How can it be worth it to go through any of this? Seriously?
This is why I’m never getting married. And if I somehow did get tricked into proposing, my wedding would be a simple affair on a beach somewhere, or maybe at city hall.
I shift restlessly from foot to foot, wishing this day would be over so I can have some time to figure out what to do about my career, which is about to go up in flames. Dylan has been sending me head shots of potential co-hosts with subject lines like ‘Would you do her?’ in an attempt to create a show rife with sexual tension. So far, I have yet to respond to any of them, even though I know Dylan is not the type to give up.
I look around the crowded church, my eyes landing on the pews on which the cast of NBO's Clash of Crowns are seated. Then a wide smile crosses my face because I realize that the man sitting at the end is the network COO, and this will be the perfect opportunity to schmooze him into creating a show with yours truly sans the sexy co-host.
My mobile phone buzzes in my inside pocket of my rented suit. I pull it out as discreetly as possible only to see it's a text from Dwight. Don't even think about trying to jump ship to NBO. You will be sued.
Bugger, how the hell did he know?
I glance up, only to be on the receiving end of a sharp glare from Rosy, my surrogate mum. I slide my phone back into my pocket and give her a guilty smile. She shakes her head at me with pursed lips, but her eyes are still twinkling for her favourite child.
The fifteen-member musical ensemble starts playing “Trumpet Voluntary” and the back doors of the chapel swing open, flooding the space with sunlight. Moments later, the procession of adorable flower girls, lovely bridesmaids, and my sister begins. Thank God this will all be over soon. I tug at my tie, wishing I were scuba diving with tiger sharks or scrubbing barnacles off the bottom of one of the resort’s catamarans. Anything is better than wearing a double Windsor knot.
Come on, ladies, hightail it up here so we can get to the part with the open bar already.
Finally, Emma and Harrison come into the church. Well, what do you know? Emma looks beautiful—all teary eyed and smiling as they make their way toward us.
Pierce sucks in a long breath, and when I glance at him, the look on his face stuns me. It’s like he’s been hit by a truck, only it’s the sight of Emma, my grumpy big sister, who’s done this to him. I swear he could be knocked on his arse by the slightest flick right now. I look back at Emma and I feel … almost … emotional. Maybe this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to do.
Okay, I’m clearly suffering from jetlag. Or maybe it’s the stress from my work situation.
The minutes crawl by like a super-high three-toed sloth. Finally, we get to the vows, which if memory serves from the rehearsal, means we’re almost at the end. The minister smiles at my sister and Pierce. “The happy couple has written their own vows and Pierce is going to go first. This gives Emma the advantage because if his aren’t good enough, she can still back out.”
The crowd chuckles, then when the room grows silent, Pierce takes a deep breath, looking nervous. “Emma, when I think of who I was before you, I have nothing but pity for that lonely, pathetic man hiding from love and life. I never thought I would have what I have with you, which is the perfection that comes with a full life and a happy home. I wish I could say that when I first laid eyes on you I knew, but that would mean I was a much smarter man than I am. A lot of people here probably think that it was your culinary skills that won me over. But it was your beautiful, fierce spirit. There is no other woman like you—one who can hop into a speedboat, drive it out into the middle of the sea, cut the engine, and dive into the water, only to come up with a pair of live lobsters in your bare hands. Then come back to shore and cook them up as part of a four-course meal.”
He smiles and pauses for a second while the two gaze into each other’s eyes. Seriously? Can you save the gazing for the next fifty years?
“I wish the first time I saw you do that I’d known, but again, not that bright. It took me another few weeks to realize exactly how truly extraordinary you are, and even then, I wasted months before I could finally admit the truth—that I was completely and utterly in love with you.
“You have filled my life with the adventure that I only used to know in my imagination. Every day with you is something new, something fresh, something free, and something wonderful. And I stand before everyone we know today to promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to be good enough for you. Emma Josephine Banks, I promise to love and care for you, I promise to be your partner, to support you in your dreams and hopes, and to lift you up when you are down. I promise to be faithful to you and not just because you would kick my ass if I wasn’t, but because I don't want anyone else. You are the only woman I will ever love. You are the only one who really knows me. You have given me the greatest gift I can imagine—you've given me a home.”
Well, that doesn't sound as bad as I thought it would. Mind you, he is a talented writer so he could probably make rolling around in pig shit sound appealing. Marriage is definitely not for me, but I'm glad they're happy.
I've been a very good groomsman. I've smiled for all the photos. I laughed through the many toasts and I've done a bang-up job of pretending life couldn't be better for me all day, even though there is a boulder of worry lodged in my chest. And now, it’s time for me to get piss-stinking drunk.
The trick with over-imbibing at a wedding is to make it look like you're carrying drinks for other people. In this case, four flutes of champagne from the champagne fountain. Two could still possibly look like I'm going to drink them myself, but four seems far too ridiculous for anyone to suspect me of what I'm actually doing, which is filling them, then carrying them through the hotel ballroom with a purposeful look on my face, stopping periodically to down one and leave the glass.
I'm just filling up the last flute when I hear a woman's voice behind me. “Rough day?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see a lovely blonde in a blue gown. Her hair is up in some sort of complicated fancy do, and she has the most mesmerizing light blue eyes I think I've ever seen.
My jaw goes slack for an instant before I pull myself together. “These aren't all for me.”
Taking one from my hand, she says, “Sure they're not. I saw you earlier crossing the room with your first four glasses. Excellent trick. No one would ever imagine someone making such a pig of himself.”
“No offense, though, right?” I say, tipping back my glass and downing it. I set the glass down and hold my right hand out. “Will Banks.”
She shakes my hand even though she seems like the type of woman who's more used to men kissing her knuckles lightly. “Yes, I know who you are.”
I blush a little and get that slightly squishy feeling that comes along with being sort of famous. “Right, sorry, it's hard for me to wrap my head around people knowing who I am everywhere I go.”
“Occupational hazard, I guess,” she says with a grin.
“And what are the hazards of your occupation?” I ask. Oooh, that was pretty smooth, if I do say so myself.
She stares at me for a second, then says, “It's a bit difficult to put a finger on it, but I suppose you could say I'm in public relations.”