by Amanda Aksel
My mind drifts, daydreaming that things are different—that I’m not the maid of honor, and he’s not the best man. I’m just a woman. He’s just a man. And we’re in love—starting our life together, in the same city, the same beautiful home, excited to get to our honeymoon so we can begin to make beautiful babies. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but Mick and I would make very beautiful babies.
I don’t know whether it’s because my best friend is getting married today, or that I’ve deprived myself for so long, or that finally kissing a man last night was so amazing . . . but I want this. I want to be in love, get married, and build a life with someone. Someone like him. I know I say that about every eligible man, but in this moment, on this beautifully cloudy day, on this rooftop with a breathtaking view, it feels different.
I make it to the arbor without falling and give Mick one last look. The guests stand and a moment later Mr. Golden escorts Kate down, beginning her new journey. Her wedding gown is made with a soft, intricate lace. A red silk ribbon adorns her waist. Gracefully, she glides down the aisle like she’s floating on air, keeping her eyes fixed on Drew. Her father gives her away, and with a distinct look, Drew promises her father that he will take care of her from now on. Mr. Golden, who’s a tough sell, seems satisfied.
The vows are half traditional and half personal. The moment that Drew utters the words I do, tears spill from my eyes. Yes, I cry at every wedding. I’m a total romantic. And this is my friend, my best friend in the entire world. A friend who never thought love was in the cards for her, never wanted it. And now, she’s not only met the man of her dreams, the one who brought her back to life, but she gets to spend her life with him. It’s such a rare gift.
I glance up at Mick and his eyes quickly find mine. Is he thinking the same thing? Is he thinking about last night? Or is he thinking about his own wedding day? He doesn’t seem sad, he seems . . . hopeful.
“The rings?” the officiant asks, extending his hand.
Drew turns around. “Mick?”
Mick blinks, shaking his head as if coming out of a trance. I pinch my lips together, holding back a laugh. “Oh, right, sorry. Here you go.” He pulls out a small box and hands it over, his face growing as red as the flowers in our bouquets. Guess I’m not the only wedding party member suffering a small blunder.
As the officiant opens the box, a clash of thunder rolls across the sky. Everyone’s head turns up. Everyone except for Drew and Kate, who don’t really seem to notice. In fact, I’m pretty sure Drew just smiled wider. The two exchange rings in a traditional fashion and a droplet falls softly on my face, then another, and another.
Uh-oh.
“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!” And like an incantation, the sky opens up and rain pours down on us. Just the cold shower I needed. Drew grabs Kate, dips her like they’ve practiced a million times, and gives her a kiss worthy of the big screen. Using Kate’s and my bouquets as an umbrella, I shield my head. Surprisingly, the rain doesn’t stop the piano. The notes of “We Didn’t Start the Fire” battle against the roaring thunder.
The guests scurry around, trying to make their way inside. I can’t help but laugh as I watch the New Yorkers and Londoners holding umbrellas, while the Californians get soaked. Kate and Drew take each other’s hands and rush up the aisle. I look to Mick, whose dimples are in plain sight. He takes off his coat and covers my head. “Come on, let’s get inside.” Side by side, and somewhat clumsily, we run up the aisle. I can’t stop laughing. Isn’t it ironic? Rain on Kate and Drew’s wedding day? Inside the venue, the floors are slick with water. I step out of the way to a corner and Mick follows, laughing as much as I am.
“I told you we might bring bad luck to the wedding,” he says.
“I thought rain on your wedding day was good luck.”
“I guess we’ll see how things turn out.” Is he talking about Kate and Drew or us? Of course, he’s talking about them, Beau! He wipes the droplets of rain from his face, his hair almost soaked, and shakes the water out of his coat. What must I look like right now? I quickly wipe beneath my eyes and pat my face.
Mick’s smile turns serious and his eyes fall to my cheek. At first I think he’s going to kiss me, or at least my face, but he runs his thumb along my skin, clearing away the leftover rain.
“Thanks,” I say.
The corners of his mouth turn up into that celebrity smile. “Any time.” My stomach jumps, filling my body with a tingling heat. Okay, it’s official; I totally have a crush on Kate’s brother-in-law.
A member of the concierge approaches us carrying two fluffy white towels. I grab one and wrap it around my chilled shoulders. What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower, a blow dryer, and a change of clothes right now. But as I look around the room at all the other somewhat soaked guests, it looks like we’ll all be wet together.
“Well, this has been quite an event, hasn’t it?” Mick brushes his hair dry with the towel.
Which part of the event is he referring to? “It has.”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”
“Oh, Beau!” Garret’s voice sings from behind me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I look at Mr. Dangerously De-Bonnaire. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Mick lets me go with a smile, and I turn toward Garret, whose iridescent gray suit is speckled with raindrops.
“I’m on strict orders by the bride to make sure you don’t end up in bed with Mr. Dimples, okay?” Garret says.
I said I needed a babysitter, and I guess now I have one. That’s good, right? “Thanks for keeping an eye on me.”
Garret looks past my shoulder. “I’m not the only one keeping an eye on you.”
