by M. C. Adams
‘Well, that’s what I’m trying to figure out,’ I say. ‘She’s still with this girl, Kitty, last I heard. They’re living in Kitty’s tiny apartment in Shoreditch. I know we haven’t split our assets yet, but I’m sure she has enough spare cash to be able to rent somewhere far better if she wanted to… But she’s always been too miserly for that. She’s playing the long game, you see. Waiting to pounce on this place the first chance she gets. My thinking is: I bet she’s doing everything in her power to get that girl to marry her, and so far, she hasn’t said yes.’
‘So, in the meantime, she’s just trying to freak you out enough to hand it over to her anyway.’
‘Exactly.’
I shake my head, helping myself to a third croissant. ‘People can be so fucking greedy,’ I say, adding yet more butter and yet more jam to my croissant. ‘There must be something you can do. You can’t let this manipulative twat win.’
Klein wipes his hands with a napkin and then looks across the table at me. ‘Well, there is something I can do… This is going to sound weird coming from a man wrapped in a towel who’s practically, a stranger, but, uh…’
‘Yeah?’ I ask, frowning. ‘What is it? Just say it. Don’t be nervous.’
‘The thing is… if I get married first…’
My eyes open as wide as saucers.
‘Hunter, will you, uh, marry me?’
I blink.
‘Just until the house becomes legally mine. And then you’re free to go. I shouldn’t think I’ll even need your services as a bodyguard after that. My ex-wife will have to accept defeat. So… what do you say? It’s crazy, I know… but it might just work… And of course, you’d be reimbursed for the inconvenience. How does a million sound?’
‘A million fucking pounds? To marry you?’
Klein smiles. He stands up, and removes the towel wrapped around him, then puts his hands on his hips defiantly. His beautiful, lithe body looks more powerful than ever before.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘A million fucking pounds. To marry me.’
5
KLEIN
* * *
There’s a tradition that the groom shouldn’t see the bride in her dress until she arrives at the church.
But I don’t think there’s a tradition about grooms seeing grooms…
Anyway, nothing about this wedding is traditional, so what does it matter if Hunter and I see each other before we get married?
We’re in a hotel room in the Lake District. Surrounded by beautiful rolling countryside in all directions. This is the place that inspired William Wordsworth to ‘wander lonely as a cloud’, and Beatrix Potter to create her famous children’s books.
It’s the place that I wanted to get married the first time around, but Charlotte insisted on a beach wedding. Nothing wrong with the Caribbean. Nothing at all. It’s a fabulous place, and the beaches of Grenada are second-to-none. But there was so much fuss. Getting our friends and family to fly out there, the jet lag, the yacht, the calypso music, and all the things that Charlotte booked that just… didn’t feel like me.
The Lakes are where I spent my holidays as a child. They’re green, they’re peaceful, they’re… home from home.
And our hotel is exquisite. Five-star accommodation right on the shores of Lake Windermere. Apparently, this place was built in 1880 for an eccentric Earl, and, through the ages, it’s gained Edwardian and Art Deco flourishes, and a fine-dining restaurant which recently acquired a Michelin star.
There’s a reason we’ve come up here to get married, though, and it’s not just for the luxury hotel and the stunning views. We’re getting married away from London so that we can perform the ceremony in private. Away from Charlotte’s creepy stalkers, and away from anyone who might recognise me and cotton on to what I’m doing. And, since we’re bothering to come all this way — why not do it in style?
Currently, I’m trying to do up my bow-tie but I’m struggling. Hunter is in the room next to mine — we have adjoining doors so that if any more strange men enter my room in the dead of night, he can run in and be a naked superhero once again. Last night I slept so much more soundly knowing that he was just an unlocked door away from me. Now, I walk up to that door and give it a gentle knock.
‘Hunter?’ I call. ‘How are you getting on?’
I hear Hunter’s footsteps approaching, and he pulls back the door a crack. ‘Promise you won’t laugh,’ he says.
‘Of course I won’t.’
