by Xavier Neal
The door opens again and Nikolas’ large hand is extended once more.
I give my newly painted red toes a wiggle in the gold strap heels I’m wearing, exhale one final breath, and allow him to help me out.
The bright early morning light beams down on me and I resist the urge to squint knowing the last thing I need is the photo of me being introduced to the public containing a grimace like I’m some sort of vampire allergic to the sun.
Think the face Angel from Buffy used to make when he went from hottie to horrific looking hero.
Kellan finishes saying something to one of them in the crowd and then turns to face me. His jaw is immediately floored as his eyes carefully caress every curl, every curve, and every crevice that he has spent the past few months adorning in private. Each step becomes harder to take under his entranced gaze. Rather than offer me a hand to join his side, he completely abandons the crowd. In three short strides, he slips one hand on my hip, the other around the nape of my neck to anchor us together, and eagerly presses his lips to mine. I’m instantly flooded with relief. Despite my best efforts to deny his tongue access to mine, I’m swiftly defeated and swept away by whirl after whirl from his starving tongue.
My hand lands on his chest to help me gently drag my mouth away. I lean up and tip my lips against his ear. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to have our photos taken with you wearing a raging hard-on along with your winning smile?”
Kellan groans from the choice of words, reality hitting him in the gut that we aren’t alone. When I pull back, I smear away the minor bit of lipstick he managed to transfer, and he sighs, “You look...absolutely. Phenomenal.”
“Thank you.” I give his sharp black suit a quick look, noting the cursive K embroidered in black on his red tie. Seeing the subtle touch of Kenningston pride he’s sporting shifts my smile brighter. “You look very handsome.”
“Don’t I always?” He teases.
The joke makes me scoff, but allows the two of us a moment to snicker away the lingering anxiety.
This isn’t just about the two of us. This is about letting his country feel like they are a part of something important. This is the two of us standing in front of the world saying it is alright to be with whoever you love despite race. I can do this…I can do this…I can do this…I mean…I can, can’t I?
Kellan’s fingers wind with mine before he gives me a wink. Afterward he turns back to the crowd and states, “My apologies. As you witnessed my tongue literally got away from me.” The crowd chuckles and we stop in front of them. “I completely forgot you were all just standing here. It happens anytime she’s around.” With one more charming smile their direction, he looks down at me, steps slightly to the side, and announces with a gesture from his free hand, “I’d like to formally introduce my fiancé. This ladies and gentleman, is Brie Ashlyn Sanders, the future Mrs. Kenningston.”
All of a sudden, a swarm of flashes begin in an overwhelming manner. Panic pumps profusely though my veins attempting to remove the fake painted smile I practiced between hair pulls. Kellan gives my hand a light squeeze and I catch his soft glance, which reminds me once more I’m not in this alone. My smile relaxes at that point and becomes a little more natural.
You know in a way I feel bad for him. He’s had to spend his entire life perfecting a smile for pictures and I’m sure it was draining. I’m sure it made wanting to smile for himself even more difficult. I’m sure it made finding a reason to, all the more necessary. What I know now, as I have to share a preplanned smile for all of these people alongside him, is I appreciate the ones we share in private more than ever before. Just look at him. The difference between the two is blatantly obvious. I love experiencing things with him no one else ever has. I’m excited to spend a life time reveling in his secrets, his quirks, and the vulnerable side he only shares with me. From the look on his face he’s beyond ready to let me. He’s ready to do the same.
My attention roams around the room drinking in the stupendous job the coordinators have done. While I was expecting it to be heavy on the royal colors, they took an entirely different route, using black, deep dark blues, and white. The tables are covered in dark cloths, while the chairs are a striking white, as are the heart statue centerpieces, creating a beautiful contrast. There are white lights hung from the ceiling, wrapped around pillars, and dangling like waterfalls near the bars.
I tilt my head at the sight of the champagne glasses on the table forming a giant heart. “Why?”
Soph leans into my brother’s embrace as she questions, “Why what?”
Turning towards them I clarify, “Why a heart?”
“Seriously?” Kristopher asks. “It’s your engagement party, the moment in your life to celebrate love before declaring it in front of hundreds of people, and you want to ask why a heart shape? I know you’re slow little brother, but come on.”
My hands slip into my pockets. “Why not a circle?”
His eyebrows twitch in irritation. “What?”
“A circle. You know the shape with no corners. A symbol of a never ending love. Like the ring you place on your fiancé’s hand. Why isn’t the party decorated in circles instead?”
Soph coos, “Awe. That would’ve been romantic.”
I motion my head her direction. “See.”
