by Reid, Penny
And the only reason it happened then was because he pulled me into his arms and kissed his bride.
* * *
“I’ll keep this short, because I know you’re all looking forward to the open bar.” Dan glared around the room.
A small but pleasant tittering of laughter erupted in the hall. I looked at the faces of Quinn’s extended family, his parents’ friends, my friends, Quinn’s friends, and stared in wonder at the amalgamation gathered.
We were married, and Dan was about to give his best man speech.
We’d survived couple photos—both the hired photographer’s and Donovan Charles’s fashion photographer, which ended up being the cost of borrowing the wedding dress—family photos, and wedding party photos.
We’d lived through our first dance as husband and wife, which happened to be one of the few things that Quinn had an opinion about. I realized he’d picked the song when the opening notes for The Cars’ “Just What I Needed” sounded over the speakers in the ballroom. I laughed so hard that Quinn had to pick me up twice.
Quinn enjoyed his dance with his mother almost as much as she did. I didn’t know who’d picked the song, but I felt like Nat King Cole’s version of “Paper Moon” was perfect.
When the time came for the father-daughter dance, I walked to where Desmond was standing with Katherine and asked him to dance. And so we danced. As the last bars to Ella Fitzgerald’s “Someone to Watch Over Me” drifted through the air, Desmond dipped me. It made me smile and it made me laugh because he did it so well. We hugged, and he whispered in my ear, “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
I knew my smile was massive because my cheeks hurt when I said, “Thanks, Dad.”
This would likely be the only time so many of the people we loved would be gathered together in the same room. I felt a swelling of gratitude for Marie and Katherine, that they pulled this together and made it happen—and not just the lovely ferns, the impressive cake, the beautiful decorations, and the stunning centerpieces.
I was thankful for the people who’d come to show us that we were important to them, that they were invested in our happiness.
And now Dan was holding a microphone and squinting at Quinn. Quinn was squinting right back.
“You know,” Dan started, shook his head, “I’ve known this guy a long time. Some of you might not know this, but we shared a bed for a while….” He allowed a dramatic pause, then continued. “It was a crib, and we were two.”
A burst of accommodating laughter filled the room, and Quinn grumbled something beside me. He was scowling, but he was also smiling.
“Even then he was bossy. He was always quiet, and I believe my mother once nicknamed him Sully the Sullen.”
More laughter. I reached over and held Quinn’s hand; he squeezed mine in his.
“But, I gotta admit, Quinn Sullivan is also the best and bravest man I know. And that’s why, when he told me that he and Janie were getting hitched, I was so happy for him. Because she is the best and bravest woman I know…and I know a lot of women.”
Another rumble of laughter. My eyes flickered over to Kat, and I found that her gaze was on her food. I tucked that away for later analysis.
“So raise your glass to Janie and her husband Quinn. May your pockets be heavy and your heart be light. May good luck pursue you each morning and night. To Janie and Quinn!”
“To Janie and Quinn,” the room echoed, and everyone drank.
Quinn and Dan shared a glare and a smile as Dan passed the microphone to Elizabeth. She stood as he took his seat.
She grinned at me then turned to face the room. “I’ll also try to keep my speech short, because I, too, am looking forward to the open bar.” This drew chuckles and a few exclamations of “hear, hear!”
“Anyone who knows Janie knows that she is the wisest person in the room. And it’s not just because she knows more about viruses than an immunologist or the mating practices of sea horses than a marine biologist, or that she can tell you the square root of any number without batting an eyelash. Janie is the wisest person in any room because she loves without condition.”
A few awwws filtered through the crowd, and Elizabeth winked at me.
“As a recipient of Janie’s unconditional love, I can tell you that it’s a beautiful thing. If you think she looks beautiful today, just wait until you see the beauty of her heart.”
I blinked away the stinging behind my eyes and felt Quinn reached his hand around my shoulders as he brought me to him and placed a kiss on my forehead.
“And Quinn Sullivan, you should all know, is by far the smartest person in the room, and here is why.” She paused, and her gaze moved to Quinn’s. “He is the smartest person in any room because he married Janie.”
More awwws were followed by a round of applause. Elizabeth waited for the clapping to die down before she lifted her glass. “Here’s to the wisest and the smartest individuals in the room. To Janie and Quinn.”
“To Janie and Quinn!” came the echo as glasses were raised.
I shared a brief gaze and smile with Elizabeth, and she blew me a kiss, mouthing the words I love you as she sat.
I thought the toasts were over, so I turned to Quinn to remark on how nice they’d been. To my surprise, Quinn stood, taking his glass with him, and he pulled me up beside him. He reached for and accepted the microphone.
Then, looking out at the crowd, he cleared his throat. “We want to thank my mom and Janie’s good friend Marie for putting this thing together. They did a really nice job, and it’s been…it’s been fun. So, Janie and I want to say thank you.”
