30. Adrian
CHAPTER 30
ADRIAN
Fuck me. Even with the veil obscuring her features, Jane is beautifully radiant as she majestically floats down the aisle.
My breathing speeds up—and I have to remind myself for the umpteenth time that this isn’t real.
It’s just a show for the upcoming hearing.
My emotions are just mixed up because of how realistic this all seems.
Click.
There. That was someone snapping a picture—probably one of the paparazzi who thinks it was their stealth that helped them infiltrate this wedding, not my security team turning a blind eye.
I glance to my right, where my best-in-the-world security guard/nanny is holding Piper, her broad back blocking the pictures as I instructed her to do.
Jane and I have no choice but to end up in the tabloids, but my daughter’s privacy will not be violated.
I turn back to Jane just as she reaches me, and I can see that she looks overwhelmed, which makes me want to cancel this whole thing and give her a huge hug instead.
But no.
The show must go on.
“Dearly beloved,” says the priest. Or is he a bishop? “We are gathered today?—”
Jane lifts her veil, and seeing her feels like a sunrise during a vampire apocalypse.
The bishop continues his spiel. I only half listen until we get to the vows part, and he makes Jane say something that I presume she herself picked out from her Victorian repertoire.
Among other things, Jane promises to “obey me,” which sounds vaguely BDSM-y.
Like it, Yoda does.
“You may kiss the bride,” the bishop finally says.
I lay my hand on Jane’s lower back and pull her to me, the scent of guava with a subtle hint of begonia making my head spin.
As we look deeply into each other’s eyes, hers gleam—and the cameras begin to click just as I dip my head and claim her mouth.
The church seems to disappear. Jane’s lips are soft, pliant, and taste like strawberries. She’s also returning the kiss with unvirginal eagerness, which might be why I deepen it, invading her mouth with my tongue in the way I’d like to do with my?—
The bishop angrily clears his throat.
Cockblocker.
As I pull away from Jane, the crowd in the church goes wild, clapping, cheering, and whistling.
Between this kiss and the legendary honeymoon suite we have booked at the hotel, no one will have any doubt that Jane and I are going to consummate this marriage.
But, of course, we will not. I have to remind myself (and Yoda) of that.
“The carriage is ready,” the security guard holding Piper loudly whispers.
I kiss my daughter, wave at Jane’s family, then take my new wife by the hand and lead her down the aisle.
People pelt us with rose petals as we go. Isn’t it supposed to be rice? Must be some historical romance thing—as is the horse-drawn carriage outside with a bunch of old pots and pans attached to the rear bumper.
“Will you keep an eye on Piper?” I ask my new mother-in-law before she follows the baby and her bodyguard into the limo.
“It will be my pleasure,” she says with a wide grin. “Enjoy the ride.”
I smile at Jane. “How does it feel to be Mrs. Westfield?”
Jane moistens her kiss-swollen lips, but before she utters her reply, the carriage begins to move, creating a horrible noise that could deafen a corpse.
“I’m sorry,” Jane shouts over the clamor. “The pans sounded like a good idea when I read about them in my books.” Or at least, I think that’s what she says.
We proceed forward, and plenty of people look up at us and take a picture—which is an unforeseen benefit of the noise. The cacophony has another advantage too. It tempers some of the emotions stirred up by that much-too-real kiss. I need that, to be calmer, if I’m to survive the first dance and the rest of the activities we have planned.
After what feels like an hour of ear torture, we finally stop.
“Wow,” Jane says. “You weren’t kidding. This place fits the theme perfectly.”
I proudly puff out my chest. The Palace Hotel was one of my few contributions to the wedding plans. I did some research, and it came up on a list of locations where an actual royal wedding has taken place.
Oh, and the best part is that it looks as the name would imply—like a palace.
When we enter the lobby, Jane spots the porters and grins. I smile too. The guys are wearing cosplay-style costumes that include capes, bicorns, and bright pantaloons.
“If I were the owner, I would’ve stopped at the parrots,” I whisper to Jane as I take in the birds filling the lobby. “The peacocks are a bit of a cliché.”
“I love it all,” she says, gawking at one of said peacocks. “This is the closest you can get to having a fairytale wedding.”
I’m glad she thinks so. Booking this place wasn’t just a matter of money. You have to request the Palace far in advance, which I didn’t, so I had to entice the couple who held today’s slot with a wedding at The Pikaia Lodge in Ecuador.
“Mr. Westfield?” asks one of the bicorn-clad dudes.
I nod.
The guy lifts a walkie-talkie to summon Kevin, the photographer I hired.
Jane chuckles when she spots Kevin, and I smile as well. Kevin seems to have taken the wedding theme a little bit too close to the heart because he’s dressed like some sort of a duke, and even holds a quizzing glass to his eye when he examines us plebeians.
I assume Kevin grudgingly approves of what he sees because he waves for us to follow him.
When we enter the giant room where the photoshoot is to take place, everyone who has the honor of being in the wedding album is already waiting for us—including Leo, who’s standing next to his new (male) dog walker.
