Chapter 10
Benedict
So, this is all a hoot. It’s impossible not to be swept up by the reactions of our guests, by the sheer lark of pulling a stunt like that and causing such total fucking chaos.
I can safely say that this is the most entertaining wedding I’ve ever attended, even if I was absolutely bricking it before Slinks arrived.
I played to the crowd with that kiss just now, of course I did, but it was no hardship. No hardship at all. If I have to tie myself down for life, I couldn’t ask for a hotter bride. I mean, holy fuck. She looks like a bloody supermodel today.
As she walked down the aisle—up the aisle?
—I had a total out-of-body experience. Like I said, Burning Man on steroids.
I stood there like a total muppet and fixated on this gorgeous goddess coming towards me.
She was flawless. Just flawless. But as soon as she got to the top, it was clear she was nervous as hell.
She looked white as a sheet. So it had me forgetting about my own unease.
I like to think I’m the guy who steps in and lightens the mood when things get too heavy, and I was damned if this wasn’t the perfect opportunity.
After all, the poor little duck has been through the emotional wringer this week, and then some.
I’m a big fan of faking it till you make it, and I could tell that, once Slinky relaxed a bit, she was taking that approach as much as I was: focus on performing for the crowd, and take it from there.
I mean, what else can you do when you’re standing there, pledging your future to someone you never planned to marry?
There was one moment during ‘Jerusalem’ when my uncle Mark, who was sitting a couple of rows back from the front, went completely—and very loudly—off-key, and Slinky caught my eye.
I thought we were going to get a fit of the giggles.
And, by the time we got to the vows, she looked marginally less like a deer caught in the headlights, even if her hands were still shaking.
Now I look down at her post-kiss and experience a distinct mixture of satisfaction and good, old-fashioned lust. I’ve always enjoyed getting a rise out of Slinks. She tries so hard to keep that ice-queen facade up, bless her, that it’s always fun to poke her. See if I can get a reaction.
I’d say my kiss got a reaction and then some.
Let’s face it: the rest of the ceremony has been performative.
Well-meaning, but performative. But pulling her to me and kissing her?
Yes, I was playing to the crowd, but there was nothing performative about it.
I’ve been dying to plant a kiss on Slinky for years and years.
I’ve long had a theory that, in my hands and under my mouth, she’d melt.
And she did.
I clocked the moment she tried to end it, doubled down, and just as easily clocked the moment she decided to abandon her innate propriety in favour of a truly excellent kiss.
Her lips were supple under mine, her mouth warm, and her grip on my shoulder as she held on for dear life almost indecently sweet.
I meant what I told her.
I’m just getting started.
The amusing part of it is, I genuinely think she has no clue how hot it can and will be between us. Showing her will be the most fun I’ve had in years.
Now, she links her arm through mine as we prepare to walk down the aisle as man and wife, and my sister steps forward to adjust her dress and veil behind her.
Slinks looks fan-fucking-tastic. She’s always had great tits.
I may not have seen them properly yet, but she’s hung out at Belvedere’s pool enough times that I’ve been able to admire the goods.
I’ve definitely had to discreetly adjust myself on occasion as she lounged poolside, sleek and gorgeous in the skimpiest of bikinis.
Today, her tits look world class, thanks to the corset-type situation she has going on.
The dress flares out into a full skirt, the entire thing covered in ivory lace and lots of tiny crystals and…
pearls? I don’t know exactly, but it’s intricate and stunningly beautiful. She looks like a fairytale princess.
A really hot one.
We walk back down the aisle together, man and wife.
Jesus. The congregation is supposed to be singing ‘For the Beauty of the Earth’, but everyone is far too busy giving us a standing ovation.
I’m not sure if they’re all incurable romantics or simply relieved as fuck to have a major scandal brighten the dull predictability of yet another society wedding, but they’re really digging us.
I grin at everyone and give a few high fives to my mates as we head towards the entrance.
A few glances at my bride tell me she’s hanging in there like a champ.
She’s got her colour back and looks thoroughly relieved that we got through the ceremony in one piece.
‘Ready to face the wolves?’ I enquire out of the corner of my mouth. Assuming the press release was, er, released on schedule, the reporters out front will know by now that we pulled off a major stunt right in front of their noses. I can only assume they’ll be baying for blood.
