by J. M. Snyder
At the front counter, a woman whose nametag read Lynnette smiled as they filed into the boutique. “Welcome to Male ‘Ana Bridal,” she gushed. The Hawaiian words flowed easily off her tongue in a melodic way Lane didn’t think he could repeat. “Do you have an appointment, or are you just here to look around?”
“We’re here to pick up tuxedos,” Angie said, taking charge. “I don’t know what name you have us down under…”
Lynnette turned to her computer. “Usually it’s the bride’s maiden name. Would that be you?”
Angie laughed. “No, not me. It’s my brother getting married.”
Lynnette’s smile didn’t waver as she glanced at Bev and, noticing the family resemblance, turned to Kate instead. “You, then?”
“Oh, no,” Kate said, shaking her head and taking a step back. “He’s marrying my ex. Rem?”
Remy and Lane exchanged an amused look. “We’re the ones getting hitched,” Remy explained. “Isn’t spouse the preferred term now?”
A thin blush colored Lynnette’s cheeks. “Actually, we’re using an older system,” she explained. “A much older system. It still runs on DOS, if you’ll believe it.”
Lane laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. Of course it did. Leave it to Chell to rent their tuxedos from a boutique running an obsolete operating system.
“Try McIntosh,” Angie told her, spelling out the name. Lynnette typed it in, then shook her head. Angie tried again. “Anders, then.”
A moment later, Lynnette asked, “Lane?”
Remy grinned as he elbowed Lane. “So you’re the bride.”
“And you’re sleeping on the couch tonight if you say anything else about it,” Lane replied.
“I wonder what kind of dress they have you down for?” Remy teased.
Lane gave him a warning look, but Lynnette assured them, “Oh no, you’re down for a tux, don’t worry. Right this way, please.”
As she led them through the swinging doors into the back of the boutique, Kate asked, “So wait a minute. He’s listed in your system as a bride but you have him down for a tuxedo? And this didn’t set off any red flags or anything that something wasn’t right?”
“You’d be surprised what some women want to wear on their big day,” Lynnette said. “We’re very modern here, even if our computers are a little out of date.”
* * * *
Earlier in the year, Remy had sent Chell his and Lane’s measurements so she could reserve their tuxedos. She’d even coordinated their waistcoats and pocket handkerchiefs with the colors in the wedding, sand and teal. Remy had the swatches along with him to double-check, and they matched perfectly. Lane went into one dressing room, Remy in another, and they came out at the same time, decked in matching formalwear. The women sat on the sofa in front of the mirrors, and fawned over their entrance. Angie and Bev teared up, and Kate pulled out her phone to snap pictures. Even Braden looked up from his DS, interested in seeing what all the fuss was about.
In Lane’s eyes, Remy looked stunning. The black suit complemented his dark eyes, and the sand-colored waistcoat brought out the blond in his graying hair. Seeing him in the tux made Lane’s heart beat faster. I love him, I do.
He held out a hand, and Remy took it. Together they climbed onto the dais to face their reflections in the mirror. Lane looked just as sharp as Remy did, his teal waistcoat matching the color of his eyes. Remy eased an arm around Lane’s waist and pulled him into a half-hug. “God, we’re a couple of handsome mugs, aren’t we?” he murmured.
“We do clean up nice,” Lane admitted. He turned in the span of Remy’s arm and admired the way the suit pulled across his hips and buttocks. “Damn, I’m hot.”
Remy leaned in close to nuzzle against the back of Lane’s ear. “Sizzling,” he whispered. “What’s say we both go into the same dressing room this time, hmm? As much as I like seeing you in this getup, I’d like to see you out of it even more.”
But Angie clapped her hands sharply, startling them apart. “Hey, hey! No sniffing around the goods until the wedding day.”
Lane laughed. “Oh, honey, that ship’s already sailed.”
“Well, nothing doing while we’re here,” Kate amended. “Enough with the monkey suits already. We get it, you look great. Now let’s see some matching groomsmaids dresses, shall we?”
