Wedding Bells and Wall Street Bros

by Alina Jacobs

  “I could always just have it gutted and redone,” I offered as Brea opened the various cabinets. “This was newly built, so I’m sure the developer just put in the cheapest stuff he could find.”

  “What’s upstairs?” Brea asked, pointing to another narrow staircase when we walked out of the master suite.

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “Let’s find out.”

  We walked up the staircase to the room that I was sure would seal the deal and make Brea very receptive to moving in with me.

  At the top of the stairs was a library with a sloped roof. Part of the slant and one wall were all glass, flooding the room with light. The room was staged with a large reclaimed-wood desk and a large leather sofa. On the terrace, which looked out over the city, were plants and a tall glass railing.

  “Wow,” Brea breathed, slowly turning around in the room. “I think I could live in here! And it faces south, so you always have the best light for sewing. And look at that bookcase, Mark!” It took up one whole wall and followed the slant of the ceiling. There was a ladder on wheels to reach the highest shelves. “It’s like Beauty and the Beast!” Brea exclaimed, jumping up and down.

  I grinned happily as I watched her explore the space. “You like it?” I asked.

  “It’s so perfect,” she said, longingly.

  “You can use it anytime.”

  “I can’t just show up here!” she said with a laugh.

  “I’m going to buy this place,” I informed her.

  “Have you looked at any others?” Brea asked in concern.

  “You and I are both busy,” I said, kissing along her neck. “Seems like a waste of time when this place fits all the criteria.” I kissed her more deeply, tugging her over to the couch. “Since I am going to buy it, I think we can safely christen it.”

  I was already fully on the way to stripping her down, wanting to realize that vision of the beautiful creature right in front of me naked and splayed across this sofa. Just seeing her there was selling me on the image of this penthouse as home.

  A flurry of thrown garments everywhere around us, and then we were fully able to enjoy one another, and I was kissing her intensely. My hands roamed up and down her curves, enjoying her little whimpers and moans.

  The tender moment was short-lived, as I slid some protection on and immediately set myself to guiding my cock into her. She purred as I penetrated her, the whimpers telling me how much she enjoyed what I could do to her.

  She held me tight too, her nails poking at my skin, but a little pain to go with all this pleasure only seemed to enhance everything more than anything else.

  Her legs wrapped around my hips, and I started to fuck her, but she stopped me. “Let’s mix it up,” she whispered.

  I lay back and let her be on top. She was quick to use her newfound leverage, guiding her pussy up and down my cock, her tightness squeezing me and testing me completely.

  With her on top, I reached up to take a good long feel of those luscious breasts of hers with the perky nipples hard between my fingers. My cock hardened further as she slid her pussy down my shaft.

  Fuck, she was so damn beautiful, so damn perfect. I needed her badly, and it wasn’t long before I was helping her along with her bouncy pace. My hands were on her hips, fingers digging into her ass, guiding her up and down my cock at a more intense, more furious pace. Hearing her moan for me, hearing her squeal in delight as I touched her clit—everything about her was magic.

  Soon, we were well on the way to christening what was going to be our new home. I was fucking her furiously as Brea bounced on my cock with wild abandon. She cried out for me as she came, shuddering around me. I barely kept a lid on my own passions as I continued to fuck her, drawing out her orgasm. I finally allowed myself to shudder inside her as she slumped, held up by my arms. I lowered her to rest on my chest.

  Brea panted against my neck, the little puffs of air cooling my skin.

  “Brea?” I asked, kissing her softly. “I want you to move in with me.”

  She gave me a pained look. “I don’t think that’s a great idea, do you?”

  44

  Brea

  I felt terrible at the heartbroken expression on Mark’s face. I scooted off of him and jumped back onto the floor. Mark steadied me when I almost tripped on the carpet.

  “I mean seriously,” I rambled as I adjusted my skirt. “We barely know each other; I can’t just move into a place you bought.”

