by Emma James
It’s a beautiful day to get married. The ocean is our backdrop, and I’m here sharing this day with everybody who matters.
I’m suited up and so fucking happy that this day has finally arrived. All I need is one beautiful bride and a complete bridal party to get this show on the road.
I glance at my watch, and note Torque should be getting close to leaving my house.
It took us eight years to make it to today, mostly because I wanted to make sure Whisper had the time to discover herself and know she wanted me for her husband.
I am her first for so many things. She needed time to know me without pressure. Whisper could very well have decided after all I was not the man for her. I was her first and only boyfriend, but she fell pregnant with twins before we even got to have a relationship.
I wanted to give her back her freedom. Allow her to captain her life with me in the boat by her side. I’ve been free for a lot longer than her, and I know how it felt to make my own decisions and to let my life play out the way I wanted.
My woman had never had the time to explore who Whisper is. Find her likes and dislikes. Be able to travel, study, live without fear. She resided in Connard and didn’t venture farther than the main street or a bike ride with Lincoln when she did have what she thought was freedom before her wings got clipped again.
Most of her life has been a series of rules and pain and no kindness.
I didn’t want her to feel obligated to me because we had the twins. I needed her to trust her own heart. I had known many years of love with my adoptive parents, so I knew what it felt like and what is real and unconditional.
I wanted her to feel the power of standing on her own two feet. She was content not getting caged to a piece of paper, but eventually, I could see how she longed to marry me from the look on her face whenever one of the sisterhood got married, but I still had to be sure.
Whisper and I both hoped to be married where we spread Miss C’s ashes at Hermosa Park, but it wasn’t ideal for a wedding, so we decided on the Wedding Bowl at Cuvier Park.
I’m hoping Miss C’s around to witness our vows today. I imagine she wouldn’t miss it for the world, which brings a smile with a heavy heart to my face. I fiddle with the two rings on my right hand. The silver memorial ring, containing Cruz’s ashes and the ancient silver Nordic ring Mathias wanted me to have of his stepfather’s I wear on the next finger, swallowing the emotional lump that starts to form. Miss C would’ve loved to have been here in body, but I guess if anybody can be here in spirit, it will be the old lady who had so much courage. She was fearless.
I catch the eye of Theodore, Annie’s husband, our very proud wedding celebrant who is now in his early eighties. I give him a reassuring nod. He’s in his wheelchair all suited up looking very dapper, ready to perform the ceremony.
Whisper has been keeping up the Scrabble games monthly with the couple ever since she met them at Slade’s Cape Cod-style home before the twins were born. Theodore couldn’t be more pleased to officiate our wedding.
My family is very fond of the older couple. They have no family of their own, and Slade is very close to them. I would go as far as to say they have become almost surrogate grandparents to Slade.
Hudson Raine—Raine as he prefers his friend’s to call him—ex rock star, now philanthropist (the guy can turn dirt into gold without ego), is sitting at the baby grand piano tinkling the keys and crooning softly, with Tucker (the guy has grown on me) accompanying him on acoustic guitar as we all wait for the ceremony to begin.
Raine and Tucker both have on wigs and dark sunglasses, their faces shadowed by the fedoras they are wearing. They’re disguised to assist with keeping Raine’s anonymity, and I know Jai, Raine’s bodyguard and right-hand-man is keeping an eye out for any disruption.
Raine is straight-up, a good guy, and very recognizable. The world hasn’t forgotten former front-man, Hudson Raine from Blue Monday just because he gave up the rock star life. The fans aren’t as full-on as they once were, but they are still interested enough if they get wind of his whereabouts.
I haven’t forgotten his private jets got us out of Alaska, helping Whisper get to safety. He’s a busy gazillionaire, but he’s always found time to accept any requests Hope, Keanu’s woman, has thrown at him. Raine and Hope are close like brother and sister and the lady in Hudson’s life is pretty spectacular with a heart the size of his. Whisper adores the man and his female. I agree they are good people. He’s a busy man, but he finds time to drop into Masson and Schenk Custom-Made Motorcycles when he can and even ordered a custom bike from us.
