“Mmm, naughty man.” I stop and tap my finger against my lip. “I was on a mission here.”
He points to the bucket in my other hand. “Ice?”
“Yes!”
“Do you guys have any food in that suite?” he calls after me as I skip away.
“Yes!”
“Eat some of it?”
“Maybe!” But he’s right, so when I get back to the room I carefully nibble on a bagel.
It’s not that I’m drunk. It’s that…now that today is here, I’m really excited for my boss. And his beautiful bride. The love in the air is palpable. Gavin’s speech at the rehearsal last night made me weepy in the best way.
Okay, I might be a little drunk.
I spread some cream cheese on my bagel and slide my champagne flute away. Thanks, Tate, but that’s enough of that for now.
Since we flew across the country for this wedding, this is the first time Ellie’s had a chance to meet the make-up artist, and it takes some back and forth until she’s happy with her look. It’s important to her that she still look like herself, and when they finally spin her around, she totally does.
A magical fairy version of herself.
Her dress is stunning, a V-neck, wide-skirted swirl of blush chiffon, a warm, glowing paleness that’s definitely not white—because that’s Ellie, non-traditional to the core—but still completely bridal. Like the inside of a shell, and she’s the pearl in the centre.
Her hair is up in loose curls spilling out of a twist, and she has the most amazing not-quite-a-tiara worked into the do. It’s a spray of rhinestone and pearl flowers on a branch, delicate and ethereal looking.
She gleefully spins around, her fingers tucked into secret pockets she’s quite proud of.
Pockets are a big deal. I get it.
“Do you have something blue?” Her mother frets.
Ellie takes her hand and replies in quiet French. “I don’t need superstitions to bring luck to my marriage, Mama.”
“It’s the way to do things.”
She just smiles. “It’s time to go, yes?”
In a nod to tradition, Ellie’s going to travel to the wedding site with her parents. Over the last two days I’ve seen them be polite to each other, but they’re not close. Her parents are sweet, but very traditional.
I wonder how many times over the next hour the something old, something new worry is going to come up again.
Sasha and Ellie exchange a wordless look, then we head down to the lobby, Hugh escorting us before he goes back up to get Ellie. He doesn’t need to do this, but today there are exceptions being made. Chivalrous ones, really, not for security reasons.
Romance is in the air.
He waves for our car. Max is already at the wedding venue with Gavin, so we have a hired car to drive us. Violet sits in the front, and Sasha and I pile into the back.
When we arrive at the parking lot for the Sea to Sky Gondola, we’re stopped by an RCMP guard, who checks our names against a guest list before allowing us in. Most of the wedding guests are coming up to Squamish from Vancouver on a couple of hired coaches, mainly to avoid an annoying and totally unromantic choke point here as they check credentials. According to Lachlan’s carefully timed out schedule, that convoy would have departed Vancouver at quarter to nine this morning, and should already be here, with guests on their way up to the lodge at the top of the mountain.
Our driver pulls up to the front doors of the striking wood and glass structure called Base Camp. He helps Violet out first, then opens my door. Sasha is about to open her own door when a bright red sports car—something flashy and low slung, totally impractical—tears into the lot.
It didn’t actually come close to our car, but she scoots away from her door and slides across to get out the passenger side all the same.
“I didn’t realize Ellie had invited any jackasses,” she mutters, and I cover my mouth, trying to stifle a laugh as I peer past her to check out who it is—and gauge just how awkward this is about to become, because whoever it is, we’re probably riding up the gondola with them.
A silver pickup pulls in, too, and I try to run through the guest list in my head, figuring out who would be driving themselves. Gavin’s family and other guests who live somewhat locally. But even people in Vancouver would meet the buses at the Fairmont Vancouver, so they can hitch a tipsy ride back at the end of the afternoon.
The identities of both mystery drivers soon becomes clear as they get out of their respective vehicles and meet in the middle of the parking lot to shake hands.
