficiency that I could never manage when under the influence, Matt evaded numerous attempts by people to suck him into their chattering groups as we searched out the newlyweds.
It took another half an hour of well wishes and hugs before we actually left the wedding celebrations.
I couldn’t help but grin like a crazy person over Nathan’s boozy love-struck adoration for his new wife, whom he kept firmly on his lap and whispered what I was certain could only be dirty talk in her ear.
Bella had been blushing hard.
When we were finally stationed in the back of the limo, Matt released a sigh and removed his tuxedo jacket.
“Today was lovely,” he pronounced, reaching for my hand.
“Mhmm,” I agreed.
He stared with unwavering intent at my face.
I knew that stare.
It was the ‘I’m drunk but I don’t want to show it’ stare.
I was a master at that stare.
Or so I told myself whenever I used it.
“Were my parents civil to you, poppet?”
I nodded with a tight smile.
William and Portia had barely spoken to me.
Kind of embarrassing really, they were my in-laws after all.
Hannah had made up for it though, both she and Stuart had been warm and friendly.
Adam had persisted in teasing me whenever our paths crossed.
Matt suddenly undid his seatbelt and wriggled around before laying his head across my lap.
Instinctively my fingers sought the silkiness of his hair.
He grunted with pleasure as I increased the pressure and massaged his head.
“You’re going to have such a sore head in the morning.” I warned.
“Have a guess at which part of you will be sore in the morning.” he said then let out another groan while I continued my ministrations.
“That feels nice. Poor Bella, couldn’t even have a proper drink at her own wedding.”
My hand stilled in the waves of his hair.
With growing alarm I asked quietly, “Why not? Is she on antibiotics?” Please let her be on antibiotics.
“She’s pregnant.” Matt had his eyes closed and his head was facing the other way so he didn’t see my jaw drop or the dread filling my features.
“Damn, a shotgun wedding.” I had to say it.
Matt chuckled and twisted his head so he could rub it in my lap, of course that meant his next words were muffled.
“Excuse me?” I tugged on his hair and he lifted his head an inch.
“I said Nathan’s been worried about it for weeks.”
Weeks?
I tugged on his hair some more.
“How long have you known Bella’s pregnant?”
“Since the New Year’s do at my parents.” Matt sounded sleepy as he snuggled further into the folds of my dress.
“And I’m now finding out?” A quick smack across his ear accompanied my surprised shriek.
“Ow, it’s wrong to hit, poppet.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” I fumed.
“You always keep things from me. This is prime intel. Why didn’t Bella tell me? Doesn’t she trust me enough? I thought we were becoming good friends. She does like me, doesn’t she, Matt? Matt?”
Either he had dozed off or he was blatantly ignoring my question.
I leaned forward to check and the peaceful expression on his handsome face confirmed he’d fallen victim to drunken slumber.
Settling back against the upholstery I continued stroking his hair as his breathing evened out.
Pregnant.
That sucked ass.
I guess at their age these things were expected.
Thank goodness Matt wasn’t hung up on the alleged biological clock humans were supposed to have.
I sure as hell didn’t have one!
Pregnant.
Poor Bella.
If she was planning on a natural birth her vagina would be in for a rude awakening.
I shuddered, squidged out at the thought of expanding waistlines and grotesquely spreading noses.
I was certain Aunt Cleo had once said that happens during pregnancy.
It was during her ‘talk’ with Jen and me, her fearsome warnings about the ills of teenage pregnancy and what would happen if we lost our damned minds and found ourselves in such a situation.
The ‘talk’ had instilled such raw fear even now the thought of ever having to say those two words to my aunt ‘I’m pregnant’ made my palms sweaty and my heart-rate quicken.
I was a grown woman, but the fear remained.
Ha.
Not that it mattered.
Babies and I didn’t mix, not going to happen.
Ballet was my life and there wasn’t room for little people in it.
I slowly shook my head, relieved at my life and saddened over my friend’s.
Poor, poor Bella.