Whisper took on two formerly homeless people who had received a helping hand from Hudson Raine’s “Center for Hope”—named after Hope—and they got employed as landscapers in her company Whisper’s World of Landscaping. I know she will be taking on more homeless people as soon as she can. My woman has a big heart.
Holland’s husband—Juan—together with design advice from Holland’s best friend—Birdie—managed to pull off the romantic wedding setting that is spread out before us all with all kinds of little touches designed to make it the most romantic scene for my bride. I spared no expense for the ceremony and the reception/party. Whisper deserves everything I could give her today, and she happily left it in the hands of Juan and Birdie to deliver.
Flower petals have even been carefully placed to make a swirly design in the grassed aisle area left for Whisper and her bridesmaids to walk down. Faith’s photography team has already taken a bunch of photos, quietly snapping away from all angles as we all stand here waiting.
My phone starts vibrating.
I fish it out discreetly, checking who’s choosing now to message me. Whisper?
My heart leaps, my first instinct is something is wrong until I see the image she’s sent me and read the sexy text.
My brow hikes right up, and I have to curve my body, so my brother doesn’t see my wild and sexy woman in nothing but heels and a white thong. I’m grinning like a love-sick teenager. Conscious of keeping this pic all to myself I decide less ogling would be safer or else one of the club members—my brothers—might cotton on and holler out a smart-ass comment.
Me: Christ, woman
Your breasts look amazing
You’re giving me a hard-on in public
You are so fucking beautiful, babe
Hurry up and get here so I can marry you
As soon as I drop the phone back into my pocket, I clasp my hands in front of my suit pants and angle my body back in-line with the groomsmen.
Mathias leans in close to me. “Something capture your interest?” He smirks at me. Nothing gets lost on him.
“Mind your business, brother,” I reply good-naturedly. “One day, you’ll be subtly cupping your hands to hide your hard-on at your wedding, too,” I murmur under my breath, “and I’ll be standing next to you reminding you of this little chat.”
Mathias laughs out loud and shakes his head. “You might want to delete that image before one of the kids plays with your phone.”
“What image?”
Mathias over exaggerates rolling his eyes and points to my dick, ramping it up with a bonus shit-eating grin. ”Hard-on, remember.”
Then I hear the snickers coming down the line of groomsmen.
I lean forward and watch them all staring ahead, nudging each other like schoolboys while trying to suppress their laughter.
I look out into the rows of guests and see Viper gets a nudge from Viking who is holding his hand over his mouth.
The bastards are texting each other.
“You know that picture isn’t gonna be safe on your phone,” Mathias whispers none too quietly.
Fuck, I hate it when he’s right. “Schoolboys—the lot of you.” I shake my head.
This comment only elicits more snorting from the peanut gallery next to me.
“On your wedding days...” I let that friendly threat be up to interpretation.
Karma can be a bii-atch.
&nbs
p; And then I take my phone back out of my pocket, take a step back from Mathias turning my body to give myself some privacy and type out a filthy text letting my woman know exactly what I want to be doing to her tonight.
And I’m going to have to hide my hard-on again.
It’s a warm mid-summer day with a soft breeze blowing as I walk out into the courtyard I’ve landscaped with a strong Mediterranean vibe. Large terracotta pots, their bellies full to the brim with the fragrant, aromatic scent of white gardenias are on show with two vintage love seats parting ways standing sentry either side of the front door. They’re both stuffed with comfortable cushions for sinking into with a good book on hand when you want to swap the fantastic panoramic scenery out the back, for the soothing, sleep-inducing, lullaby of the fountain.
I decided to split the broad front of our home into garden space and an area which allows for a full three-sixty degree turning circle and access to the triple car garage.