The speed demon is none other than Tate Nilsson.
I glance sideways at Sasha and she’s rolling her eyes. “Of course, why am I not surprised?” She takes a deep breath. “Do you know who that bearded hottie he’s talking to is?”
Violet shakes her head. “No clue.”
I know who it is, though. “That’s Jack Benton. He’s the owner of the Vancouver Lumberjacks. He’s a long time friend of Gavin’s.” I don’t bother to give them his full bio. It’s not the time, nor is it my place.
Sasha snaps her fingers. “Right. I met him when I was a kid.”
I choke on the reminder that she’s younger than me by enough to have been a kid who met Jack as an adult. “He’s not that much older than Gavin.” I think he’s just barely in his early forties.
“My dad had him over for dinner at one point. He called me cute.”
Violet laughs. “And you’re going to bring that up today, aren’t you?”
Sasha gives us an innocent look. “We’ll see where the day goes.”
“Maybe let’s wait to tear through the hot guests until after the ceremony. Come on.” I nod toward the building that we need to go through to get on the gondola that will take us up the mountain.
Inside, we find a short queue of guests and we get in line. Signs posted explain the gondolas can take up eight people at a time, and sure enough, Tate and Jack saunter into line right behind us before we get to the loading point.
“Hello, ladies.” Tate holds out his hand to Violet first. “Violet, you look stunning. Did you have a good breakfast?”
“We did, thank you.” She takes his hand and instead of shaking it, he lifts it and brushes his lips against her knuckles.
Then he winks. “How’s that giant-ass teddy bear? Did you find a spot for him in the nursery?”
She laughs out loud. “We did. He actually takes up the entire nursery, but that’s okay.”
“Giant teddy bear? I haven’t heard this story.” Sasha looks at Violet, then Tate, but only for a split-second before she spins toward Jack. “Sasha Brewster, by the way.”
“Jack Benton,” he says, holding out his hand. He moves like Lachlan does, tight, controlled movements of a big, broad body. His voice is slow and deep, and his expression is solidly neutral.
“We’ve met once,” she says. “A number of years ago.”
He rocks back on his heels. “Brewster Automotive.”
Her mouth twists in a wry smile. “Yeah. And today, I’m the maid of honour.”
He nods. “Sounds like fun.” He shifts his attention to me. “Miss Evans.”
Ms., usually, but Jack Benton can call me whatever he wants. “Nice to see you again.”
“How are things in the PMO?”
“Crazy.”
“You still have me on Gavin’s schedule next week?”
“As long as you promise not to talk shop today.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Then yes, we’ll see you next week.”
He laughs out loud at that, his eyes crinkling. “He should give you a raise.”
I grin. “I’m a public servant, Mr. Benton. My salary is fixed to a grid, but I appreciate the thought.”
He winks. “Maybe I should hire you away from him. I can offer you all the raises you want.”
“That’s not even tempting a little bit, but thank you for the kind offer.” I twist toward Violet. “Violet, have you met Jack?”
She laughs. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure, although I think Max has mentioned your name. Violet Roberts. I’m Max Donovan’s wife.”
“I heard about the wedding. Congratulations. Where is your husband?”
She points at the gondola. “With the groom, up top.”
He holds out his arm. “Then may I escort you up?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” The gondola attendant waves them forward, and they step into the sleek carriage first. Sasha follows, and Tate and I take up the rear. There’s nobody waiting behind us, so we’re alone as we begin our ascent.
Jack and Violet are sitting on one side. Sasha and I are on the other, and Tate is standing in the middle, legs wide, and the swing of the gondola doesn’t even faze him.
It bothers Sasha, though. “I didn’t like this yesterday,” she mutters, glancing out the window before blinking her eyes shut and swivelling her head toward the floor. “And I like it even less today.”
I feel for her—it’s a long ride, about ten minutes, and as we rise above Howe Sound, the water glitters up at us as if to say, yeah, wow, you’re really high up there in a swinging tin can.
