Page 13 of Unstitch

My sister’s behind me with our dad who, to be fair to him, has been a blubbering mess all day. He seems genuinely moved (and not a little relieved) to be handing off his eldest daughter to a guy who’s basically a Mr Darcy-level catch.

Anton looks fucking good in his black tuxedo with satin lapels. That man has excellent posture. His eyes are trained behind me, and the quiet joy and disbelief on his face as he watches my sister have me choking up a little.

Not so his henchman—I mean best man—whose eyes don’t leave me. Not for a second. Max looks as serious as I’ve seen him this weekend, and the expression on his face gives me shivers.

He’s even more devastating when he’s not smiling and joking and dropping innuendos.

I step off to the side at the top of the aisle and make way for the bride.

And fuck, is she fabulous.

She’s not wearing a veil—a veil wouldn’t be Gen’s vibe at all. Instead, her platinum blonde hair is swept back in an immaculate up-do, with a couple of perfect camellias pinned into it. Apparently, the camellia thing is some sort of joke between her and Anton, and he had them flown down from Chanel’s own hot house in Paris.

The up-do and lack of veil means there’s nothing detracting from the dress itself, which is fucking incredible and which makes her look like a silver screen movie star. It’s ivory duchesse satin, with lots of concealed corsetry going on that takes her hourglass figure to a whole new level, and the back of it cinches in under her fabulous arse before flaring out into a fishtail.

But my favourite part is the neckline. It has a high collar completely encrusted with pearls, and the dress’ bodice cuts away at the front and back so it tapers into the collar, leaving her entire shoulder area bare. The waistband has the same pearl-encrusted belt going on.

Apart from the pearls, it’s really simple, but the fabric is so rich, and the tailoring so impeccable, that she looks a million dollars (or a billion, I suppose). Gen’s always had an excellent arm game, but she’s been toning up for the wedding, so the strong but feminine curves of her delts are truly fabulous. And I give that compliment as someone who can work a pole for hours.

In a word, she takes my breath away. She’s flawless, and radiant, and so fucking speechless with joy that I’m in actual awe.

Dad gives her a kiss on the cheek and winks tearily at me as he takes his seat behind where I’m standing. When I stop ogling my sister and let my gaze flicker over to Max, he’s still staring straight at me like he wants to throw me over his shoulder and march me out of this wedding and back to his cave where he can ravage me and then, I dunno, make me a fire.

It’s a lot.

I quickly avert my gaze and look out at the attendees. Some of our relatives are in the front row with my parents, and right behind them the bride’s side is well represented by what I like to call the Alchemy Massive. Zach and Maddy each have a flower girl on their lap, and Maddy’s smile is so wide it could split her face open. I know she shipped my sister and Anton right from the start.

Belle’s sitting between Maddy and Rafe, looking tanned and golden and insanely gorgeous. She has to be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. And on Rafe’s other side are Cal and Aida with her boys, Pip and Kit. These guys have been more of a family to my sister than my parents have over the past decade, and I adore them for it.

I knew I’d feel emotional. Weddings always are, and this one is not only a stunner but features my favourite person in the world.

But nothing could really have prepared me for the awe and emotion I feel as I watch my beautiful sister recite the vows she wrote to the man she loves. It’s like I’m in the presence of something greater than me. Greater than them. Greater than all of us. There’s magic in the air today. This love they have for each other feels sacred and awe inspiring and marvellous.

And I doubt there’s a single person here who isn’t touched by it.

10

MAX

‘The best man and the bridesmaid. Oldest cliché in the book. We should do it.’

I gaze down at the stunningly beautiful woman in my arms with what I like to call my Closing Smile, but this is one deal I appear to be struggling to close.

‘Oldest being the operative word where you’re concerned,’ she retorts, and I grin, because, while her attempts at holding me off are tiresome, I’ll admit they’re also mildly amusing.

I’m pretty confident they’re also verbal foreplay.

I’ve stood next to Anton at the top of the aisle three times now. We didn’t know each other when he married his first wife. Never have I seen him this happy, and never have I been as fond of—or as sure of—any of his matches as I am of Gen.

(I’ve also never fucked any of his wives—before, during or after his relationship with them—but that’s beside the point.)

So yeah, I’ve loved every bit of this weekend. Loved the rehearsal dinner they threw by the sea last night, down at the Eden Roc Hotel, where Anton took Gen on their first date. The jaunt to Nice’s Hôtel de Ville to legally seal the deal was brief, thanks to the chopper, and this evening has been magical enough to soften even my unromantic heart.

As I glance around the space, I can admit Anton’s money and Gen’s impeccable taste are a pretty powerful combination. It’s a relatively small wedding, which says less about the importance of this union in Anton’s eyes and more about his total lack of interest in having business acquaintances and industry bores present to witness what he calls his forever match.

It’s intimate. Everyone here is important to Gen or Anton. But low-key it is not. I eye the long trestle tables that sit under the pines and French oaks. They look less immaculate post our four-course dinner than they did when we sat down, but they’re still beautiful. Their centrepieces of sculptural white flowers and thick candles in hurricane lanterns look stunning in the evening light.

Over Darcy’s exquisite shoulder and beyond the guests in their silks and sequins and white tie, the swimming pool shimmers with the light of hundreds of floating candles. On the small stage behind me the world-famous tenor, Santiago Vale, croons.

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