Angie agreed. “Sit down, you two. It’s our turn.”
* * * *
Back in the dressing room, Lane carefully shrugged out of the suit jacket and hung it back on the hanger. Then he unbuttoned the waistcoat and shirt, lingering over each button. He couldn’t shake the image of himself and Remy in the mirror, both incredibly sexy and dressed to the nines. He’d been fine when he had two weeks left of bachelorhood, but now they’d exchange their wedding vows in less than twenty-four hours, and the thought was sort of paralyzing, if Lane were being honest. This time last year, he’d been anxious about what Remy might say when presented with the ring he’d purchased for his lover for Christmas. A ring Remy himself had also bought for Lane. But he’d said yes, and here they were, days from marrying.
So why was Lane still anxious?
This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? The man, the moment, forever tied up so neatly in a golden band around his finger. The rest of his life with Remy by his side…
Lane felt light-headed. His breath grew shallow, his hands started to shake. The nape of his neck began to sweat and he gulped in air. God. He could do this, couldn’t he? This was Remy, the man he loved. How could he not do this?
He had to do this. Had to…
His fingers slipped off the button and he tugged at the shirt, clawing at the fabric, trying to get it off. Suddenly he felt faint. Stop it, he told himself, taking a deep breath. Calm down. Relax. What was he getting so worked up about? He loved Remy, he did, and he wanted to marry the man. He gave Remy a ring. This was what they both wanted.
Right?
A knock on the door startled him. He pulled at the shirt again, but the button held and he couldn’t seem to get it undone. “Just a minute,” he called out. Damn it, use another room, he added silently.
“Lane?” his sister asked through the door. “You okay in there?”
“Fine,” he answered, but the truth was he didn’t feel fine. He felt flustered and nervous for no real good reason at all, and he hated himself for it. I love Remy, he reminded himself. I do. I just have to get through today and tomorrow, and everything really will be fine.
Angie jiggled the doorknob. “You dressed? ‘Cause if so, I need to try on a few things.”
“Give me a minute, will you?” Lane snapped.
“Jeez, bite my head off,” she muttered. Then, pressing her face to the crack where the door met the frame, she asked, “Are you really alright?”
Lane sighed. Giving up on the button, he crossed the room and unlocked the door. “Come in,” he said, opening it.
Warily, Angie entered the dressing room carrying three cocktail-style dresses in various shades that complemented his teal waistcoat. As she hung them up, she asked, “Having a little trouble with the tux?”
“I can’t seem to get the damn buttons…” Lane tore at the shirt, pulling it out of his pants.
She caught his hands before he could damage the fabric. “Hold up, don’t rip it. These things aren’t cheap.” Carefully she began to work the buttons free, sneaking glances at his face to gauge his mood. As usual, she seemed able to understand him better than he did himself, and after a moment’s silence, she said, “So, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Lane started.
Angie snorted. “Bullshit. I know you. You’re freaking out.”
Lane sighed. “I’m not—”
“You are.” Angie got the last button free and helped Lane take off the shirt. “Trust me, I was the same way before my wedding. The first time I tried on my dress, I broke down in tears.”
Lane didn’t remember that. “Why? I thought you loved Ed.”
“I do,” Angie said. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t terrified at the thought of being tied down to one man for all eternity.”
Relieved he wasn’t the only one to feel that way, Lane sagged onto the bench in the corner of the dressing room. “God, that’s exactly what it’s like! I mean, I don’t want anyone else, I don’t, but I’m scared I’m…I don’t know…”
“Making the biggest mistake of your life?” Angie gave him a sympathetic smile. “Believe me, I felt the same way. I knew I loved Ed with every fiber of my being, but a teeny little part of me whispered, ‘But what if there’s someone else out there I meet later on and I can’t do anything about it because I’m already tied down with him?’ Or, worse, what if what we have before we get married disappears after we’re wed? What if getting married ruins our relationship? What then?”
Lane looked up at her, fearful. “Yeah, what then?”