  “Why not?” Mark countered.

  “Because…because…” I sputtered.

  But I couldn’t tell him the real reason—that a person who doesn’t even know which of the men her mother slept with is her real father does not belong with someone who grew up in a mansion and attended private schools and had so much money that he could just randomly go shopping for a penthouse in freaking Manhattan and then just decide on a whim that he’s going to buy it.

  “It just doesn’t look right,” I said lamely.

  Mark wrapped me in his strong arms again. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he said. “I just—I really like you, Brea; I don’t want to be apart from you any more than I have to.”

  I rested my head against his chest, breathing in his addicting masculine scent.

  “And also,” he amended, “I’d like for us to be someplace where our parents are not constantly interrupting us when we’re together, if you know what I mean.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “How about I become a very frequent visitor?” I suggested.

  And hopefully, by that time, I will have figured out this paternity situation. Hell, who knows. If my dad finds out my mom lied to him, he may kick me out anyway, and I’ll have to show up at Mark’s place with an Uber packed full of fabric and a couple of half-broken Roombas.

  “I’ll tell the broker that I’d like to purchase it. Then maybe you and I can go celebrate.”

  While Mark was on the phone, I looked around longingly and mentally placed all my sewing stuff in the space—then promptly removed it and chastised myself for using Mark as a walking, talking real estate buyer and not a human being.

  “Done,” Mark said, ending the call. “You want a drink?”

  In the car ride to an upscale bar nearby, I twisted the hem of my shirt.

  “I said we’re celebrating,” Mark said gently, taking my hand.

  “Right.” I looked up at the ceiling of the car. “You, ah…”

  Mark leaned over and kissed me. I cupped his face.

  “Hmm?”

  “You didn’t just buy that because of me, did you?” I asked in a small voice. “Because that’s not emotionally healthy, and I don’t think of you as a walking wallet or anything. You know me. I’m a simple creature. If you want to impress me, a cheeseburger would do the trick.”

  Mark laughed then rested his forehead lightly against mine. “No. I mean yes. I wanted to find a place you would be happy. But really, I need some space from my family. They mean well, but they can be overbearing. They’re going to freak out once I tell them though.” Mark gave me a wry smile. “Maybe I want you to move in with me to be a buffer against my mother when she flips out.”

  “I might need more than a cheeseburger for that one,” I joked as the town car pulled up in front of the bar.

  “Would caviar do it?” Mark asked me as he stepped out of the car and escorted me to the door. “This is a new place that my cousin Dana told me about. They have unique cocktail and caviar pairings.”

  “Fancy.”

  “It’s from California, so I don’t know how fancy it really is,” Mark said conversationally as he held the door for me.

  There was a short, middle-aged man in front of us waiting for the hostess to find his reservation.

  “Don’t worry,” Mark said to me. “I already made a reservation. No standing around waiting for you.” He kissed my cheek.

  “Uh huh,” I said, distracted because I was staring at the guy in front of us.

  “You said the name was Dave Pratt?” the
hostess asked him.

  “That’s me!” the man confirmed.

  “Just one?” she added.

  He gave a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, unless you’d want to join me. Not that I meant it, you know, like that, I was just—sorry. I’m not that funny. My wife left me, you see, and uh…never mind.”

  Awkward. So similarly, painfully awkward to something I would do.

  Please don’t let it be him, I begged the universe. Please let it be a horrible coincidence. But as the guy turned to follow the hostess, I caught a glimpse of his face. It was clear that this was in fact the Dave—my potential father.

  “…And Carter bought this caviar that had gold foil all over it,” Mark was saying.

  I turned my attention back to him while still keeping my eyes on Dave.

  “Brea?”

  “Gold foil.” I shook my head. “That stuff does not get digested. It just passes right through you, and then you have gold-streaked—uh.” Oh my God. Talk about awkward comments! Dave was clearly my father. I just needed to steal his DNA. “Sorry,” I told Mark. “We probably shouldn’t talk about that when we’re about to have caviar and fifty-dollar cocktails.”