“Polka dots are not romantic. They’re for clowns and children’s parties, not sophisticated events where people like Arthur Copeland are going to be attending.”
“You don’t even like clowns.”
“I don’t like polka dots either.”
We exchange annoyed glares and Soph giggles, “You two are like monkeys in the circus. Never-ending entertainment.”
Kristopher opens his mouth to defend himself when I add, “People love the circus. And what do they have? Clowns and polka dots.”
His face reddens as if steam is about to shoot out of his ears. The sight makes me chuckle at the same time I reach for a glass. However, Soph swats my hand away. “Not those. Those are for decoration.”
I huff my further irritation. “That’s insane and a complete waste of champagne.”
“Deal,” she scolds. “Those are meant to stay that beautiful until your toast.”
“But-”
“The waiters are taking from the selection and another set lingers by to replace the empty spots. They’ve got an entire system worked out to allow the décor to look dazzling and to have this be picture perfect up until the exact moment of the toast.”
My head falls backwards in defeat.
I hate this thing more and more by the bloody minute. Insistence on hearts aside, the entire thing is a traditional black and white affair, filled completely with stiff conversations and even stiffer people. Very little of this party is actually meant to celebrate the love we share. It’s primarily for people to ask invasive questions and judge if the new member entering the Kenningston family is an asset or a threat to their own personal regard. To make matters worse I’ve spent the majority of the hour I’ve been here apart from Brie. My father has taken the liberty of introducing her to wives of our business associates.
“Your separation anxiety is ridiculous,” Soph snickers again. When my head pulls itself back up, she states, “I know that’s why you’re picking fights about the decorations.”
I refuse to admit she’s right.
“Kellan, she’s two yards to the left. Relax. Your father didn’t secretly lure her outside to be ravished by wolves.”
A hurt expression crawls onto my face and I helplessly whine, “Why would you even say that?”
“To watch you do that.” Her laughter is accompanied by my brothers.
“What are you laughing at? You nearly shit your suit the first time you left father alone at your engagement with Soph.”
His face pales yet his wife’s grin grows. “Oh?”
“Yes,” I inform her swiftly. “He spent every moment you weren’t at his side stuffing crab cakes in his mouth to stop from cowering in fear that
you were going to change your mind.”
“I should’ve,” she teases and a squeak escapes him. After a good laugh with me, she leans her hand up to touch his cheek. “I’m kidding, Kris. You need to relax as well. I’m not even sure what’s got you so stiff.”
His eyes lower to mine to exchange a worried glance.
Arthur Copeland. He’s an older gentleman, on his third wife, and fourth decade in the billionaire boys club. He’s also one of the biggest donors to my brother’s foundation. Very rarely does he step out to these sorts of events. Typically he just has someone write his monthly check for him and if more funds are needed, a simple, polite phone call suffices for him to gladly pen the extra amount. The fact he decided to be here in person is worrisome. I’ve been trying to pretend for my brother’s sake it’s not, but the truth is, people like him, people who rarely leave their beach front mansion for more than a round of golf with old buddies, only come out to these things when life altering decisions are being made.
“Laura from the publicity team says the response to your announcement has been well received,” Soph attempts to distract the two of us.
I smile brightly. “Is that so?”
“According to many of the sources and the blogs related to your trending name, the people of Doctenn adore Brie. They think she’s quite charming herself.”
“I liked when she denied it was love at first sight for her and you followed her around until you got your way,” Kris teases about the interview answer she gave.
“Oh…I liked that too.” Soph quickly nods. “And hearing the fact your first date was to a monster truck show.”
My lips curl in the corners. “She tricked me.”
“Don’t cry about it you big baby. From her story it sounds like you deserved it,” my brother chortles.
Before an argument can ensue, Soph intervenes again, “She was absolutely irresistible during the announcement, Kellan. It was hard to look away. And from what Laura was saying, the popular opinion is approval. Everything from her bold choice of dress, to her natural way of speaking, to the fact you two could barely take your eyes off one another…”
It was damn near impossible to look anywhere else. Did you see her? She looked like something that should’ve been painted in a portrait then hung permanently in the best art museum in the world. She looked like true art come to life. It was breathtaking.
All of a sudden there’s a soft touch against my hand. The moment I turn and my eyes meet Brie’s, the brick on my chest from leaving her in my father’s clutches shifts elsewhere. My attention lowers down the front of her fitted black cocktail dress that has a slight slit in the front. The small tease of the area I can’t wait to run my hands across eradicates all other thoughts.
Do you know how exhausting it is to keep telling myself, responsibilities now, sex later?
“Love,” I warmly greet her with a sweet kiss. “Everything alright?”