On the other hand, it’s the most breathtaking view. “I’d love to come back in the winter to ski,” I say.
Jack waves his hand towards someplace off in the distance. “I’ve got a chalet in Whistler you’re welcome to use.”
I wink at him. “I’m pretty sure I’d be fired if I accepted gifts from someone who wants to do business with the Government of Canada.”
“You know what I like about you, Ms. Evans?” He gets it right this time, and I know it’s deliberate.
“What’s that, Mr. Benton?”
“You’re a stickler for honesty.”
Oh, if only he knew the secrets I’m currently keeping. “I try,” I murmur.
The gondola sways side to side as the cable curves higher up the mountain, and Sasha groans.
“You okay?” Tate asks.
“Fine.” She shoots a quick, sharp look up at him. “You could sit.”
He grins. “I didn’t want to crowd you.”
Another sway, and this time his perfect balance slips a bit. He’s not at risk of actually falling on her—but like his tear into the parking lot, she doesn’t like the way he jams his hand against the side of the gondola to brace himself. “Just sit,” she snaps.
As soon as we get up to the summit, I’m shoving a glass of champagne in her hand. And making sure that Tate sits on Gavin’s side, near the back, maybe.
He leans in, curling his hand over the back of the seat right beside her, and pivots onto the bench. “There, I’m sitting.” His grin is too cocky by half, and he knows it.
At least one of them is enjoying this.
I sneak a look over at Violet, who is innocently gazing out the window, but I’m pretty sure she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
Okay, so we’re all enjoying this a little.
Just as long as Sasha doesn’t murder the NHL player by the end of the day.
33
Lachlan
I’m walking across the lobby of Summit Lodge when I hear Beth’s laugh. Guests are still milling around inside, as we’ve got fifteen minutes or so until the bride arrives and the wedding can begin—and Jesus, I sound like a wedding coordinator.
One more hour, and the PM will be happily hitched, and then it’ll just be like any other formal reception he’s hosted.
So I can spare a moment to stop and search for my woman. To sweep my gaze over her modern take on a flapper dress and appreciate just how stunning she is.
She’s with Ellie’s best friend and Violet, and Tate is lagging just behind her with Jack Benton, who I don’t know well, but recognize at a glance.
Sasha makes a beeline for me, so I only get a quick chance to wave at Beth before she heads for the viewing platform where the outdoor ceremony will take place.
“Lachlan,” the maid of honour says, looking a little piqued.
“Ms. Brewster, what can I do for you?”
She rolls her eyes. “You guys are way too formal. Beth was doing that Ms. Evans, Mr. Benton thing with Jack in the gondola, too.”
I grin. “It’s in our nature. So, sorry, Sasha, what can I do for you?”
“Ellie’s on her way.”
I nod. I don’t need the update, I have a team of eight Mounties accompanying her from the inn. “Thanks.”
“And…”
Ah, there’s more. “Yes?”
“Keep an eye on Tate.”
Don’t laugh at her, don’t laugh at her… “Okay.”
She gives me a suspicious look. “Are you on his side?”
“There are sides?”
“Were you involved with the breakfast stunt?”
“No?”
“I’m on to him. He’s playing some kind of game.”
“I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that might be,” I say dryly, but if Tate’s annoying Sasha with breakfast food, I actually can imagine.
Oh, Tate. You have no idea what you’re getting into with this one.
I like Sasha Brewster just fine, but sometimes she’s spoiling for fight. I remember when Gavin and I showed up at her apartment so he could win Ellie back, and she went toe-to-toe with him. She has zero qualms about staring down the prime minister and accusing him of inappropriate behaviour with his interns.
A manslut like Tate Nilsson doesn’t stand a chance with her.
And I say that with enormous affection for his manslutty ways. Tate’s a great guy. I’ll have to find out what the breakfast thing was all about.