  “When were you eating gold leaf?” he asked.

  “I do weddings for people with a lot of money and, unfortunately, sometimes very little taste,” I reminded him as the hostess led us to our table. It was right in the middle of the restaurant, where we could see everything that was going on. A plan had been formulating in my mind, and that plan required Mark to have very low visibility in the space.

  “Is there a different table?” I asked the hostess. “One more private?”

  “That one there by the corner is free. Just let me clean it off,” she offered.

  “You want to sit back there?” Mark asked, brow furrowed.

  “Maybe I want to give you a blow job,” I said to him.

  “Dana will kill me if we get kicked out of here,” he hissed back.

  The hostess directed us to the new table as I plotted how to get the DNA sample. Hair was out, because I couldn’t very well yank a strand out of his head. I needed his glass or a utensil.

  Mark took the seat facing the dining room.

  “Can I sit there?” I was starting to sweat. There was a reason I had become a seamstress and not an FBI agent.

  Mark shrugged and held the seat out for me.

  “I don’t know how I should decorate it,” Mark said idly, looking through the menu. “Maybe I should do the whole penthouse Harry Potter themed.”

  Dave had been given a water glass and was sipping from it through a straw. Bingo.

  “Maybe I’ll decorate each room like one of the Hogwarts common rooms,” Mark continued.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Would the straw have enough DNA though? I didn’t have any other options.

  “Are you even listening?” Mark asked.

  “Be right back,” I told Mark. “I need to run to the restroom.”

  I pretended I was going to the ladies’ room then got down on all fours to skirt a planter without Mark seeing me double back.

  Dave was making awkward conversation with the bartender. I crab walked toward him. The people sitting at the tables next to me were probably wondering if they had eaten some bad caviar or if there really was a deranged woman crawling on the floor next to their table.

  The hostess station was on the other side of the bar, and I grabbed a tray and an apron, tying it around my waist. Then I strode over to Dave.

  “I’ll take that from you,” I said, reaching for the water glass.

  “I’m not done!” Dave protested.

  The bartender was confused. He paused in the middle of pouring a drink and overpoured, causing it to slosh out of the glass and all over the table.

  “You can’t have that!” Dave said indignantly.

  “Give me the glass,” I hissed.

  “What am I supposed to drink, huh?”

  “You’re about to be given a very tasty alcoholic beverage, and I’m going to bring you a new water,” I said through gritted teeth.

  The bartender finally got it together and slid the drink over to Dave. He automatically reached for it, releasing his hold on the water glass. I snatched it and ran into the bathroom. I grabbed several paper towels and wrapped my prize in it, tucking the straw into my sleeve. Then I hastily removed the apron.

  My heart was pounding, and I was wheezing slightly from the stress and the physical activity. Don’t judge me! I’m a seamstress. I sit all day, and I stress eat.

  Speaking of...

  “I ordered caviar,” Mark said, pointing to an elaborate setup of various red, black, and olive-colored caviar in crystal bowls on ice, flanked by onions, fresh herbs, sour cream, blinis, hard-boiled eggs, and lemon wedges.

  I sucked down half my cocktail. Then I took a celebratory bite of salty, fatty caviar.

  I had done it! I had stolen the DNA. But what would I do if Dave really was my father? Why did my life have to be so complicated?

  45

  Mark

  “How’s your girlfriend?” Grant asked me a few days later.

  The truth was, I wasn’t sure. Brea had been weird at lunch the other day, but maybe that had been my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her to move in with me. In hindsight, that had been a little bit weird. I should honestly have been grateful that she wanted to take it slow. Her reaction made it all the more clear that Brea wasn’t after me for my money or a lifestyle upgrade and that she liked me for me—no ulterior motives.

  “She’s fine,” I said. “Busy.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What?” I glared at him.