I glance behind me. Mick is talking with a group of groomsmen, sneaking glances at me. There’s a chance I may have put myself in an impossible situation. “Very funny. You sure you’re up for the job?”
“It’s an open bar so I plan on getting shit-face drunk and running off with one of these naughty New Yorkers. I’ll do my very best.”
Yep. I’m in trouble.
8
I WATCH BEAU from across the room, chatting with that Garret fellow. Biting my tongue, I think about how those little droplets of water fell from her wet hair onto her skin. I’d love to get her in the shower and see her really wet. What I wouldn’t do to get that red dress of hers on my floor later.
While the guests are in the dining room, drinking away all of the booze, the lads and I pose for photographs with Drew and then with the entire wedding party. Beau keeps her distance, but I can see it in her eyes that she wants what I want. Seeing as we all look like wet dogs—except for Beau, she looks perfect—we don’t spend a lot of time on pictures. The wedding party is dismissed to join the other guests, while Drew and Kate snap a few shots.
I spend the half hour sipping on whiskey, talking with Kent and some of our friends, and sneaking glances at Beau every so often. I catch her staring at me from across the room but she doesn’t look as flirtatious as she does uncertain—probably part of her game. Finally, Drew and Kate enter the room. They’re no longer wearing their soaked tux and gown. Instead, she’s sporting a white minidress and he’s wearing black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a leather jacket. I glance over at my father and his flared nostrils.
“You see that too?” Kent asks.
“You mean Dad?”
He nods and chuckles. “I can almost hear him say, ‘Denim at a wedding is unsightly.’”
I shake my head, thinking of how old-fashioned our dad is. “It might be unsightly but it’s definitely Drew.”
“Cheers!” he says, clicking his short whiskey glass against mine.
The music begins, and Drew and Kate take to the dance floor. All of the guests circle around to watch the couple in their first dance. When I look past them, Beau is standing at the edge of the dance floor, smiling and swaying her hips, holding a glass of wh
ite wine. She looks up, catching me staring this time. Her eyes widen and she turns right as if to walk away, but she’s blocked by a group of guests. She then tries left and successfully leaves the crowd.
I hurry over to catch her before she can get any further and step in front of her.
“Where do you think you’re going, maid of honor?”
She stops short, gasping. “I’m going . . . where I’m going. If you’ll excuse me.” Beau sidesteps me, but I inch in front of her.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Because last night—”
“You know, we don’t have to talk about it. We kissed. It’s not a big deal.”
If it wasn’t such a big deal, then why did she run out of the room and not come back? If she hadn’t given me all those looks today at the ceremony, my ego might have been a little bruised. “I totally agree, not a big deal—”
“Best man and maid of honor, are you out there?” the DJ calls over the speakers. A spotlight tracks the room and lands right on us. I squint in the bright glow, shielding my eyes with my hand. “There you are. It’s time to join the happy couple on the dance floor.”
I smirk and glance over at Beau who looks totally frozen next to me. “I guess we better go. After you.”
Beau obliges and heads toward the floor as the music begins. I follow behind, watching her hips sway in that gorgeous red dress. On the floor, I take her hand and spin her around, happy to have her close. A polite smile spreads across her face, and she glances past me at the crowd like Miss America. That’s when I pull her closer, wrapping my arms tightly around her waist. My body starts to wake up like the sun after a long, dark night, but I urge it to wait for later.
The rest of the wedding party joins us on the dance floor. As we sway to the song, I inhale her spicy, warm perfume. Beau doesn’t seem to be inhaling anything. She’s stiffer than what’s inside my pants and has an impatient look on her face like she’s counting the minutes until she can run off.
“I’m not that bad of a dancer, am I?” I ask with a little laugh. I’ve never gotten complaints before.
“Huh?” She shakes her head. “No, not at all. It’s just . . . do you think they know?”
I raise my brow. “That we kissed?” She nods with a tiny shrug of one shoulder. “I don’t think so. But what does it matter? You said it yourself, it was just a kiss.”
“I just don’t want people thinking that we’re hooking up.”
Ouch!
“Why? Do you have a boyfriend back in LA?” I really hope not, because then we’re definitely not sleeping together tonight.
“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand,” she says.
Complicated? Why does everything always have to be so complicated? Life is simple if you let it. “But you don’t have a boyfriend or husband, do you?”
Beau finally looks in my eyes, but it only lasts a moment. “No, I don’t.”
Relief washes over me. Game on.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. “May I cut in?”
“Garret!” Beau’s face brightens. This guy again? She releases my hand before I have the chance to say yes or no.
“Thank you for the dance,” I say and nod, leaving her with the other guy. I wonder if there’s something going on between those two. Maybe that’s what she meant by complicated.
I walk over to my assigned table. A couple of the lads and ladies have already taken their seats. There’s a little card sitting on a plate at an empty seat for Dr. Michael Bonnaire. And who is this next to me? Ms. Beau Donovan. I take a seat and watch Garret spin the beauty on the dance floor.
Finally, the music stops, and she approaches the shared table.
“Right over here, Beau. Saved a seat just for you.”