He paused to allow the crowd a moment to acknowledge their efforts before he continued.
“I wanted to make a toast to my wife. I don’t really care about the open bar, but I don’t talk much, so this’ll be short. Raise your glasses.” Quinn looked to me. “To Janie Sullivan, my friend….”
He paused, his eyes moved over my features and lingered on the gigantic smile splitting my face in two, then said, “I know you by heart. To Janie.”
“To Janie!” the crowd repeated, lifting their glasses then drinking accompanied by a few awwwws and mumblings of appreciation.
Quinn sipped his champagne then, his blue eyes both mischievous and reverent, he leaned forward and kissed me.
* * *
The plane took off for our mystery honeymoon destination. We curled together in our seats, holding each other, tired yet replete.
My eyelids became heavy with a happy sleepiness, and I let my mind wander.
I didn’t think about snake venom or dorsal fin collapse; nor was I thinking of robots, the origins of idioms, ISO international date standards, or china cabinet and teacup analogies.
I was thinking about the wedding, but not just the beautiful ceremony, the amazing reception, the food, or the flowers, or the touching moments between me and my friends or me and my new family.
I was thinking about all of it—the entire day.
It felt like the wedding had followed a script, one that had been written a long time ago.
It said that I needed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. So, I’d worn the old Sullivan family Claddagh ring, a new hand-knit lace wedding shawl, a borrowed haute couture wedding dress, and blue suede shoes.
The script dictated that I dress in something dazzling of my choice, and that Quinn look dashing as well; that the first time we saw each other be just minutes before we spoke our vows; that we be overcome with the sight of each other and the rightness of the moment.
It required that I walk down the aisle and be given away, given to my husband and that he be given to me, that all our friends and family watch this occur, and by watching give their blessing to our marriage. The fact that I and I alone had been the one to give myself away didn’t diminish the meaning behind the sentiment. If anything, it felt more sacred.
The script called for a romantic first dance between us, a calm, silly moment within the sea of expe
ctations and well wishes. It also said Quinn must dance with his mother, for her to share that moment with her son and for her family to understand that their relationship had healed. Of course, we went off script when I danced with Desmond instead of my father, but one could argue that a little improv was necessary to keep things from becoming too predictable.
It told us that toasts were necessary, that a cake needed to be cut, a bouquet to be thrown, and that everyone gathered should pass on their well wishes and love to us, and show us how cherished we were.
This script that we followed was entitled Tradition.
I think I finally understood what Bridgett, the wise knitter from London, had been trying to tell me all those months ago about rites of passage and the value of enduring tradition.
We didn’t need the flowers and decorations, the gorgeous ballroom venue, the party favors, or the general splendor. If I peeled away the layers of accoutrements and fluff, we could have staged this script in a barn or in a field and, as long as traditions had been adhered to, the outcome and feelings would have been the same.
Leaving for our honeymoon and starting our happily-ever-after was next on the script.
And I couldn’t wait.
The End
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What happens in Vegas…the missing scene
May 31, 3:42 am
*Quinn*
Other than the constant groping, the elevator ride and the walk down the hallway was unremarkable. Ashley and Sandra basically passed out on their beds. Marie also went down easily. She fell to one of the couches, fast asleep, as soon as we entered the suite.
Nico and Elizabeth disappeared, and Dan had his hands full with Kat.
She seemed to be more awake than she’d been all night. I saw that he was trying to be gentle, but no amount of pushing away and grabbing of hands made a difference. She had him backed into a wall next to the door of her room.
Kat said, “You want me, I know you do.”
I then heard Dan’s answering groan. It sounded like despair.
The back of his head hit the wall behind him and his eyes were shut. Then he cussed and cussed and cussed. I think he might’ve even made up some new curse words.
I turned away, hearing him growl, but trusting him to do the right thing. I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. Watching Dan push off the advances of a beautiful woman was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen, especially since it was obvious that she was right. He wanted her—badly.
I would have to give him shit about it later.
I swung Janie in my arms and carried her down the hall to her room. She was still whispering bad things in my ear. They were actually good things—very, very good things—but they made me want to be very, very bad.
I wouldn’t, though. My judgment was working just fine, and I was not going to touch her while she was obviously drunk and high on hash. I guessed that this was the first time she’d ever touched the stuff.
She’d never spoken to me this way before. In the bedroom, I was always the initiator, and we rarely talked because we were using our mouths for other things. I thought maybe I’d never seen Janie’s dirty side because I was impatient and never gave her a chance.
My plan, when we’d made that stupid bet after becoming engaged, was to wait her out. I wanted her to make the first move.
In the end, I couldn’t. I couldn’t wait. Watching her untuck her shirt after I called her Kitten sent me over the edge. I needed to know how affected she’d been. I wanted to touch the evidence with my fingers, so I did.
With her, I was never patient.