  Grant held up his hands. “Nothing. I just saw that chick you took to the fundraiser outside Brea’s office the other day. I wasn’t sure…” He pressed his lips together.

  “Wasn’t sure what?”

  “Well, you seem to attract crazy women,” my cousin said carefully.

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’m just looking out for you, cuz. Your ex-girlfriend might be crazy.”

  “Memphis Eve was never my girlfriend,” I snapped.

  “I wasn’t sure if she had turned into a stalker. She and Brea were arguing about something. I only saw it because I was sitting in the front seat. One of the Svensson brothers was there too.”

  “The Svenssons?” I frowned. “Maybe they were just dropping something off. Memphis Eve is her twin sister.”

  Grant gave me an odd look. “Really? You don’t think that’s weird?”

  I remained silent.

  “Seriously,” Grant prompted. “Her twin dates you, Brea just happens to be at the fundraiser, then they’re sneaking around. Did she even tell you her twin was there?”

  “No,” I admitted. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t tell her every time one of you comes to harass me.”

  “I’m not accusing her of anything,” Grant insisted. “I’m just looking out for you.”

  “Well, don’t,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”

  It didn’t mean anything, right? I thought. I turned Grant’s words over in my head as he and I pulled out the dining room table and arranged the chairs for the cake testing. Liz didn’t feel up to a drive out to the Weddings in the City office that day and said her apartment was too messy to have the cake testing there.

  If it didn’t mean anything, the rational part of my mind argued, then why didn’t she tell you?

  Beowulf and Grant’s corgi, Gus, were racing around my apartment when Brea rang the doorbell. I wanted to ask her about her sister, but then I was afraid of her reaction. But she didn’t quiz me on everything I was doing. I needed to let it go.

  Brea smiled up at me and stretched on her toes to kiss me. “You’re so ridiculously tall!” she said.

  “Maybe you’re just short.” I kissed her on her nose.

  Someone coughed delicately behind Brea.

  “Sorry, Sophie!” she giggled.

  “Sure, rub your relationship in
the face of your single friend,” she said, wheeling a cooler into my condo behind her. She looked me up and down critically. “Though I see why you’re bouncing around at all hours of the night with him.”

  “It’s not all hours!” Brea protested. “I’m out with Mark during respectable times.”

  “Do you have a brother?” Sophie asked me. “Preferably one who likes cake?”

  “Yes,” I said, leading the wedding planners into the dining room, “but he’s in a relationship, unfortunately.”

  “As long as he uses us for his upcoming wedding, we’ll call it even,” Sophie said cheerfully.

  “So where do you want me to put this?” I asked, reaching for the cooler.

  “No!” Brea yelled.

  I jerked my hand away.

  “We have to make it look pretty,” she insisted as she and Sophie laid out a white tablecloth and spread it diagonally on the center of the table.

  On one end, Brea laid out small, chilled bottles of sparkling water, along with a stack of plates, a bouquet of puffy white flowers in a short glass vase, and a set of small silver dessert forks. Then she and Sophie carefully laid out a row of small cakes with little handwritten cards describing what flavors they were.

  “Orange Creamsicle, key lime dream, strawberry shortcake,” Grant read out. “I didn’t know wedding cakes came in flavors.”

  “Did someone say wedding cake?” Liz called out. The dogs raced to her, and Wes’s large American Akita, Kal, bounded in.

  Unlike Gus and Beowulf, Kal was well trained. “Sit,” I ordered, and he skidded to a halt a few feet before the table.

  “Wes is out at a meeting,” Liz said. “He’s trying to pack them all in before the baby comes.”

  “We’ll make sure he has a cake flavor he likes,” Brea assured her.

  When Carter arrived with Kate and Allie, Brea and Sophie started serving up the slices of cake.

  “This is the bananas foster flavor,” Sophie said, handing Liz a piece. “I recommend that it be the bottom tier, as it’s a bit denser.” She pointed to the drawing of an elaborate tiered cake.