Page 103 of The Boss

“It would be a boring wedding, otherwise. I hear Etta Coleman had a fistfight at her wedding a year ago. I’m sure there’s some way we could raise the stakes here.”

An approaching guest helps change the subject, which helps me focus on Alessa again. I practically wait on her hand and foot. Whatever she wants, I procure. Wine? Cranberry juice? Finger food from one of the most revered chefs in the PNW? Cake? I’ll have her favorite food truck ported down here if it makes her smile. All I know is that she’s not getting up unless she wants to. She will see that her darling girlfriend and potential parent of her children isn’t afraid to lift fingers for her – instead ofmerely shoving them into her, mind you. One day, she will have all the servants she requires. I don’t care if it means she goes soft around the middle. If it makes her happy to be waited on, then I’ll make sure it happens!

But this isn’t the end of my groveling, either. After ensuring that the sniveling lawyer lad gets the idea that she’s with me, I return to the banquet table to discover that speeches are being made. As one of the grooms’ best mates, I’m the first up.

Let’s see. How do I stroke my brother’s ridiculously bloated ego while making this speech all about Alessa and how we’ll be the next to get married – and soon?

“When Ted told me that he was getting married and that I was destined to be his best ‘mate,’” I begin, the mic far from trembling in my hand, “I thought he was full of shit. Because I don’t believe in destiny.”

A tenuous laugh ripples through the captivated audience. My mother rolls her eyes because of my swearing. Jordan stifles another laugh. Ted throws his hand up in the air as if I’m the uncontrollable baby sibling he never asked for. Alessa, meanwhile, politely sits with a neutral countenance. Even I can barely tell what she’s thinking.

“Suppose that makes me sound like a Scrooge at a wedding, but it’s the truth. Or, at least, I didn’t used to believe in fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. I’m a woman who believes in setting goals and doing everything to achieve them. So, as far as I was concerned, Ted had set out to make me his best mate simply to spite me.”

More laughter from the people who know us the best. Others tentatively glance between us, gauging Ted’s reactions.

“I was the last person on Earth surprised to find out that my brother was marrying a man. Even so, I was shocked to find out it was Jordan. Because he’s way too good for my brother. Take it from me, Jordan, you have your damn work cut out for you.”

“The ink isn’t dry on the marriage license yet, Jules,” my brother shouts. “Could you wait until it’s filed, at least?”

“And now he’s got a baby on the way?” I look to their surrogate, who is going on bed rest as soon as this reception is over. Until then, she’ll waddle around the reception sipping flavored water and impressing the other guests with her party tricks. “I feel sorry for that kid. He doesn’t even get Jordan’s good looks.” The whole hall erupts into laughter. While it was never made public knowledge, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the kid is genetically a Marcon. My father wouldn’t have let the kid into the will otherwise. At least the surrogate is drop-dead gorgeous, with natural blond hair and the clearest skin a model could ask for. Pretty sure sheisa retired model that Ted dated when he was in college. I’d put money on it.

Alessa gives me a look that implies I should change subjects.

“But the more I look at these two,” warning, a lot of incoming corniness, “the more I wonder if fate isn’t a real thing after all. I know that seeing my big brother in genuine love helped me recognize love inmylife.”

Now, look at Alessa and focus the whole room’s attention on her. She was drinking some iced water. Now half of it is in her handkerchief.

“If it weren’t for Ted, I wouldn’t have realized how much I love my girlfriend, Alessa.”

Somewhere amid all these guests, Presley has ordered another Bloody Mary. My mother has cleared the bar out of tomato juice, however. Because those aren’t tears of joy spilling down her cheeks. (The professional photographs will make sure they look like that, though.)

Alessa blushes at my public profession. Ted rolls his eyes. Jordan claps. These three actions sum up the personalities of the people around me.

As always, I only have eyes for Alessa. My beautiful, sweet Alessa, whom I do not in any way deserve.

You know it’s fate when you also know that your overrated ass doesn’t deserve anyone. But you’ll take it anyway.

Until the end of the reception, Alessa and I dance, eat, and flirt until the whole table tells us to get a room. I can’t keep my hand off her knee or wrapped in her soft hand. It feels completely natural when she leans in and cracks jokes about my family and the other guests at this extravagant party. When she offhandedly suggests she wants her wedding completely outdoors, I come up with lists of every possible venue. I’m thinking destination wedding. Hawaii, to keep the legalities simple.

We kiss more than the newlyweds do. She stays close by when we’re called for wedding party photos, and for the last one, my brother insists that she pose with me. The lavender of her dress matches our sapphire blue cummerbunds and the violet roses tucked into our front pockets.

It’s like we never broke up. Over time, the carefully constructed façade she built around her comes down, one kiss, one laugh at a time.

I know this isn’t the end of my groveling. I’ll be groveling for years. Not because I must, but because I want to. This woman makes me want to act like an utter fool. I want to take out ads declaring my love for her. I want to marry her every single year she’ll put up with my foolishness. I want to have all the kids we can because I can’t imagine getting sick of bringing life into the world with her. I want to pay for the best education for her. If she wants to work with me going forward? She can run her subsidiary for all I care. Suck it, Presley.

“Did you mean what you said earlier about fate?” she asks me while we enjoy the final dance of the evening. “Because that was sweet.”

“I do. You know I’m a no-nonsense person. Until you, I never entertained fairy tales.”

She averts her bashful gaze. “You’re too much.”

As I mentioned before, protocol is sometimes thrown out the window at bashes like my brother’s. There’s no throwing of the bouquet or tossing of the garter in the end. Instead, the newlyweds give a short parting speech before heading to the limo waiting to drive to their honeymoon suite in Portland. But as the birdseed flies outdoors and it seems that this is the last I must put up with my brother until his kid is born, Jordan breaks away from his new husband and approaches us as we stand on the sidelines.

“Thanks for coming.” He plucks the violet-blue rose from his pocket and gently places it in Alessa’s hand. “For you.” Like that, he’s gone again, a wink thrown in our direction.

People start talking about what happened. Photographers take candid shots of my girlfriend holding one of the grooms’ flowers. There may have been no bouquet, but the intent was clear.

We’re next.

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