After tonight, though, I might have to try harder. Because the more I pushed away her hands and her mouth, the more creative she became.
She’d wrapped herself around me, her mouth on my neck. I was sure that whatever she was currently up to would leave a mark. I kicked the door shut behind me and crossed to the bed, decided I would be taking a cold shower once I got her to sleep. I thought about sleeping in the shower.
As soon as I set her on the mattress, she climbed to her knees and reached for me. I held out my hands, both to keep her away and to keep her from falling.
“Janie, no. You need to sleep.”
She hiked up her skirt, showing me the tops of her stockings and the garter straps holding them.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Sleep.”
My eyes flew open at the sound of a zipper, just in time to see her whip off her sad excuse for a dress. The white lace bra followed next. I told myself to close my eyes again.
I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Damn.
“Linge means linen in French.” She bent over and was now on all fours, stalking toward me. Her ass was in the air. Her movements were clumsy and unpracticed, which made her sexier.
I stuffed my hands in my pockets and cleared my face of all expression. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“The word lingerie comes from linge. In French the word lingerie is used to describe the underclothes of both men and women.”
I ground my teeth.
She reached out and grabbed the front of my shirt and used it as leverage to climb upright. “Victoria’s Secret should really be called Lucile’s Secret because Lady Duff-Gordon, AKA Lucile, was the major force behind the idea of visually appealing undergarments.” She took off my shirt, pressed her bare chest to mine.
“Remind me to send her a thank you card.” I held completely still. If I moved or if she moved against me, I was going to lose my mind.
Janie frowned, and I saw that she was distracted by my last statement. “You can’t. She’d dead. She died in 1935. She also was one of the survivors of the Titanic; did you know that?”
I saw my chance so I went for it. “She survived the Titanic? How many people survived the Titanic?”
Janie blinked at me. “No one knows for sure. There were approximately two thousand, two hundred, and twenty-five people onboard. They think fifteen hundred died, or thereabouts.”
“Freezing to death,” I said. Thoughts of death and cold water helped me regain some of my control.
“That’s right, freezing to death, or drowning.” She nodded, her eyes wide. “If you think about it, hypothermia seems like the preferred method of premature death.”
With that sobering thought, I finally trusted myself to move. I raised my hands to her arms. “Why do you say that?” I lifted her then pulled back the covers, setting her against the sheets. I fastened my eyes to hers and did not look anywhere else, like her fantastic breasts, or her stomach, or her legs, or her hips, or the curve of her shoulder, or…fucking everywhere.
She was busy talking about premature death. “You know that hypothermia is when the body’s temperature drops below what is required for normal metabolism. Before you die you become confused, lose sense of your surroundings. You’ll eventually go by heart attack and overall organ failure, but by then you won’t even feel it.”
I nodded, covered her with the comforter. Her body finally hidden, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Do you know what paradoxical undressing is?” she asked, her eyes blinking tiredly.
I moved to switch off the light, saw her yawn, and thanked God.
“Will you tell me in the morning?” I began to back away.
She reached out faster than I thought she could in her current state and clasped her fingers around my wrist. “No-no-no. You’re staying with me.”
I covered her hand with mine and whispered, “It’s almost four in the morning. You need sleep.”
She whispered back, “So do you.”
“Janie.”
“Quinn.”
“I need to clean up.”
“We’ll shower together.”
I suppressed a growl then conceded. “Fine. I’ll lay with you.”
She shifted backwa
rd and lifted the covers for me to climb in. I turned, sat, and unlaced my boots. I felt her eyes on my back.
I took my time taking them off. I needed every second.
She broke the silence just as I was removing the second boot.
“Do you think we’re going to be okay?”
I stopped. She sounded worried. I glanced over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Janie’s big eyes stared at me. The curtain in the room was still open. Flashing lights from the strip below made the room dim, not dark.
“You have money.”
I lifted an eyebrow at this. “Yes….”
“It’s not a little bit of money. It’s a lot of money. Based on my estimate—and I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am—you’re in the top point zero five percent. I looked up your percentile on the distribution wealth curve.”
I twisted and lay next to her, studied her face. She looked as anxious as she sounded. “Does it still bother you?”
“No…and yes.”
“Why yes?”
“Because…you work all the time, and I know you love to work. It’s your passion….”
“You’re my passion,” I contradicted without thinking.
Her lashes fluttered, and she gave me a little smile, but continued. “I know you love your work. I don’t think you work just because of the money. I think you work because it’s something you’re good at and you feel like you’re making a difference. So what is the money for?”
Power. Security. Safety. Spoiling you.
I didn’t say any of those, even though they were the truth. The money was how I’d been able to bribe Janie’s father into coming to the ceremony. The money paid for her guards—both the ones she saw and the ones she didn’t. I wished I’d assigned more than just Stan to her tonight.
Instead, I asked, “What would you do with the money?”
