Page 39 of All the Gossip from Paris
These little moments with Sophie made him happy. Liam couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt happy. Whether she realized it or not, Sophie was helping to fill the cracks in his heart.
He turned to check on Rollo. The Briard had already licked the last morsel of meat clean from the plate, and was now nudging at Liam’s leg. He wanted more.
Liam bent and gave the dog a friendly pat. “How’s this for a deal? If you don’t beg for any of the Brie, I’ll make sure Sophie brings you a doggie bag home from tonight’s dinner.”
Rollo gave him a ponderous look. It all but said he didn’t know what a doggie bag was, but if it sounded as good as he hoped it did, then he was in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The wedding hall, Hôtel Couvé,
Marly-le-Roi
Two days later
It didn’t take long for Liam to come to the realization that French weddings were very different from American ones. For a start, the engaged couple had to have a legal civil ceremony at the wedding hall, rather than at a church or a private venue. Instead of a minister or celebrant, the ceremony was officiated by the local mayor. And in this particular village, the wedding could only be held after 2pm on a Friday.
There was none of this ‘let’s fly off to Las Vegas and do a drive through wedding’ business.
Ryan and Camille’s wedding was small, with only the respective parents of the bride and groom present. Liam and Sophie who were acting as the two witnesses made up the rest of the party. There was no best man. No bridesmaids. And no cute children acting as ring bearers.
Camille was dressed in a simple two piece cream woolen ensemble, while Ryan wore a dark blue suit. His tie had the gold and red Royal family crown emblem running through the pattern. It was weird to think that after today Ryan would no longer be a Collins.
The ceremony was conducted in French. Brenda and Pete had found an app which translated the spoken word, and they were following the proceedings along sharing a pair of earbuds. His parents both looked amazing. Brenda was wearing a mother of the groom suit Camille had helped her select back in New York. Pete, who’d been on a father of the groom diet for his son’s big day, was dressed in a suit which matched Ryan’s.
Liam had chosen to go with a tailored blazer, open necked shirt, and pants rather than a formal suit. He could get away with semi casual for the wedding, but would be in full formal tuxedo for the reception later tonight.
Standing beside him, dressed in a pale blue pant suit, and matching killer heels, which she totally rocked, was Sophie. He loved that she’d offered to act as his personal interpreter.
“Au nom de la loi, je vous déclare mari et femme,” announced the mayor.
“In the name of the law, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” whispered Sophie.
Ryan and Camille were kissing. Her parents were beaming. His parents were beaming. The local dignitaries were beaming. It was nice to be at a wedding where everyone was happy for the couple.
The last wedding he’d attended was that of his former fiancée and former best friend. To this day, Liam couldn’t figure how he’d managed to get through the service without screaming. He hadn’t bought the happy couple a wedding present. He figured that him keeping quiet over how they’d gotten together was more than either of them deserved.
The mayor handed Camille a small book. “It’s the family record book. A legal document to prove they are married. When the baby is born its name will go into the book,” explained Sophie.
“Huh. So the marriage certificate and birth records all in one. Cool,” mused Liam.
And that was it. His brother and Camille were married. Ryan Collins was now Ryan Royal. He still found it hard to get his head around that fact, but the smile on his brother’s face had tears of joy pricking at Liam’s eyes.
When he’d received his invitation to Ryan and Camille’s wedding it had noted that the dress code for the evening reception was black-tie formal. Liam had seen tuxedos in movies. Had even imagined what it would be like to dress the same as a certain British secret agent. But he’d never actually worn a tuxedo. Or a bow tie.
His plans to hire a tux had been quickly crushed by his brother. This was a wedding where the other males in attendance would be wearing their own bespoke suits. Ryan was not going to have the Americans turn up looking like they were dressed in $50 Walmart outfits. Liam hadn’t known Walmart even sold tuxedos. He wasn’t going to argue the point, especially not when his future sister in law’s family had insisted on paying for everything.
Standing to one side of the entrance to the grand ballroom at the Royal family’s chateau later that evening, watching as hundreds of guests filed past him, Liam was grateful he was wearing a fitted evening suit. He might have felt out of place, but at least he didn’t look it.
Somewhere in the middle of the crush of people were his parents. To their credit Brenda and Pete had taken to the billionaire circle like pros. They’d made friends and were mingling as if they too had been born with a silver spoon in their mouths. The international Royals had welcomed them warmly into their embrace.
Earlier, he’d caught his father having a spirited discussion with one of the Italian members of the Royal family. The topic of conversation the merits of various brands of fruit crushing machines. Pete, who grew soft fruits on the Collin’s family farm, had his firm opinions. Apparently, the other gentleman was a winemaker and set in the old ways of stomping on his grapes. An invitation to come visit his Tuscan estate during the summer months had been graciously accepted.
I couldn’t get either of my parents to walk across into Canada at Niagara Falls. Now they’re going to Italy.
Moving further into the ballroom, Liam took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. Destination nowhere, he slowly began to make his way through the crowd. He didn’t know anyone but how hard could it be to spend a few hours drinking and mingling with four hundred super wealthy strangers?
The mixture of languages all being spoken in the room made it hard for him to pick up on any conversations. He’d learned bits and pieces of Spanish, French, and German on his travels, but not enough to make sense of what people were saying. And especially not when they all spoke so fast.
