by Parker Swift
“So where are we going?” I asked as he pulled me onto his lap in the back of the black sedan.
He moved the hair off my shoulder, and used both hands to slip my navy-blue jacket off my shoulders. He laid a kiss on my exposed arm, and took my hand in his own. He reverently stared down at the rings and moved them between his fingers.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing these on you,” he said and kissed my hand. Then he looked down to his own ring. “And I love this. Thank you.”
I smiled for a moment. “I’m glad. But stop deflecting. Where are we going?”
“Baby, it will be so much better for you to just find out. Patience.”
I groaned and lay my head against his shoulder, letting go a sigh.
“I’ll take the Manhattan Bridge, sir, if that’s all right. Less construction,” the driver piped up from the front seat.
“Sounds fine.” Dylan’s voice was authoritative but softened by all the emotion of the evening.
“And might I add, congratulations to you both.”
“Thank you,” we said in unison, and I looked out the window as we crossed the bridge.
“I love this view,” I said. “Leaving Manhattan behind and seeing the Statue of Liberty in the distance always makes me feel like I’m going home.”
“You are.”
I nuzzled into him and watched the familiar streets pass us by until we pulled up in in front of one of the most familiar bars on one of the most familiar streets. I sat up straight and looked right into Dylan’s eyes, taking his face in my hands. “You didn’t.” I asked, already feeling the smile spread across my face.
I looked out the window at Great Lakes, my father’s favorite dive bar, the place I’d practically grown up. The home of the dart record I held. The home of my father’s best friends, and the one place where he still took refuge and managed to get to even in his last days. The lights were dim inside, as they always were, but there was something different about it. I looked at the door, and they’d strung twinkly lights around the entrance. Unless Jake and Rhodes had suddenly decided to get fancy, something was definitely up.
“What’s going on?” I asked, but the car door swung open, and Dylan stepped out, smiling and reaching his hand inside to help me. As soon as I stepped out, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the entrance. “Oh my god. I can’t wait to show you this place!”
I was about to pull the door open when I saw a piece of white paper taped to the door with electrical tape—just Jake’s style. It read, in big block letters:
A WEDDING HAPPENED. WE’RE CELEBRATING. COME IN IF YOU HAVE TO, BUT IF YOU FUCK IT UP YOU’RE OUT.
I started laughing and looked at Dylan. “And that is why my dad loved these guys. Loyal to an insane degree.” Dylan laughed and looked at me with so much love I thought I’d choke. He looked at me in a way that said that while he may have thought the sign was entertaining, it was the fact it meant something to me that he cared about. “Come on,” I said and practically dragged him through the doorway.
I was buoyant and giggling when I stepped through the door, but as soon as we were in the room, I felt a rush of emotion. My fingers threaded through Dylan’s, and I just stood still. Everyone was there. Jake, Rhodes, their wives. My dad’s other friends from the bar—a group of surly Brooklyn guys—artists, bar owners, musicians, cooks, and shop owners. Daphne and her parents, Charlie and Karen. All the people that had loved him, and me. It was almost as if my dad were there, and I felt a tear fall.
I also felt Dylan’s hard chest against my back, and his strong hands gripped my waist and pulled me close to him. He leaned over my shoulder and whispered into my ear, “Okay there, damsel?”
I nodded and leaned back into him. “Thank you,” I whispered back.
And then they were there.
Jake picked me up and twirled me around, giving me an insane bear hug and then depositing me on a twirling bar stool and giving it a spin. “Get this girl some of our finest bubbly!” he said, and a pint of beer quickly landed in front of me.
One by one the guys came up to me. Hugged me. Told me how much they missed my dad, how happy they were for me, how much they knew he’d want to have been there. And while they talked to me, they also took turns talking to Dylan. I knew they were all giving him the third degree. I saw arms crossed over chests, standoffs, and once-overs. But in each case, the conversations quickly settled into laughter, pats on the shoulder, and in the case of Rhodes, an actual hug. They were all doing what my dad couldn’t do—watching over me, giving their blessing, and letting Dylan know that each one of these men was my father.