Angie sank down beside him on the bench and took his hand in both of hers. “You love Remy.”
“I do,” Lane assured her. “With all my heart and soul. He’s everything I’ve always wanted. But what if what you just said happens? What if we lose this when we get married? What if—”
“Hush.” Angie squeezed his hand to quiet him. “Listen to me. Do you know the day of my wedding I almost called the whole thing off?”
He frowned at her, surprised. “What? No. You never told me that.”
She nodded. “I did. My hair was done, my makeup, I was dressed, everything was ready, everyone was there. I was in one of the classrooms at the church where Mom had set me up to wait, and I could hear the organ playing while the ushers were seating everybody. I was petrified. I literally thought game over, man. This is it. This is the end. I can’t do this. I can’t go through with it. In that instant, I knew why some people just bailed. I got it. I totally got it.”
Lane grasped her hands in his. “What did you do?”
“Well, suddenly, I…I don’t know why, but I thought of those games we used to play as kids.” Angie sniffled and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Remember Super Mario? We had it on the Commodore back in the day. We never beat the damn thing, but we’d get so excited when we reached the end of a level and got to the next. Remember?”
“You always wanted to play Mario,” Lane said, smiling at the memory, “until you realized I always let you because Luigi jumped farther. Have you seen the games Braden plays? Graphics have come a long way since the Commodore 64.”
Angie laughed. “Yeah, and yet the kids today are all about Minecraft. I don’t understand the appeal of a 16-bit game in a 3D world. I mean, why play retro video games when you can play realistic ones? You don’t see people buying cassette tapes or eight-tracks instead of CDs.”
“Some still buy vinyl, though,” Lane pointed out.
Angie shook her head. “What I’m trying to say is, I suddenly had an epiphany. I loved Ed, I do, and I always will. So my problem was that I was thinking of marriage as an end—like I’d said, game over—when really it was more like, I don’t know, leveling up. He was my Princess Peach. I wasn’t finishing the game when I married him. I was moving onto Super Mario Brothers 2.”
Holding her hands in both of his, Lane smiled at the earnest way she looked at him. “Ange, first of all, thanks. It helps knowing feeling like this is normal. I want to marry Remy, I do. I love him—”
“I know you do.” Angie gave him a tight grin. “And I know you don’t want anyone else to have him, am I right?”
Lane laughed. “But seriously, you’ve only been here what, two days? And all this talk about video games makes me think you’re hanging around Braden way too much.”
Chapter 13
Just as Remy feared, they spent all blessed day at the bridal shop. After they tried on their tuxedos, he and Lane sat on the sofa and watched Kate and Angie parade past in numerous dresses, each prettier than the last. “What do you think of this one?” his ex-wife would ask, twirling around on the dais to look at her reflection in all three mirrors before waltzing back to the dressing room without waiting for a response.
Then Angie would appear, pirouetting on heels in a similar dress in a different color. “How’s this one?” she’d ask, taking her turn on the dais.
“I don’t know why you bother asking,” Lane groused at one point. “You don’t even wait for us to respond before you leave to try on the next dress.”
Remy leaned his head against his lover’s shoulder. “That’s because it’s a trap. They don’t really care what we think. They just want to show off.”
“Hey! That isn’t true!” Kate cried as she whirled past in yet another taffeta confection. “You’re just too slow answering. You’re still looking and making up your mind, and we’ve already rejected this one for something new.”
Remy held out his arm, indicating the dress she currently wore. It was smartly cut, with a tight, hourglass shape that highlighted all her curves. The top portion was sand-colored, with a scoop neckline that dipped over her arms in mock sleeves and ended just below her bosom, enhancing her bust. The lower portion was black, knee-length, with a slit up the back. It was, in a word, breath-taking, and could be worn again at any number of functions with no one knowing it had once been used in a wedding. “So tell us,” Remy said, raising an eyebrow at Lane, who covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smirk, “what’s wrong with that one?”