She gives a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”
I don’t get it with this one. She was so warm earlier, now she’s ice cold. Our meals are served promptly, and after a couple of cocktails, the entire wedding party is engaged in conversation, all of us laughing about the unexpected downpour and commenting about how it’s not exactly fair that Drew and Kate were able to change into dry clothes.
“I know! I’m dying for a hot shower right now,” Beau says with a laugh.
My mind immediately starts to wander to Beau naked in a hot shower, water trickling down her breasts, dripping from her hard pink nipples. My cock starts to throb at the mere thought of it. I adjust myself under the table. Beau glances below my belt and her cheeks flush.
An hour later, most of the wedding party has transitioned to the bar and the dance floor. Surprisingly, Beau doesn’t run off the first chance she gets but instead stays behind, acting as a spectator.
“So, Beau, what do you like to do for fun?” I ask—friendly, noninvasive.
She shrugs and smiles. “I like to travel.”
I thought she was going to say shopping. Every woman I’ve been with for the past ten years loves to shop. Clearly, I had a type. “Really? Been to any interesting places recently?”
She frowns, letting out a long sigh. “No, I’ve been lying low for the past six months.”
I wonder what’s keeping her landlocked. “Why is that?”
“It’s . . .” she seems to choose her words carefully, “complicated.”
Of course it is. “LA must be keeping you entertained.”
She scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
“What? Hollywood isn’t exciting?”
“Not really, but it’s home. I know everything there is to know about it. I can even navigate all the back roads, but there’s usually traffic on those too.”
“Have you thought about relocating?” Maybe to London, perhaps?
“Actually, yeah, I’ve thought about changing scenery—maybe New York for a change of pace and to be closer to Kate.”
I look over at the bride dancing with my little brother. “You two have been friends a long time, huh?”
“Since the first grade.” She leans her elbow on the table, watching her friend happily in love.
“Really? I didn’t know it was that long. How have you two remained so close all this time?”
Beau shrugs. “Kate’s my soul mate. One of them at least.”
Soul mates. I don’t think I believe in soul mates. Or I don’t any more.
“What about you? Do you have an upscale flat in London like your brothers?” she asks.
I chuckle. “I do keep a flat in the city near the hospital, but it’s only slightly less grand than my brothers’ places. I have a manor just outside the city.”
She squishes her brow. “You have an entire manor all to yourself?”
“I do.”
She smirks, zeroing her eyes in on me. Now she’s interested. “What do you do with all that extra space?”
“It’s not that huge, maybe twelve thousand square feet.” I know plenty of manors that are triple the size of mine.
“Look, I get it. I grew up in a mansion myself. But twelve thousand square feet is still huge.”
I’d love to show her huge. “And how is it that you’ve had such a privileged life?”
“My parents are in the film business,” she answers slowly, seeming to choose the words carefully.
“The film business? As in the adult film business?”
“No!” She lightly shoves my shoulder. “Well, not that I know of at least. My family owns a major movie studio. My father runs it now.”
“That’s really interesting.” A lot more exciting than where my family’s money comes from.
“When you grow up in the City of Angels and huge Hollywood movie stars are at your house all the time, and even become your godparents, it doesn’t seem that interesting. It’s just normal to me.”
“So, who are your godparents?” I ask.
“Don Harrington and Eliza Everett.” She’s not kidding. Those two are superstars. More so in the eighties but still.
“That’s actually really cool. Are you close with them?” I’ve met plenty of celebs in my time but none of them a
re considered family. It must be so weird watching In Another Life and saying, Oh yeah, that’s my godmother.
“They’re mostly friends of my parents, but we usually see them a few times a year.”
“So, I guess you never get starstruck then.”
Beau laughs. “No.”
“Never? Never been starstruck?”
She shifts her eyes left then right and leans in like she’s about to share a secret. I would love to keep her secret. “Okay, I did get a little starstruck when my dad got a certain boy band to play at my fourteenth birthday party.”
“A certain boy band?”
“That’s all I’m gonna say.” She smiles as if she’s relaxed, no longer trying to keep me at arm’s length.
9
G ARRET’S SUPPOSED TO BE KEEPING AN EYE ON ME. Instead, he’s been chatting with some guy at his table for the past hour. So much for reinforcements. Sure, I could run over to one of our other friends and cry the sex-cleanse blues, but after a few drinks, I’m starting to think I can handle this on my own. I’ve done great over the past six months, I’m sure I can get through one more night.
Besides, Mick is a nice guy. He’s pretty easy to talk to. I’m starting to think that he may be a good candidate when I start dating again. No reason I can’t pre-approve him now and fall for him later. As I sit at this table, eating a velvety, white wedding cake and listening to him talk about heart valves, I start thinking that he’d be really easy to fall in love with. I wonder if he’s thinking the same about me.
After the bouquet toss and the garter throw, which I do not participate in, the bride and groom head off into the sunset on their motorcycle and over to St. Barts for the next week. Garret disappeared shortly after, and I have a feeling that I won’t see him again until we meet in LA. I take one of the limos back to the hotel with the other bridesmaids. They all want to go out with the British groomsmen, and I know that if I’m out with one particular groomsman, then I’ll end up in his bed. Besides, it’s been a long day, and I could use a good night of sleep.