At some point, Daphne pulled me aside. She was giggly and drunk and had been flirting with one of the other bartenders.
“Are you okay?” she asked with a look that somehow conveyed excitement for me as well as concern. She knew exactly the wave of mixed emotions running through me.
I nodded, and gave her a hug. “Was this your idea?”
“Nope. Well, I mean, Dylan ran it by me, asked me if I thought it would be what you’d want, but really he did the whole thing on his own. I thought about inviting the other girls, but I figured you guys might not be quite ready to enter into the gossip mill yet.”
“Thank you. I’m glad it’s just you and the guys. Thank you, Daph, for everything today. I didn’t need much to make today perfect, but I needed you.” I pulled her into another longer, firmer hug. “I miss you, ya know.”
“I know. I miss you too. Come back more, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
“So what’s the plan now that you guys are hitched? Do you have to go to like Duchess School or something?”
I laughed, so giddy from this night. “You’re so weird. No,” I started, and she shrugged her shoulders as though it weren’t a ridiculous possibility that Duchess School existed. “For now, nothing. I don’t know how long having a normal full-time job for a company will work—Dylan has to go to events all the time, and now that we’re married I’ll go with him.”
“Aww, poor Lydia, having to go to all the balls.” She mocked me lovingly, otherwise I would have smacked her.
“Very funny. But seriously, I can’t very well be coming to New York for a month at a time for Hannah if Dylan and I are taking care of Humboldt or attending events. So, I really don’t know. But you know, I think I want to work for myself. I’m not sure exactly what or how, but I think I could do what I’ve done for Fiona with her jewelry business and Hannah with her store for other designers.” I shrugged my shoulders, not ready to delve into my career options at my wedding reception, but also feeling oddly calm in that something like that, something independent, was where I was headed. “Dylan and I will figure it out.”
“Plus, you’re going to have like a dozen little aristocratic babies, right?”
“Daphne!” I shoved her in the shoulder with as much love as I could while it could still be considered a shove.
“What?! Aren’t you? Don’t you have to like line up the next duke or whatever?”
“I’m only twenty-five!”
“Tell me you’ve at least talked about it,” Daphne said, interrupting my train of thought. I was still silent. “Lydia!”
“Of course we’ve talked about it, but we’re not in any rush.” She was such a pill.
“What are you two up to?” Dylan’s hands landed on my hips, and his lips landed in my hair. “You look like mischief.”
“Who, me?” Daphne asked, playing the innocent.
Dylan lovingly glared at her. “All I know is that she was laughing, and now my darling wife looks far too serious.” He kissed me again, this time leaning around to the front to kiss me on the lips. There were hollers and whistles from the bar area. “Dance with me,” he instructed, and I turned around into his guiding arms.
I was pulled out to a small area where Dylan had pushed some tables aside. There was no real dance floor at Great Lakes. Ella Fitzgerald started to play from the jukebox, and Dylan pulled me close against him. We barely
moved. Instead he swayed me in his arms.
“At the wedding, we’ll waltz. But that will be for everyone else. This is for us,” Dylan whispered into my hair and pulled my head beneath his chin.
“You don’t mind that our wedding night is being spent at a Brooklyn dive bar?” I asked him. It had nagged at me a little, just how different this was from anything in Dylan’s world.
“It’s perfect. I’ve had luxury and exclusivity all my life. Now I have you. And you have this. And it’s perfect.”
“But it’s so different from your world.”
“Our world. These are both our world now. One place.”
I nodded into his chest. Our world. It didn’t feel that way yet. Technically, I was now a duchess. And it still felt foreign, like not quite a part of who I was.
“These people love you,” Dylan said, gesturing to the bar around us. “And they loved your father. I think they consider you one of their own.”
“They do. I can’t believe you thought of it. Thank you. Thank you, Dylan, for everything.”
