The groomsmen and I waited in a little room before the ceremony. Trip joked with Mark that we were underdressed in our tuxedos, especially compared to Christy’s brothers in their formal dress uniforms.
“Be glad we aren’t wearing our sabers,” Danny said. “Rich might decide he doesn’t like Paul after all.”
“Oh, I like the kid just fine,” Rich said. “You, on the other hand…”
Harry thrust his head into the room. “They’re ready for you.”
The others filed out, but Harry stayed behind and brushed microscopic lint from my shoulders. Then he straightened my tie. Finally, he looked me in the eye.
“Gut check. How’re you doing? Nervous?”
“A little.”
“You’ll do fine.” He grinned. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but… Birdy looks beautiful. I’ve never seen her this happy. Our mom too. We all are, even Rich.” He chuckled. “No, especially Rich. He knows you’ll take care of her.”
“I will.”
“I know. He’s the most vocal about it, but we all watch out for her. You woudn’t’ve made it this far if we didn’t like you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll make us proud.”
The door opened and Jim appeared.
“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. “Birdy’s waiting. Chop-chop.”
“Relax,” Harry said. “I’m just giving him some last-minute advice.”
“Last-minute grandstanding, you mean. You’re worse than Dad.”
Harry grinned but didn’t deny it. Jim looked me over and nodded.
“Everything’s shipshape. Let’s go.” He glanced at his older brother. “Unless you wanna explain to Mom why we’re late.”
“Oh, no,” Harry chuckled. “Not me.”
“I didn’t think so,” Jim said dryly.
“All right. Let’s go,” Harry said. “I’ll go get Mom. You tell the organist.”
We filed out, and they headed to the back of the church. I joined Trip at the side door.
He grinned. “You ready?”
“Of course I’m ready. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Nervous?”
“What do you think?” I snapped.
“Relax. Remember to breathe. Don’t lock your knees.”
“I know. They told me.”
“The rest is easy. A few songs, a couple of prayers, one ‘I do.’ Then you’re good.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Dude, I know,” he chuckled. “I was here for the rehearsal, remember?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
He snuck a peek into the church. “Last chance…?”
The organist played the first notes of the processional song, Bach’s “Arioso.”
“Oops, too late.”
I rolled my eyes and did my best not to grin. Trip wasn’t Freddie, but he’d made me forget how nervous I was.
He kept an eye on the ceremony, and we entered the sanctuary right on cue. The priest gave me a solemn nod as we joined him at the altar. The processional continued, and the wedding party began their stately march toward us.
Sabrina smiled demurely as Jim escorted her into position, and Leah did the same on the arm of Christy’s cousin. Then Erin and Mark drew close. Together they gave me a flamboyant wink. The poor altar boys struggled not to laugh, and even the priest had to smile.
Brooke was acutely conscious of her role, but she gave me a quick smile as Danny escorted her into position. Wren, on the other hand, couldn’t resist an I-told-you-so smirk. Rich saw out of the corner of his eye and silently chuckled. Then he glanced toward Brooke.
At first I thought he was simply looking for Wren’s spot in the line, but he caught Brooke’s eye. She blushed and smiled at him from under her lashes. That wasn’t the reaction I’d been expecting, but I didn’t have time to wonder about it before the organist began the bride’s processional.
The first notes of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” filled the church. Christy and her father appeared at the end of the nave, and my breath caught in my throat. She was radiant, my own little princess in a hand-beaded silk dress that had been her nana’s. The train was longer than she was tall, but she practically floated down the aisle on her father’s arm.
The church grew dim at the edges of my vision. I swallowed hard. Someone had removed all the oxygen from the air. Someone else cleared his throat. He wanted me to remember something, something I was supposed to do. I swayed a little drunkenly before I remembered what it was.
I closed my eyes, and my nostrils flared. The dizziness went away, and my pulse steadied. I rose on the balls of my feet and rocked back on my heels.
“Take your time,” the priest said, and the little microphone on his chasuble carried his words to the church. A ripple of good-natured laughter spread through the crowd.
I opened my eyes. Christy was smiling and calm, the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. I gazed into her bright blue eyes and forgot about everything else.
The ceremony was a blur after that. It was a long blur, but the priest and Christy’s brothers had coached me well. I said everything I was supposed to and made it through without fainting.
Afterward, a limousine took us to the reception at the U.S. Grant Hotel. The Presidential Ballroom was the only one big enough to hold us. Harold and Anne had pulled out all the stops for their little girl (and yours truly). We had a full orchestra, an open bar, and enough food for a small army. Harold never mentioned the cost, but I suspected he could’ve bought a Porsche instead.
* * *
Christy and I spent our wedding night in a suite in the hotel. She was as drunk as I’d ever seen her, and I was little better. We barely made it out of our clothes and into bed before we fell asleep. And, like so many newlyweds before us, we didn’t have sex. We made up for it the next day, but I still tease her about our first night of celibacy.
We left a day later, bound for Bora Bora and three weeks in a thatched bungalow perched over a crystal clear lagoon. We arrived at the same time as the French couple in the neighboring bungalow. Christy struck up a conversation with the wife, while I chatted with the husband as we followed in their wake.
Olivier was tall and ridiculously handsome, like a young Laurence Olivier. Renée was a Gallic beauty, a blue-eyed brunette with amazing breasts, long legs, and possibly the nicest ass I’d ever seen. I had to remind myself not to stare at least a dozen times. Individually, they were very, very attractive. Together, they were almost intimidating.
They turned out to be friendly and unpretentious. Christy hadn’t spoken French since she was a girl, but she and Renée easily switched between it and English. Fortunately, Olivier’s English was excellent. He was a diplomat, he explained, and they were in Bora Bora for a vacation between visits to Vietnam and Canada.
We spent nearly every waking hour with them for several days. Renée had an adventurous personality and zero taboos about nudity. She and Christy swam or sunbathed topless, while Olivier and I passed the time in easy conversation and kept the ladies happy with a steady supply of cool, fruity drinks.
We started spending evenings with them as well. We didn’t bother with swimsuits or false modesty after the sun went down, and one thing eventually led to another. They weren’t exactly swingers, but they had an open relationship and very little jealousy.
Christy and I thoroughly enjoyed their company, but they eventually had to say adieu. Olivier was scheduled to give a speech at a conference in Montreal before they returned home to France. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers and promised to get together again soon.
We kept in touch with them for several years after that, and we spent the weekend with them whenever Olivier’s work brought them to Canada or the States. They seemed happy enough when we saw them, but they eventually split and filed for divorce.
We lost touch with Olivier after that, although we’re still close with Renée. We exchange Christmas cards and emails, and we visit as often as we can. She’s as sexy as ever, and she doesn’t seem inclined to marry again.