I took out the original long, solid black, sliding security gate; I didn’t want to feel caged in like Fort Knox. The hedging and cypress trees I put in were enough screening along with a black wrought-iron decorative fencing that slid open like a sliding door. The landscaping makes it more open than it was, but secure at the same time. I feel safe.
I can hear Harper and Presley laughing with their gramps as I pass the talking piece of the courtyard, the grand water feature with navy blue, cobalt blue, and white tiles with deep terracotta tiled concrete underfoot edged in more Mediterranean tiles.
Birdie used her Polaroid camera earlier to take some fun, candid shots of all of us with the fountain as the backdrop, and Faith, although off-duty as my official photographer couldn’t help snapping some fun bride and bridesmaid selfies with her selfie stick.
I made her promise nothing was to land on social media until tomorrow, keeping our wedding private and as anonymous as possible.
Even though we live without any monsters in the shadows, old fears die hard.
My phone pings. I retrieve it from my small clutch, which only has enough extra space for lipstick and a mirror. Of course, it is my husband-to-be replying. I feel ridiculously loved reading Edge’s short responses to the saucy image I sent earlier.
I look around me and decide while I’m alone—for all appearances—I can afford a spare minute or two to take another fun selfie to send to my husband-to-be, this time with more of a creative teasing glimpse of me before I arrive by Edge’s side.
I walk over to the border of clipped box hedging and strike a few poses, clicking away from different angles, blowing a kiss to my intended. Then with some fun editing on my cell phone, I cover most of my dress and add a ridiculous mustache to my upper lip (one Blueblood would be proud of) and some thick caterpillar eyebrows before writing something flirty and teasing.
My phone pings again interrupting my texting. One of the teams at Masson and Schenk Custom-made Motorcycles has sent me a message which makes me laugh, take a bow and wave to the camera I only now remember is documenting my every move in the courtyard.
Edge made sure, Harley Madden, a trusted friend of ours, fitted our home out with the best security he could install. If Edge has to be somewhere overnight, which is rare, he calls Mathias to make sure the kids and I have somebody watching over us from the inside.
I’m sure I am a source of amusement for the men Boxer and Edge have sitting in teams of two on rotation down at Masson and Schenk, in the security surveillance station.
Today it’s Zayne and Devil from their signed message. I quickly type back telling them I’ll make sure to save the men some cake.
The surveillance teams keep an eye out on the front entrance to our home, the courtyard in particular (while we sleep or are away), among other places like Boxer and Evelyn’s house, her doctor offices and any other places they deem worthy of needing more security. No doubt, those poor guys are bored out of their brains when rotating to the surveillance room. Luckily they work in shifts with everybody getting a turn at the surveillance station as well as the more exciting aspect of Boxer’s freelance contracting business.
The only way to break into our home is from the front. You can’t access it from either side without knowing the security codes to open the tall gates, or from the back that drops away. Once outside our gate, the cameras can’t pick up any activity.
The house has enough security to light up the place like a UFO is about to land if any unwanted trespassers ever managed to invade our grounds while we sleep.
I forget the cameras are even there, most of the time. The bad days are surely behind me. I’ve never felt safer, but today I decide to wave goodbye in the direction of one of the hidden cameras.
I arrive outside our main gate, where Boxer and Phoenix are keeping Harper, Presley, and Bowie entertained using the time to take funny candid photos of the twins in their wedding finery. Harper is so pretty in her long, Tiffany-blue tulle skirt with a bow on the back. The pearl colored, sleeveless satin bodice completes the dress. Her hairstyle matches mine, but she has a bunch of flowers poked through her low messy bun.
I stand back, watching them quietly. I like how Boxer includes Bowie in some of the photos.
Phoenix eventually looks over at me and gives me a little wave. She is stunning in her bridesmaid dress. I hold a finger up to my lips. I don’t want to interrupt Boxer’s fun.
I look around at all the homes in the cul-de-sac. There are only four in the curved end before the rest trail away down the street.
The gorgeous two-story home next to my neighbor, Flora, is owned by a lovely older couple, Carl and Dolly. They don’t mind the roar of the bikes when the men visit our home, parking their bikes in the cul-de-sac.