He stopped our dancing and moved his hands to frame my face. His eyes held mine for a moment before he started speaking. “No, baby. No ‘thanks.’ You’re a part of me. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you, and this? Bringing the people who love you together? It’s a given.”
I reached up—I didn’t need to go too far in the heels I was wearing—and pressed my lips to his. “I love you, Dylan William Lucas Hale, seventeenth Duke of Abingdon, architectural prodigy, and the hottest non-eligible non-bachelor in London.”
He laughed and pulled me against him, his hands moving to grip my waist firmly. “Cheeky thing, let’s—”
He was interrupted by the sound of silverware on glass. “Okay, good-for-nothings, scoundrels, and everyone else in here. And you two”—Jake pointed at us—“the lady and gentleman of the evening. Daphne’s a lady too, I suppose.”
“Hey!” Daphne shouted.
“Yeah, yeah, Miss D., fancy attorney.” He appeased her and we all laughed at their banter. Daphne was almost as much family here as I was. “Now shut your yappers. I need to say a few words. Because we know if Rick were here he’d say at least a few.” The crowd laughed, and Dylan held me just a little harder in his arms. “Your dad, Lydia, was also a gentleman. He was, without question, the smartest, kindest, classiest guy I knew. Lord knows what he was doing hanging around with the likes of us.” There was an “all right all right” from behind me, and a gentle laugh rippled through the crowd. “The first time he brought you in here, you were a tiny little thing. You couldn’t have been more than five. He perched you right here on this bar,” he said, knocking the mahogany ledge with his free hand, “and ordered you a Shirley Temple. And from that moment on you were family.”
Dylan wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me further into him. I smiled up at Jake, feeling safer and warmer and more whole than I’d felt possibly ever. “You know most of our stories, Lydia. You probably knew more than you should have at too young an age. But there are probably a few things you don’t know. When you started at NYU. Your first day. Your dad came here at noon and sat on that stool right there. He always felt sorry that you were stuck with him, but we all knew you two were the luckiest pair that ever walked this planet.” I nodded in agreement. “But he sat there and my god, until the day you graduated, I’d never seen a man prouder. And the day you did graduate? Well, you know. He was pretty sick by then. You were there giving your speech, and your dad was in the hospital. Me and Rhodes over there went to the hospital to sit with him. He had a transfusion that day.” I gasped slightly. The transfusions were always hard on him. He’d told me his doctor’s visit that day was routine but couldn’t be rescheduled because of the clinical trial rules. “He knew that if you knew, you’d skip your graduation without a second thought. But, and here’s what you may not know, your dad always knew what you were giving up for him, and it broke his heart every day. But he wasn’t worried. Just like the rest of us, he could see how special you were. You are. He had to accept early on he’d have to miss some of the big days, so he told us he tried to look at you like every day was graduation day. Like every day was your wedding day. He said that was the only way to get through. He didn’t avoid thinking about the things he’d miss. Instead, he said he thought of them every day. He imagined you finding a fella. He imagined you having kids and buying your first house. He said he imagined all of it. Every day. He said it made him feel like he wasn’t missing things. So, baby girl, he didn’t miss today. He saw it. Every day.”
I wiped a tear from my eye, and Dylan threaded his fingers through mine as our hands rested against my stomach. He kissed the top of my head, and I submitted to it. I submitted to it all. To all of the love in that room, to being taken care of, to missing my dad, to being part of something new. I smiled at Jake, trying to convey the tidal wave of gratitude rolling through me.
“The one thing I know he’d never have seen coming though, is that mister there.” He smiled and pointed at Dylan with his beer cup. “You’ve got yourself a class act there, Lydia. And if he has half a brain, which I’m pretty sure he does, he’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” Everyone cheered, but Jake raised his glass again and shushed them. “And. And. He’ll bring you back here every now and again.”
“As if he could keep me away!” I shouted, another tear falling, and Dylan laughed with me and the rest of the room.