‘Nope,’ she says, popping the p.
I hug her arm more tightly against my body. ‘Let’s give them what they want, then they’ll be happy.’
Sure enough, as soon as we emerge into the darkness of the outdoors, the baying starts.
‘Benedict! Selena! Over ’ere!’
‘Selena, why did you switch grooms, love? Xavier not up to the job, was ’e?’
‘Give ’er a kiss, then, mate!’
That last one I can definitely help with. I release her arm and immediately take her hand, raising our joint hands as I shout at the media, ‘We did it!’
And then, because I’m an obliging kind of guy, I pull her to me and kiss her again.
She’s so pretty, my bride. So beautiful.
I’m riding high on the adrenaline of what we’ve just done, and on the attention, and on the novelty factor of it all, surfing an enormous wave of wellbeing and, frankly, tickled as fuck that I finally get to stand here and kiss the most beautiful woman in any room, the woman who’s always been off-limits.
The woman who’s always been promised to my brother.
Not anymore, people.
Slinky’s lips are soft and plush under mine as she yields to my kiss.
I mentally add fast learner to the things I like about my new wife.
Of the pair of us, I may be the one selling the story that I’m in love with her, but she’s the one who’s obsessed with optics, with image.
So I don’t, for a single second, flatter myself that she’s lost in the moment here.
On the contrary, every second of this is a performance in a play she’s studied her entire life for—even if she’s had to do a hell of a lot more improv this week than she’d like.
Still, we’re united in this narrative we’re peddling, and I get to kiss her, so I don’t give a fuck about her motives.
I simply allow myself to enjoy the smooth slide of her tongue against mine.
It’s fleeting, and more a brush of the tips than anything else, but it’s surprisingly erotic.
I feel like a schoolboy who’s broken into the tuck cupboard.
We break the kiss, and I grin at her. To my pleasant surprise, she smirks back. I’m not the only one feeling smug, and rightly so. It’s an amazing turnaround for her this week after my family so nearly ruined her entire life’s plans. Her triumph today is well earned.
It’s not until she and her enormous amounts of fabric have been bundled into the car and I’ve settled in beside her that she lets her head fall back against the seat and blows out an enormous breath.
‘Oh my God. Holy shit.’
‘You were amazing in there,’ I tell her, taking her hand and squeezing it. ‘Like I said, we did it. And you survived the press. The worst is over.’
She rolls her head so she’s facing me. ‘Not remotely. Every single person at the reception is going to want the scoop. And a lot of them are actual friends of mine.’
‘And what will you tell them?’
‘We’ve agreed not to share details out of respect for Xavier,’ she parrots.
‘Good girl.’ We had an emergency media training session this week on precisely this topic, because Slinky’s right: you can keep the press at arm’s length, but it’s far harder when you have to lie to your friends’ faces.
Hence the decision to throw Xav under the bus by suggesting he’s devastated and licking his wounds—a decision he’s fully on board with, by the way.
‘And I’ll just emphasise that I was so in love with you, I had to at least attempt a Hail Mary.’
Her mouth twists in, I think, a mixture of amusement and embarrassment.
From what I can tell, Slinks still seems dubious that anyone will actually buy this story, but I don’t see why they won’t.
After all, everyone in that cathedral seemed ecstatic for us.
They all may have been used to the idea of Xav and Slinks tying the knot at some point, but I doubt anyone was all that invested.
‘The flowers looked great, didn’t they?’ she says, staring out of the window as we wind our way back around the Christchurch quad and out onto St Aldate’s.
‘Stunning.’ I’m not about to tell her I didn’t notice them. ‘Although not as stunning as my bride.’
That has her turning back to me. She raises a sceptical eyebrow.
‘I’m serious. This may not be the most conventional route up the aisle, Slinks, but don’t doubt for a second how fucking delighted with myself I am right now.
You’re always the most beautiful woman in the room—I think I tell you that every time I see you—but today you’re a knockout.
I felt ten feet tall walking down that aisle with you. ’
Every word of that is true. It’s also what I suspect she needs to hear from me right now. I’ve known Slinky a long time. Her self-confidence is far, far lower than anyone would guess, and let’s not get started on the dent this week’s events must have made in it.