He pulls the door fully open now, and when I see him, I gasp. ‘Oh my goodness. You look amazing.’
He’s wearing a tux. I gave him some extra money so that we could have a little fun on our fake wedding day, and he rented the outfit from a place in the West End. It fits him perfectly. It’s black, and slightly shiny, with a matching black bow-tie, and a fitted white shirt and waistcoat. He’s wearing stark grey eye-shadow, like he was that first night we met, making his green eyes pop. The whole ensemble looks strong and sexy.
Hunter coughs, as if to hide an embarrassed smile. ‘Yeah. Thanks. You don’t think it’s… too much?’
‘No,’ I say, stepping out from behind my side of the door, showing him my own tuxedo.
At that point, Hunter’s jaw drops. ‘Holy fuck. You’re wearing like, a proper wedding tux. With tales and everything.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I got married on the beach for my, uh, my real wedding. Wore something a little more casual, more appropriate for the sand and the thirty-five degree heat. Wanted something more traditional this time. What do you think? Not too flouncy?’
Hunter’s eyes trail down to my bright pink bow, and then to the soft grey fabric of the double-breasted blazer.
‘It’s vintage,’ I say. ‘I bid for it at an auction. Funny to think that someone else got married in this once before. I wonder what they’d think of what we’re about to do.’
Hunter takes a step closer to me, and takes my hand. ‘What we’re about to do is fucking epic,’ he says. ‘It’s like, the maddest thing I’ve ever done. But I wouldn’t want to be doing it with anyone else.’
I stifle a small giggle. ‘We barely know each other.’
Hunter purses his lips, and looks deep into my eyes. ‘We’re working on that.’
I nod, and then clasp and unclasp my hands. ‘Gosh. This is so surreal. I feel nervous! Would you like some champagne? I know it’s early, but…’
‘I never really liked champagne,’ says Hunter.
I burst out laughing at this. ‘Oh, come on. You made me try that “punky” beer the night we met. And it turned out I liked it. A little too much. So you’ve got to try some champagne.’
Hunter grins, and then shrugs. ‘Sure.’
‘Shall we do it in my room?’ I ask, instantly blushing at how suggestive that sounds.
‘Love to,’ replies Hunter.
Just before I turn to go and get the champagne, I spot something on Hunter’s dresser. It’s cologne. I’ve seen that scent before. Jo Malone’s mint and white jasmine. So that’s how he smells so delicious.
‘Oh, hang on, do you want me to do up your bow-tie?’ Hunter asks, as he follows me into the room.
‘Oops, I completely forgot. That’s why I knocked on your door in the first place. Yes. Please.’ He takes hold of my bow-tie, and with a practiced, confident hand, he ties it perfectly. Something about having his hands this close to me, almost touching the skin of my fresh-shaved face, makes my legs feel funny, almost weak and trembly.
I grab the champagne from the ice bucket next to my window. I only ordered it from room service half an hour ago, so it’s still lovely and cold. I pop the cork and pour out two glasses, then hand one to Hunter.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘Cheers. And thank you for agreeing to this. I really appreciate it.’
‘Thanks for asking,’ says Hunter, and we clink glasses. Then, tentatively, Hunter takes a sip. ‘That’s… that’s… actually… really not to my taste at all, mate. Sorry.’
I laugh. ‘It’s okay. R
eally. Thanks for trying it. It means there’s more for me, anyway! There are some more drinks in the minibar. Why don’t you help yourself to one of those?’
Hunter nods, and then grabs himself a can of beer from the fridge.
We sit at the table, looking out over the lake, and for a while, neither of us speaks.
It feels nice to sit like this. I’ve always felt like it’s a good sign, being able to be quiet with someone. It shows that you’re comfortable around them. And, as nervous as I am about today, and as weird as all this is… I am comfortable with Hunter. I mean, I’m a mixture of things — excited, intrigued, and even, dare I say it, a little turned on. But I really am comfortable with him too. I can tell that he’s a good person. I don’t feel the need to try to perform for him or be someone I’m not. Which means that being around him is helping me start to understand who I really am.