Sasha takes a deep breath, then nods sharply. “Fine. But seriously, watch him today. He may have driven here drunk.”
This time I can’t keep my laugh inside. “I doubt that very much.”
She glares at me, and I right my face again.
“Yes, noted, thank you. We’ll take him out back immediately for a breathalyzer.”
She rolls her eyes and spins out of my orbit.
I take a deep breath and continue with my slow circle of the lodge.
Stew and Adrienne arrive with their boys all dressed up and hair combed. I’m always impressed how well behaved those kids are—because Stewart’s told more than a few stories. Mostly about the twins switching places.
It takes another fifteen minutes for everyone to take their seats. Ellie gets on the gondola at Base Camp at ten minutes to eleven, and when she steps off, it’s exactly the top of the hour.
“Everyone’s pretty much seated,” I tell them. I extend a hand toward Ellie’s parents. “Could I show you the way?”
Hugh stays with Ellie, and I guide them outside. Sasha’s talking to Gavin’s niece, who was handing out programs, and I nod for her to join Ellie around the corner, where they’ll wait for the music to change before proceeding down the aisle.
Once Mr. and Mrs. Montague are seated, I take up a position on an elevated step near the entrance to the lodge, where I can see everything but still hear communications over my ear piece clearly.
The guitarist starts playing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, and everyone stands, chairs shifting and feet shuffling. Sasha walks down the aisle first, looking every inch the beautiful socialite she pretends to be most of the time. As she curves to her designated maid-of-honour spot, Gavin moves to the top of the aisle, naked anticipation on his face.
I’ve seen this man in every way possible. Diplomatic and every inch a world leader. Under pressure to get the job done, no matter what. And more personally, too. Literally naked and horny for his woman. Before that, lusty and distracted, desperate to not want her as much as he did.
I’ve even seen him head over heels in love with her, day in, day out, and still, none of that holds a candle to the earnestness of his expression now.
The cellist joins in, the music soaring now, and Ellie turns the corner.
Behind her, I can see the curve of Hugh’s arm as he waits in the s
hadows.
The music is effective at setting a romantic, significant tone, clearly, because I find myself longing for him to appear before me.
And when he does, relief flutters bright. I always feel better when Hugh and Beth are close at hand.
“Friends and family, we are gathered today to mark the most special of occasions, the marriage of Gavin and Ellie. Together, we will witness the joining in the legal state of matrimony of this couple, according to the order and the custom prevailing, and under the authority given and provided by the Province of British Columbia.
“This couple has given serious and careful thought to this tradition, of binding themselves to one another, as allowed by the law of the land. They come to this union freely, equally, and with common rights. Their marriage will continue thusly, as a life-long companionship.”
My chest tightens as her words sail all the way to the back of the gathering. I’ve been to easily a dozen weddings, maybe more. I’ve never heard these words spoken this way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hugh doing a scan of the crowd. His gaze stops on Beth for a second, and the tightness gets worse.
I step silently, moving slowly around to the right, so I can have both of my lovers in my line of sight as the ceremony continues.
“They’ve spoken to me about their desires to raise a family together, to support and encourage each other in their work and personal endeavours. And they understand that to commit to one another in marriage is to share all that comes hence. Sickness, health, joy, sorrow, prosperity, and challenges.”
Each word is a weird prick against my skin. Nothing new, of course. You don’t get to be a forty-one-year-old bisexual man without realizing that your path to white picket fences is more convoluted than most, and who actually knows what the hell is at the end of the winding way, anyhow?
But there’s something in the officiant’s solemn reverence that slices unexpectedly deep, and I’m looking at Hugh, and looking at Beth, and it hurts.
A single skin prick is no big deal. A few are annoying. But too many, too close together, and you get a real wound.
And I don’t want to hurt today.
So I shake it off. Words have meaning, so I can toss back some pretty healthy words of my own. Freedom. Decadence. Private ecstasy. Twice as much love to share, double the arms to be held in.
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