Matt and Lauren's wedding was nothing like my own. They had all the trappings of tradition that Nick and I'd skipped last night. Pretty dress, suit and tie, flowers, rings.
We had a lobsterman named Bartlett.
I couldn't decide if the moonstruck urgency of it all made us silly, or that much more serious. As I watched Lauren floating down the petal-strewn aisle on her father's arm with a photographer tucking and rolling around her to get the best shots, I knew she'd have every second of this day documented. Did that make this iteration better or more meaningful, or was it just planned better?
Not that it mattered. Our marriage was a whim, pure and simple, and it would end. At the next Walsh wedding—I was betting on Patrick and the apprentice with all the hair—Nick and I would share a drink and laugh about the wild night when we got married. It would be better that way. I didn't know how to care for a houseplant, let alone another human being, and I'd built my life to those specifications. Love, it wasn't something I could do.
"This is horrible," Riley said, turning away when the officiant started with "Dearly beloved…"
I swung my arm around his shoulders in support. "I know, kid," I whispered. "It'll be over soon."
Nick glanced over his shoulder from the row ahead. He shot a concerned frown at Riley, but I shook my head.
"He's fine," I mouthed. I circled my finger, gesturing for him to turn around.
He didn't.
Nick's gaze pawed over my dark blue dress, stopping first at the v-neck and then raking down the bodice. He stared at my legs, exposed at the knee, significantly longer than necessary.
"I want under that skirt," he mouthed.
"Turn around," I whispered, swatting him with the wedding program. He obeyed my request this time, but not without sending a longing gaze to my breasts. It wasn't gratuitous, and I wasn't objectified. If anything, I was treasured, and that was powerful for me.
The ceremony concluded with a kiss that was too intimate for this audience, and it had Riley dropping his head between his legs. I couldn't tell whether he was nauseous, dizzy, or just avoiding this exceptional display of affection, and I went on patting his back.
"It's over," I said after Matt and Lauren made their way up the aisle.
"I need a scotch on the motherfucking rocks," Riley said, wrenching his tie loose as he stood. He didn't wait for me to protest, and I didn't offer. I knew he wasn't going to hear it right now.
It was odd seeing Riley hung up on anything, let alone Matt's new wife. Growing up, he took a lot of hits from Angus, and then he took even more after stepping in to protect me. But through it all, Riley never allowed any of it to bother him. He wasn't haunted by it the way Sam was, and he didn't need to bury it under a mountain of self-inflicted pain like me. He drew in his sketchbook and smoked a lot of weed in the attic, and those were his coping mechanisms.
A hand settled on my back, and I found Nick at my side. "Come on, lovely," he said. "I meant what I said about getting under that skirt."
He led me around the backup of guests showering the happy couple with well wishes, and through a side entrance to the inn. His long legs gobbled up the stairs, and then he had me pinned to my door. His lips ghosted over my neck as his fingers ran up and under my dress to land on my backside.
"Where's your purse?" he asked, his gaze swiveling between my empty hands. "Where's your stuff?"
I reached into the side of my bra and produced my key. "I don't have fancy party purses. All the important stuff's in here," I said, cupping my breasts.
"I'm gonna say this right now: I love you. You're going to tell me I'm ridiculous, but I don't care because you just pulled stuff out of your tits. You're incredible," Nick said as he grabbed the keycard.
"You're right," I said, "you are ridiculous."
We were inside within a heartbeat, and he backed me up against the wall.
"They're going to be looking for us," I murmured against Nick's mouth while he slipped out of his suit coat.
"Let them," he said, dropping to his knees in front of me. True to his word, he dove right under my skirt.
My panties were off. My leg was over Nick's shoulder. I had one hand in his hair, one hand flat against the wall for some semblance of balance. But then his tongue stopped doing that crazy-amazing thing that made my toes curl.
He stopped, pressed the softest kiss in the world to my clit, and said, "You are so fucking beautiful right here."
Oh, Jesus. That one hit me hard, and it hit a spot I didn't understand. "Take me," I said, gasping as I pushed his head away, "to the bed. I want you now."
Nick stood, his hands on my backside as he lifted me up. "Yeah?" he asked.
I sighed against his neck, smiling. He was always checking in, asking if I was okay. He'd taken all of my caution and sexual awkwardness, and made it part of our normal. Someday, when he wasn't squeezing my ass, I was going to let that sink all the way in. "Yes," I said, "and take your pants off, too."