She beams, the natural glow I love surpassing the layer of makeup I don’t. “I think so. I met a woman named Diane Folane-”
“Lipstick on her teeth?” Soph interrupts.
Brie tries not cringe. “Yeah…She seemed tipsy already.”
“She’s married to Christof Folane. He donates to MINOH. He also plays golf with my father every other month. They take turns switching portions of the country. Typically when my father ventures south, he also makes a stop to play badminton with the Bronshires and cricket with the Meltons.”
My fiancé gives me a puzzled look. “That’s a lot of sports. I’m not going to have to get good at one of those, am I?”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a tiny white skirt for tennis.”
She pops me in the chest with the back of her ring hand.
Bloody hell that thing is a weapon! Remind me to keep a greater distance when we banter.
“It’s not really about the sports,” Kris informs, smirking at my wince of pain. “It’s about the things they discuss while they do them. Politics. Financial exchanges. Tips to benefit one another or woes to be weary of.”
Brie begins to look frazzled again. “I guess I should learn something of this country’s politics, huh?”
“Why?” My brother questions with a sly smirk. “Kellan never bothered to.”
They laugh and I shrug. “There are more interesting matters to consider, such as if my fiancé is wearing underwear.”
“I know the answer,” Soph teases, which grabs my attention. “Just like she knows the answer to whether or not I am.”
At that my brother’s eyebrows rise. “There’s a possibility you’re not wearing any panties?”
Brie interjects, “Kris there’s always a possibility a woman isn’t wearing underwear in an evening gown. We don’t like lines.”
“We hate them,” Soph agrees.
“And I love guessing about them.” My comment gets me a small bump from Brie and I slip my hand around her waist.
“Is that what you were doing when you were momentarily frozen in place with your tongue hung out of your mouth? Debating whether or not she had on panties?” The mirth in Soph’s tone directs my attention to her.
“My tongue was not hanging out of my mouth.”
“You looked like Scooby Doo when someone mentions a Scooby Snack.”
With a crooked grin, I counter, “You better believe I love devouring her just the same.”
Brie bumps into me again, face burning with embarrassment.
I thought it was clever considering I was just compared to a cartoon dog.
“Kellan!” My father calls from a couple yards over. His hand beckons me as does the stern expression indicating it’s in my best interest to be prompt.
“If you all will excuse me. I’m apparently being summoned to the ninth circle of hell.”
Trust me. It’s the right one in Dante’s Inferno, which is another reason I bloody hate poetry. Aside from the obvious bore it brings, that particular one almost caused me to flunk out of the literature course I was taking my freshman year at Grindalin University. Thankfully, I had an acquaintance turned temporary tutor who helped prevent that by using her body to help demonstrate the circles. Best not to discuss her. Especially not at my engagement party…
I arrive at my father’s side and he motions his hand towards an unfamiliar face. “Kellan, this is Michael Sweets. He and his brother Melvin are the CEOs of Sweet Settings, the largest marketing firm in the country.”
The elocution of my father’s introduction tenses my shoulders yet I somehow manage to extend my hand to shake. “Pleasure.”
“Same.”
“I’m not sure if you recall or not, but Sweet Settings handles all of our private marketing. Your brother’s foundation, your program, and the real-estate company I’m invested in,” he continues to explain, the strain in his voice apparent to me.
“We’ve loved working with the Kenningston family,” Michael begins at the same time he grabs a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by. “It’s always been a lucrative asset to have your names on our client roster.”
His chortle forces a phony smile onto my face.
In case you’ve forgotten from the last time you attended one of these, this is absolutely ‘normal’ behavior. The nose in the air. The pushed back shoulders. The disgustingly smug grin. Let’s not ignore his crooked bow tie or receding hair line, both which are daring us to comment about them. He looks like someone smashed a young Bruce Willis’ face in with a brick and then peeled his hair back to expose more of the aftermath. What? Too harsh?
“However given your recent….” His hand waves around to the room, “change of life style, we are going to have to reconsider our partnership.”
The urge to resist smarting off becomes more difficult. I clear my throat in an attempt to push it away and comment, “Oh?”
“You see at Sweet Settings, we’re a very conservative company. We prefer not to associate ourselves with clients who can cause too many ripples our direction. Previously, your osten
tatious ways haven’t had any backlash our direction, but this choice, the choice of a different partner, will cause more repercussions than we’re willing to accept at this time.”
Unsure of how to respond, I simply stare on, a mixture of disbelief and disgust steadily building.
“We hope you can understand where we’re coming from, Kellan. Your choice of becoming engaged to someone so different than you is going to cause tensions we would rather distance ourselves from.”