“That’s our girl!” Jake raised his cup into the air, and the whole room, many of whom were strangers, just the standard dive bar audience, followed suit. “To Lydia and Dylan! Definitely too good for this place but ours all the same! You’re family now, Dylan, so drink up!”
Someone shoved shots into our hands. Dylan looked at me with a huge smile on his face and barely containing a crazy mix of emotions—I saw laughter and reverence and love all over him. We slung back the burning liquid, and then he curled me into him.
“Time to go home, Duchess. Time to make you my wife.” He spoke only to me, and I could feel the heat spreading, beginning in my cheeks and reaching into the far corners of my body.
Chapter 20
Lydia
My first morning as Mrs. Dylan Hale. Wait, was it Mrs? Lady? Oh lord, I was going to have to figure this shit out. Could I even say oh lord anymore if I was actually married to a lord?
My first morning as Dylan’s wife, and I woke to the smell of coffee and toast. My favorite toast—seeded rye with lots of butter. I fluttered my eyes open and saw the delicious breakfast on my nightstand. Then I felt Dylan’s hand stroke my back.
“Baby,” Dylan said. “It’s nearly eight. Do you have to work?” He looked slightly pleading as he asked the question. “Let me rephrase: Can you get out of working?”
I smiled, because there was nothing I wanted more than to get out of working. Technically, it was our honeymoon. But technically it was also the opening day of the pop-up store. My shoulders sank, and he knew as well as I did that I had to go.
“I have to go to the store, and I committed to a month, but then I want to go home, to London, with you. Can you stay? Work from here for another two weeks?”
“Damsel.” He looked at me like he was explaining something to a child. “Don’t you understand? I never want to be apart from you again. Of course I’ll work from here for the next two weeks. Just promise to get your arse home to me every night.”
And I did.
For two weeks we lived our New York life. Dylan worked from an office at the Yale Club, working on the final touches for the Olympic Stadium, checking in on Humboldt from afar, and conducting preparations for the MI6 operation of some kind—apparently, against all my hopes, he was going to have to go through with it after all. I went to SoHo for the pop-up shop, and the days were a blur with sales and press exceeding all of our expectations. And I found myself daydreaming about what exactly my career might look like when we got back.
We just went about our days. One night we hos
ted a dinner party for Daphne and the rest of my college friends. Other nights we went back to Great Lakes and had a drink with the guys before coming home and ordering takeout. And other nights we walked to Prospect Park, went to the movies, and made our own version of Brooklyn life—not the one I’d known before him—the one we made together.
We were married, and we felt it. It was as though our little world, the one that consisted of Dylan and Lydia and all of our wants and needs and inside jokes and annoyances and private gestures, grew. That world expanded, made its mark. And the rest of the world felt like it was falling away. I was pretty sure this is what a honeymoon was supposed to be, even if ours was happening on the fourth floor of a Brooklyn brownstone. And there were nights we just stayed in. Dylan made sure we took our marriage consummation duties very seriously; by the end of the two weeks, I seriously doubted there was any part of me he hadn’t consumed.
* * *
We decided to fly back to London late on a Saturday afternoon. So that morning I woke early to pack and try to put the apartment back together for the management company. A tenant would likely be moving in the next month, and I needed to make sure all of my personal belongings were put back in the storage closet.
“I think we should keep this place, use it,” Dylan said, while I was taping up a box of my dad’s stuff that I planned on bringing by the bar for the guys.
“What do you mean?” I finished that box and started moving the boxes that would stay here back into the closet. Otherwise we were ready to go.
“This is your home, I want it to be our home. Or, one of them, rather.” Dylan held up the framed photograph of my father and me at my high school graduation, and then turned it back so he could look at it. “You were adorable. I love this picture.”
“It was a good day.” I smiled back at him as he approached me and wrapped his strong arms around me. “But, Dylan, this is New York. We live in London.”
“I come here for work. So do you. There are people here who love you. We should come back more and stay here. I love this side of you. And I love this place. This will always be the place where we were first married, baby. I don’t want other people staying here. It’s yours. It’s ours.”