My husband, he didn't need to be asked twice. Within an eye blink, I was flat on my back with my skirt around my waist, and within another blink, Nick was pushing inside me. We cried out in unison, a noisy mash up of groans and sighs and swears meant to express that this—this insane, not-gonna-last thing we were doing here—was too amazing for regular words.
I grabbed his tie, yanking him close to me. "What makes this so good?" I asked. "Is it because we're married, or because you're just that incredible in bed?"
"Yes," he said, smiling down at me.
"Don't be a logical asshole while you're fucking me," I said, laughing.
Nick slowed, retreating until I was empty. "Would you rather I stop?" he asked.
"No," I cried. "I'm not done with you yet, and no teasing about stopping."
"It only seems fair," Nick said. His hand moved to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, and he leaned down to kiss me. "And if you giggle again while my dick's inside you, I can't be held responsible for this ending quickly."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "I'm sorry," I cried as Nick growled into my neck. "You didn't judge me for coming too quick this morning, so I won't judge you. It'll be our little secret."
"One of many," he murmured as he thrust into me again. "But let's just see if I can fuck the giggles right out of you, lovely."
Oh yeah. He did exactly that.
"How long until I can get you back here?" Nick asked, meeting my eyes in the bathroom mirror. I was fixing my smudged mascara; he was attempting to blow dry the wrinkles from his shirt and tie. My hair was a mess and a bright flush still lingered on my cheeks, neck, and chest. We both looked thoroughly fucked.
"Listen, dude. You have to pretend we're nothing more than acquaintances and stay on your own damn side of this reception."
"Fuck," he said. "I hate that. You're the smart one in this marriage. Come up with something better."
I spared him a glance. "That's your option. I have a long, messy history of fucking up other people's nice things, and I'm not doing that tonight. Neither are you, for that matter, and we need to watch out for Riley," I said. "Oh, I almost forgot. One of Lauren's brothers is supposed to be keeping me in line, so—"
"The fuck he is," Nick snapped. "Which one? I'll sedate him for the night."
I ran a brush through my hair and smiled at him in the mirror. "It's okay. I can shake him. He's not especially dedicated to the cause."
I ran my hand over Nick's shoulders, plucking off a strand of red hair that was clinging to his shirt. It gave me a moment to study the long lines of his body, and admire him in a suit. This worked for him, but I also knew he'd look good in anything. Almost as good as he looked in nothing at all.
"You know, I could stand here watching you think dirty thoughts about me all night," he said, catching my eye in the mirror. "Please, continue."
I couldn't help myself. "What do you wear at the hospital?" I asked. In my head, I had him dressed up in scrubs like my own little Spanish Ken doll.
"Come back to the city with me tomorrow night," he said, "and you can find out for yourself."
No, that wasn't one of our options. The end of our weekend wasn't among the things I wanted to think about right now. Pivoting, I ran my hand down Nick's back. "Let's go be strangers."
We maintained a civil distance for the remainder of the evening, always averting our eyes before a glance turned into a gaze. I got to know Patrick's apprentice, Andy, over sweet vermouth, and she was a treasure. She had all the right cool and quirky to go with Patrick's dark and grumpy, as impossible as it seemed.
Nick was on the other side of the tent with Riley, and everything about their posture said they were talking sports. When men were standing together, angled at forty-five degrees with one hand on the waist while the other hand cut sharp, definitive signs in the air, the topic was college or professional sports. If there was any doubt, their expressions gave the rest away. Their faces morphed as if they were offering incontrovertible fact only for their opponent to volley back the argumentative equivalent of a stale cracker.
I didn't want to interrupt that. Not when I could observe from a distance and invent new ways to be completely irresponsible with my husband.
While I waited for the right time to steal Nick away, I discovered that Lauren's brother Wes and I knew all the same expat hideouts in Italy, and that he was only on board with this babysitting mission to keep his sister happy. He was primarily concerned with whether he'd get time with his fuck buddy while on leave this weekend. Andy asked one question about the buddy, and Wes answered with the most detailed history of every time they'd been together, right down to longing stares across a briefing room. He wasn't heartsick so much as hung up on this guy.
That was a shabby situation, but after telling his forever-long story, Wes got a text and hightailed it out of the beachside reception tent. Andy left for a walk along the shore, and I blew out the don't-screw-up-the-wedding breath I'd been holding all night.