Spotting the big green screen in the back, Jane looks askance at me.
“So we can create any background we want,” I explain. “Don’t worry, it will look so realistic everyone will think we were at that location.”
“Can one of them be Hyde Park?” Jane asks. Glancing at the rest of our posse, she explains, “That’s where the members of the British aristocracy would typically hang out in Victorian times.”
Kevin glares at Jane haughtily through his quizzing glass. “‘Any’ background obviously includes Hyde Park and every other park.”
I angrily clear my throat. “Kevin, you’re not actually a duke.”
Looking sheepish, the photographer pockets his quizzing glass and grabs the camera. In a much more respectful tone, he says, “Why don’t we start with the family of the bride?”
Jane’s grandmother—what was her name?—and her sister, Mary, rush over to where Kevin points. Jane’s mother, Georgiana, walks up to me, with Piper’s security guard on her tail. With great reluctance, Georgiana places Piper back into my arms.
“I feel like she’s part of our family already,” she says with a sigh.
I hold Piper to my chest and feel a rollercoaster of warring emotions. Love and contentment win the mix—because I feel them so strongly anytime I’m in my daughter’s presence. But there are notes of longing and jealousy in my chest too because Jane has this whole family with her, and Piper is the only member of mine.
“She can be in the pictures with you,” I say and force myself to offer Piper back.
Beaming with happiness, Georgiana grabs the baby and reunites with Jane’s peeps.
Leo drags his new overseer over, then reassuringly sticks his wet nose into the palm of my hand.
You don’t just have Piper. You’ve got me too.
Smiling, I pet my sheep-like best friend. Speaking of friends, Bernard, Warren, and Michael are walking my way.
Instantly, my self-pity party is over. The other kids at the prep school called our group The Four Musketeers, and it fits because we got into as many scrapes as the famous Dumas’ characters.
“I can’t believe you’re getting your balls shackled,” Michael says in a voice low enough so only the four of us can hear him.
“And voluntarily too,” Bernard adds.
“And where did she find shackles that tiny?” Michael continues.
“I suspect she’s got something on him,” Warren says to the others with mock concern.
“Oh, shit,” Bernard says to me conspiratorially. “Blink twice if she’s got a bomb in your butthole.”
“Or any other hole,” Michael adds.
“You’re a hole,” I say. “All three of you are.”
“That’s the weakest burn in the history of burns,” Michael says.
Do other grown men de-evolve back to their teenage selves when they get together like this, no matter how many years have passed? Anyone who knows these three as they are now would not believe the words coming out of their highly respected mouths.
“Wait a second,” Michael says with a grin. “Is she the sex bot you always wanted to invent?”
“Why would he marry his sex bot?” Warren asks. “The beauty of a sex bot is that you don’t need a wife. Or a girlfriend.”
“Enough,” Bernard says. In a more serious tone, he asks me, “Are you having cold feet at all?”
“Cold feet?” Michael exclaims. “No way! I bet he invented some special shoe warmers just for that, and is wearing them now.”
I tune out the rest of the ribbing and watch the photo shoot until Kevin asks the four of us to step up to the green screen.
“Do not fuck around during the shoot,” I say to my friends in a tone that hopefully conveys my ability—and eagerness—to kick the guilty party in the balls.
They either get the message or remember who they actually are and behave with dignity as the shoot starts.
The only problem is their smiles are fake, but who cares, right?
Suddenly, Leo rips at his leash, frees himself from the new walker, and beelines for Kevin’s crotch.
Since hurt balls are still at the forefront of my mind, I cringe.
Only Leo isn’t interested in causing Kevin any pain.
Well, not physical anyway.
What Leo does is take a very thorough sniff. A sniff loud enough for the neighborhood cats to overhear and take shelter.
“Wow,” Bernard says. “The dog has got his whole head up in there.”
“Do you think the photographer carries bacon in his butt?” Michael asks.
“Cluster together again,” Kevin says to the four of us, acting as if nothing is happening.
We exchange glances and then do as Kevin says. I mean, Leo is happy to keep sniffing, and if Kevin wants a dog in his crotch, who are we to judge?
Oh, and needless to say, the smiles on the next bunch of photos are pretty genuine.
When the friends shoot is done, I take pity on Kevin and take Leo back to the soon-to-be-replaced handler.
“Okay,” Kevin says with a solemness you would not expect from a guy who’s just had his dignity sniffed away by a big, wet nose. “Now the newlyweds.”
As soon as my friends stampede away, Jane floats over to my side, looking equal parts gorgeous and overwhelmed.
“I like to start the newlyweds shoot with the Gaze Pose,” Kevin says. “It’s the one where the couple look deeply into each other’s eyes. It’s a great warmup for what follows.”
Complying, I meet Jane’s eyes and instantly get lost in their amber depths. As if from a far distance, I hear Kevin say, “Got it. Perfect. Now let’s do the next pose… The Kiss.”