Kate stopped in mid-step on the dais and gave her reflection a critical stare in each mirror. “Nothing,” she admitted finally. “It’s perfect.”
The door to Angie’s dressing room opened and she came out then, wearing the same dress but in teal instead of sand. Lane gasped audibly. His sister gave him a withered look. “What’s that for?”
“You look awesome,” he told her.
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know…”
But as she approached the mirrors and saw Kate in the same dress, she nodded appreciatively. “We do look good,” she had to admit.
For a brief moment, Remy hoped maybe the day wouldn’t drag on as long as he had feared. But no—the women only agreed the dress was nice enough to set aside as a possible yes. “What’s that even mean?” Remy griped as they returned to their individual rooms to try on the next dress…and the next, and the next.
Lane lay back against the sofa and closed his eyes. “It means I can totally understand now why some women choose to wear tuxes instead of go through all this hassle.”
“They’re calling themselves groomsmaids, aren’t they?” Remy asked. “Maybe we should make them wear tuxes, too…”
In unison, both Kate and Angie opened their dressing room doors and hollered, “No!”
Lane smirked as the doors slammed shut, one after the other. “Yeah, good luck making that happen.”
* * * *
They took a break for lunch and ate at a small cafe in the same strip mall as the boutique. Remy called his parents to tell them the wedding date had been moved up—he had tried to get in touch with them the night before, but they were either beyond reach of a cell phone tower, which he found hard to believe on such a small island, or they were ignoring his call. More likely, his mother just didn’t feel her phone vibrate from the depths of the huge purse she carried. She never turned on her ringer, and it annoyed Remy because she never felt it ring. Over lunch, he tried again, and left a message this time. “Call me,” he said simply. “ASAP. You need to come to the hotel tonight. Plans have changed. Call me back today or else.”
“That sounded drastic,” Lane joked.
Remy shook his head. “I feel drastic. They fly all the way out here for my wedding and then take off on their own little vacation. What the heck?”
After lunch, it was back to the shop, this time for Braden’s fitting, and Bev wanted a nice dress, too. Oh, and Angie thought Emma should wear something pretty with a lot of ruffles, since she was apparently going to be the flower girl. Remy leaned against Lane and murmured, “Who’s idea was that?”
Lane sh
rugged, which settled him back against his lover. “I thought she’d run it by you already? She didn’t ask me.”
“Can the baby even walk straight?” Remy wanted to know.
“A little,” Lane said, “but I’m not sure if she can walk and toss out flowers at the same time. And she sort of has the attention span of a puppy, so if anyone distracts her, she’ll veer right off the aisle and disappear.”
Remy dropped his forehead to Lane’s shoulder. “I’m so not looking forward to next weekend.”
Lane patted the top of his lover’s head. “We have the license already. At any point, just say the word and we can ditch everyone to get hitched at the Justice of the Peace.”
As Kate and Angie waffled over their dresses, Lynnette hovered nearby. “You know we do close at three on Saturdays, right?” she asked timidly.
“Oh, I think we’ve narrowed it down,” Kate assured her.
Lynnette sighed with relief.
Angie motioned to a nearby rack. “There’s just about a half dozen I want to try on again to make sure I really don’t like them,” she explained, “and then there are what, eight or so, that we need to whittle down?”
“Something like that, yes,” Kate said with a nod.
Remy groaned as Lynnette’s smile turned brittle. “How about now?” Remy asked. “Can we ditch them now?”
* * * *
In the boutique, time seemed to trickle to a standstill, but Kate and Angie finally settled on a dress—and Remy felt really proud of himself for not pointing out that it was the same damn dress he and Lane had liked hours earlier, the two-tone cocktail dress with the hourglass shape, and if they had chosen it when Remy said it was nice, then they could’ve saved themselves the whole rest of the day, but nooo, apparently they had had to try on every other fucking dress in the entire goddamn store…but he wasn’t mad about that, no. He knew well enough to pick his battles, and arguing with his ex-wife over what she wanted to wear was not a fight he would win in this lifetime or the next.