‘So, I take it you never married before, Hunter?’ I ask.
Hunter shakes his head. ‘Nah. Never had much luck in that department.’
‘Well, you’re still young… there’s time.’
Hunter takes another gulp of beer. ‘It’s never been that important to me really. Marriage. Kids. All that stuff. I just want to have a connection with someone, you know? Something more than just mind-blowing sex.’
Those words make my cheeks flush. Is that what sex is like for Hunter? Mind-blowing? It’s never been like that for me, unfortunately…
‘That’s a very sensible approach,’ I say. ‘Having a connection is the main thing. And, uh, mind-blowing sex is just a bonus.’
Hunter laughs. ‘Yeah. It’s a rarity, though. I think you maybe have to have the connection before you can have the incredible sex. I’ve just never really… connected with someone.’
Gosh. He’s really opening up to me here. So maybe sex isn’t all fun and games for someone like Hunter. Seems like no matter how you play the game of life — whether you’re straight-laced like me, or a rebel like Hunter — there’s always something that gets in the way of achieving true happiness. I decide to open up some more to Hunter in return.
‘You know, my last wedding day was mediocre at best. This one is already proving to be a lot more enjoyable. No snarky in-laws, no sand in my shoes, no sudden tropical thunderstorms that blow away half your decorations. The main thing, though, is that I’m with you. And not my ex-wife.’ I take a deep breath. ‘We never had the kind of connection thing that you’re talking about. And we never had mind-blowing sex, either. Actually, we didn’t even have sex at all by the end.’
Hunter looks out of the window for a while, and then asks: ‘You know, there’s something I’m confused about. How come you were out at a gay bar the night we met? Were you hoping to run into a badass bodyguard, or… were you looking for a husband?’
I’ve been waiting for this question. And I’m not going to lie about it.
‘You remember I told you I had a proposition for you that night?’ I begin. ‘I was going to ask you to marry me. But I chickened out… When I heard that you were a bouncer, it gave me the idea of asking you to provide personal security for me. As it turns out, you’ve made an excellent bodyguard, so Plan B wasn’t so bad after all.’
‘Why go to a gay club looking for a fake husband, though?’
‘Oh. I see. Well, uh. The thing is. I don’t really know how to put this. Okay. My ex-wife said I was boring. That the reason she cheated on me was because I never wanted to try anything new. I was stuck in my ways.’
‘Ah, I get it now,’ says Hunter, slamming his empty can down on the table. ‘You wanted to prove to her just how interesting you are by marrying some dude? Am I right?’
He stands up.
‘Yes. Kind of. I mean. No. It’s more complicated than that. But… oh god. That makes me sound awful, doesn’t it?’
Hunter wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘It is what it is,’ he says. ‘Right. Come on. Let’s get married. I’ve been late for everything my whole life. I don’t want to be late for this, too.’
I nod and stand up, slipping on my smooth-soled shoes, and I follow Hunter out of the hotel room.
I can’t tell if he’s furious with me right now or not. He’s either completely cool with what I just said, or he thinks I’m a complete ass, and feels appalled on behalf of gay people everywhere.
I wish I could tell him the truth. The real truth about why I was really there that night.
But that will have to wait.
I have a wedding to attend.
6
HUNTER
* * *
‘Feels weird to be coming back to London a married man,’ I say, looking out of the window at all the posh houses of Kensington. ‘Hunter MacArthur. I kinda like it.’
‘You know you could’ve kept your surname,’ Klein tells me. ‘Or we could have hybridised it if we really wanted to be fancy. Mister and Mister MacArthur-Potts. Or Potts-MacArthur.’
‘Fuck, I hate my surname. Glad to be rid of it. Hey, even after we get divorced, can I keep your name? As a little memento?’
Klein smiles. ‘We’ll see. I’m not sure that was written into the contract.’
‘You and your contracts,’ I say, nudging him playfully. ‘That’s what got you into all this trouble in the first place.’