‘Thank you,’ she says. It’s stiff, but I can read between the lines.
‘It’s just the truth.’ I’m still holding her hand. I squeeze it again.
‘And thanks for bailing me out.’ She looks down and fondles the ribbon around the pretty bouquet of flowers in her lap.
‘No need to thank me,’ I say evenly. ‘I should be thanking you for taking a chance on me and my harebrained scheme.’
She laughs, but she doesn’t sound amused. ‘Most out-of-character thing I’ve ever done. That said, if you hadn’t stepped in, I’d be sitting at home with the blinds closed, eating my way through every last Christmas chocolate in the house.’
‘And look at us now. We’ve given them the scandal of the century.’
‘Ugh. Don’t say that,’ she groans, letting her head flop back again.
‘It’s true. We can have breakfast in bed tomorrow and go through the papers together, have a good laugh at the headlines. It’ll be fun.’
It’s a throwaway comment, but her entire body goes stiff. ‘Ben. I don’t think—’
‘Relax,’ I tell her. ‘I have zero expectations for tonight. No one’s shagging anyone. I know it’ll take a while.’ Sadly for me.
She’s quiet for a moment. ‘Did you see your dad today?’
‘Yeah, just before I left.’
‘How was he?’
‘Not good. Every time I see him, I think it’ll be the last. He’s, like, three-quarters dead, as far as I can tell.’
She gasps. ‘That’s awful. Shit. And he’s going to be disturbed by the wedding. God, I feel awful.’
I need to put a stop to that kind of thinking right now.
‘The only reason you’re in this boat is because Pa insisted on moving the wedding up four months.
You know as well as I do that it’s the only thing that matters to him before he pops his clogs.
If anything, it will be a massive reassurance to him.
That said, he wasn’t exactly handing out gold stars earlier. Ungrateful old git.’
‘I’m sorry. That’s shit.’ She pauses for a second, making a face that suggests she’s screwing up the courage to say something. ‘I think we could cancel Paris.’
‘We don’t have to,’ I say automatically.
Xav and Slinks had a few nights booked in Paris for a kind of mini honeymoon.
Their thinking was that they should leave a proper, longer trip until they were more comfortable in their marriage.
Given the private jet factor, it was easy to swap his name out for mine.
We’re supposed to be leaving after lunch tomorrow, but I have to say I’ve been having reservations—not only because of Pa, but because I suspect the last thing Slinks needs is to put a brave face on it and go cavorting off to France.
That said, she’s been through enough this week.
I want to make sure she takes the lead on all our plans.
Whatever makes her life easier over the next few days, as she acclimatises to this new normal, I will do.
She rubs her thumb over my hand. ‘Ben. If your dad passes while you’re away, you’ll never forgive yourself.’
I stay silent. I won’t reveal the truth: that I’ve never seen anyone die before and have zero interest in sitting by Pa’s deathbed until he’s taken his last godawful, rasping breath.
That I’d rather admire my beautiful bride’s appearance while drinking champagne with her in some lovely bistro than stare at the near-skeleton of the man who raised me.
That, if my small interaction with him today was any indication, we have nothing left to say to each other, anyway.
I’m sure Slinky would be horrified by that—not because she imagines us to be close, but because she has a well-developed sense of propriety and optics, and my gallivanting around Paris on honeymoon while Pa prepares to die might not be the best of optics, especially since it’ll be me that inherits his title.
Perhaps it’s time to stop thinking—and behaving—like a second-born son.
‘I’m more worried about you,’ I say instead. ‘I’m sure this past week has taken it out of you. I can’t promise we won’t all be in some awful limbo if we stay—I can’t imagine it will be a barrel of laughs—but it might buy you some time, at least, to get your head straight.’
She gives me a terse nod of appreciation, but I don’t miss the relief that flashes so briefly over her features. ‘It’s decided, then. I couldn’t live with myself if we went away and your dad died.’ A shrug. ‘And you may have a teeny, tiny point about it giving me a breather.’
God knows she’s not the only one who could use some time to get their head straight after the week we’ve both had.