Pulling on a recent memory I smile to myself. Blueblood caught a lot of good-natured flack for taking Dolly for a ride on the back of his bike. Carl had come down to Masson and Schenk to ask Edge for a favor for his wife’s seventieth birthday. He wanted to know if Edge or another biker could settle one of Dolly’s bucket-list wishes before they sell and move on down to The Keys in Florida.
Blueblood was in the shop—never one to shy away from interrupting a conversation—offering up his services before Edge could get a word out.
Blueblood showed up on their doorstep, his theatrics in abundance with a smile and a low bow complete with a sweep of his arm ready to give Dolly a thrill-ride.
Dolly reported back that Blueblood had been a perfect gentleman, shouting her to a glass of French champagne at Joe’s Bar in Ocean Beach where Carl joined her. Dolly had enjoyed her surprise birthday ride so much she wanted to give something back to Blueblood.
Dolly and Carl own a successful donut franchise and sent donuts down to Masson and Schenk for a solid month afterward thinking Blueblood worked there.
Blueblood did manage to get at least a few donuts in his mouth over that period. I heard he phoned Dolly to thank her for the delicious treats, putting a little spark into her day.
It puts my mind at ease knowing the people who are our neighbors are good people. Boxer made sure Joel did a background check on everyone before Edge bought the house and continues to do so whenever anybody moves into our street.
“Mom, you look beautiful,” Presley calls out, sending me back out of my time warp and into the present. He’s wearing a smaller version of the groomsmens’ suits.
“Thank you, Presley. You’re looking very handsome yourself.” He’s the image of his father, just smaller with a little of me sprinkled into the mix.
Even though Presley and Harper are twins, I seem to shine through more in Harper, although Edge would argue they both take after me. Both have my skin coloring, but I see Edge in Presley.
Boxer looks up from where he’s now showing Phoenix a few photos on his camera. “Love, you can take a look at the pics I took in the stretch Hummer. Got me some beauties,” Boxer says sounding very pleased with himself. Then he’s gathering his camera off Phoenix.
“Moommy,” Harper launches herself at me,
but naturally it isn’t going as well as she plans because she’s heading for the hard ground.
“Somebody…” I only get one word out before Bowie reacts fast.
The boy braces himself with one leg in front of the other and curls his arm around her little waist and yanks her backward, balancing out her forward momentum into righting her little body.
We’ve done so well to get this far through the day without any Harper-mishaps. Bowie just saved a possible scraped knee or two.
“Oops... wasn’t meant to do that.” Harper twists her head and smiles up at Bowie before attempting to move out of his arm.
“Harper, you never do.” He laughs, before releasing her, shaking his head.
If I didn’t know any better, it looks like Bowie wants to keep on holding her waist from the reluctant look on his face. I catch a glimpse of the boy who would one day become a man, and then he was back to the boy again when he laughs at her.
“Good catch, Bowie.” Phoenix is impressed. She doesn’t realize how often somebody is catching my little girl. “I think we better be on our way,” Phoenix adds on. I don’t doubt she wants us all in the stretch Hummer where nobody can get hurt before the ceremony.
I watch Bowie start bouncing on his feet like he is nervous about something. Nerves are not something I associate with the boy.
How odd.
“HeyI’mgonnaberightbackI’vegottasaybyetomymomI’llbequick,” Bowie says the words in nervous rapid fire, the words blending into one, and then he’s running off toward his home, before we can respond.
“Pumpkin... I’ll be escorting you to the Hummer, I want you there in one piece,” Boxer tells Harper in a mock-serious voice.
“I won’t do it again, Gramps...promise,” Harper says all-girl sweetness and confidence in her voice while crossing her heart with her finger.
“Heard that before. Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Presley mutters under his breath while shaking his head.
“Come on Pumpkin, you and I will head off. Nana Evelyn is in there waiting for us.” They wander off hand-in-hand.