It’s winter, but it’s a sunny day outside, and in spite of the weirdness of everything that happened in the Lake District, I’m in a good mood.
There was a moment before we got married, back in the hotel room, when I almost freaked out.
Hearing Klein say that he wanted to marry a man just to be ‘interesting’.
For a split second, I was pretty pissed off. Like, he was just another straight man thinking that gay people are cute or fascinating or exciting or whatever.
People with his kind of privilege have no idea what it’s like for people like me. The daily prejudice and homophobia, being disowned by people who you thought cared about you, having to hide who you are in public for fear of getting insulted, or worse.
But then, I thought… fuck it.
He’s been open with me from the start — relatively speaking. As far as I know, he hasn’t lied to me. He’s just a little naive. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s lived the life he’s lived… and I’ve lived mine.
So I decided to go with the flow, and enjoy the fact I was having a fucked-up wedding day with a sexy guy for the princely fee of one million pounds.
One million fucking pounds. I mean, I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like to have that much money. It doesn’t feel real… But it is. Just as soon as this house stuff has been wrapped up, the money will be mine.
I look up at the house as we approach it. It really is impressive. I can see why Klein would want to hang onto it.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying all this just a little bit.
And that marrying Klein hadn’t been kind of thrilling.
Luckily, we didn’t get any hassle from any gay-haters on our wedding day. Maybe folks just cut you some slack on your wedding day.
Either way, walking up to the stately home where we got married, I actually didn’t feel threatened for once in my life. Klein even held my hand as we walked in. Normally I wouldn’t dream of a public display of affection like that. Seen too many friends get beaten up just for daring to look queer.
And, of course, I’ve been beaten up myself.
First, there was my dad… then a total stranger.
That’s the reason I carry self-defence spray with me wherever I go now.
I didn’t put it in my tux on our wedding day, though. And it was really cool to see how accepting everyone was in the Lake District. They didn’t seem to mind our sexuality at all. We even had visitors at the stately home coming over to congratulate us. And, amazingly, the couple who the organisers found to witness our wedding were both men — visiting the stately home that day to see if they wanted it for their wedding. Turns out there’s a pub run by two gay women nearby, and since they opened for
business the area has become a bit of a hotspot for the LGBTQ+ community in the Lakes. So really, it couldn’t have worked out better.
The wedding was strangely emotional, even though it wasn’t real.
We held each other’s hands and looked into each other’s eyes, delivering our vows like they actually meant something. Klein even teared up at one point, and that set me off. Obviously, when the officiator said, ‘You can kiss the groom’ to me — I guess because I was the one with a black tux and bow-tie — we politely declined.
‘We’ll just opt for a hug,’ said Klein. So that’s what we did... But the hug lasted a long time, and felt better than any hug I’ve ever had before.
Back in Klein’s hotel suite, we spent our wedding night in bed. Not in a sex way. But it was still perfect.
Klein lent me some pyjama bottoms and I lent him a baggy t-shirt. We lay on the bed watching shitty rom-com movies on the hotel TV, finishing off everything from the minibar and eating chips and chocolates and laughing our heads off. I honestly can’t think of a better way to spend your wedding night. And I mean that. I always thought having to do all that sexy stuff was too much pressure anyway. I can never come if I feel under pressure. And you don’t want to end up feeling like your wedding night is an anticlimax. Nah. Slobbing around, having a laugh, and pigging out is way more fun.
I like how relaxed we can be together. Today, after all the pomp and ceremony of the wedding, we’re both dressed in jeans and jumpers. Klein’s jeans are True Religions, mine are so cheap they don’t even have a brand name. But still, somehow, we’ve ended up syncing a little, as if we’re finally finding some real common ground.
‘It’s such a nice day today,’ says Klein, as we pull up to the house. ‘Maybe after we’ve dropped off our bags we could go out somewhere? Have a little honeymoon? I’ve been working far too hard lately. An extra day off for the sake of my wedding won’t hurt. We could go to the Ritz for afternoon tea…’
