An NSB Wedding

by Alyson Santos

  Rita draws back like I’ve slapped her. “They hosted a royal reception in the Champagne Room two years ago.”

  “Ah. Well then.” I cross my arms with a grave nod. “Can they do a bacon fountain?”

  I flinch at the foot that collides with my shin. It was worth it to watch Callie’s shoulders relax along with her suppressed grin.

  “A bacon fountain?” Yep, there’s three words Rita clearly never wanted to say in sequence.

  “He’s kidding,” Callie draws out. A quick warning look for me, and she focuses on Rita. “Seriously, thank you for finding this, but I just can’t see myself getting married there. It’s too much.”

  “What if we did a barn wedding?” I ask.

  Ouch. Should’ve worn shin guards.

  The humor in Callie’s eyes doesn’t match the stern look on her face. “Still kidding,” she mutters.

  “Look, can’t we just have it here? This place is huge. They must have a bigger banquet room or something,” I say.

  Rita’s expression pinches into a sophisticated version of duh. “Well of course my first conversation was with the hotel manager. Unfortunately, because of the large conference this weekend, they don’t have a room to accommodate an event of this size. The most they can do is two hundred.”

  “Perfect. Let’s start cutting,” I say, clapping my hands together.

  Callie smacks me, Rita looks ready to cry, and I sigh.

  “Thanks for trying though,” I manage. “This has to be stressful for you.”

  Score one for compassion when Callie squeezes my thigh.

  Rita pushes back from the table and gathers her brochures with all the dignity of an A-list Wedding Planner. “I’ll keep looking,” she mumbles on her retreat.

  Callie’s hand climbs higher up my leg, and I hiss in a breath. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Her gaze has a different message and shoots all kinds of suggestions through my blood.

  I grin and lean in. “Language, babe.”

  6: THURSDAY 12:29PM, 2 DAYS

  Three words ruin my hope for an after-brunch encore of this morning’s sexy-time: Wedding Team Meeting.

  “Dude,” I groan to Eli when he saunters into the conference room carrying a plate of bacon.

  “What? They were clearing the buffet. Couldn’t let it go to waste.” He deposits his bounty on the table with a release so delicate I can strangely imagine the bacon cornucopia as a bouquet of flowers. He flops into a rolling leather chair. “Want some?” He pushes the plate two inches closer to the center of the table. Only Sweeny reaches in for a share of the offering.

  “This stuff is the shit,” Sweeny mumbles through a mouthful of food.

  “Right?”

  They shrink into their chairs at Callie’s death stare. “You guys done?”

  They nod.

  “Good, so—”

  “Sorry I’m late!”

  All attention shifts to Derrick who bursts in and throws himself in the chair next to Eli.

  “D, what’re you doing?” Jesse asks his drummer.

  “Wedding meeting, right?”

  “For the wedding party.”

  Derrick grabs a fistful of bacon and drops back into his chair. “Yeah, and I’m the guest-book bitch.” He bites through at least four pieces at once.

  Jesse cringes. “Sorry,” he says to Callie, who draws in a heavy inhale.

  “It’s fine. Just—”

  “We should wait for Reece,” Derrick says. “He’s better at remembering this shit.”

  I watch Callie’s sweet fingers clench into a fist.

  “We don’t need Reece,” she forces out. Draws in a breath to continue—

  “But he’s Guest Book Bitch Number Two.”

  “Can you not call it that?” she snaps. My smile slips out. “It’s attendant. Guest book attendant, and I can assure you we won’t be covering any guest-book-related issues at this meeting.”

  Derrick holds up his hands in surrender, then reaches for more bacon.

  “As I was saying,” Callie continues. “We called you here to update you on some unfortunate developments and thought it would be easier to inform you as a group.”

  “Oh my god. You’re breaking up!” Derrick cries, nearly choking on his bacon.

  “What? No—”

  “Damn, girl. Come here.” Huge drummer arms that aren’t mine, pull her in for a crushing hug. “We’ll get through this,” he says to me over her shoulder.

  I can’t even be mad that he’s touching my girl. It’s too funny watching Callie tense and look ready to smash him in the groin. She ducks away, eyes narrowed.

  “Sit,” she barks, pointing back at his chair. “I swear, Derrick Rivers, if you so much as open your mouth again, you’re not only out of this meeting, but off guest-book duty.”

  Not sure which of those threats is more terrifying for the guy, but his wide eyes remain fixed on my bride as he lowers himself back to his chair. My fiancée is so fucking hot.

  As she launches into the Rose Chateau Saga, I study the faces of our inner circle. Luke’s expression mirrors mine. Amusement, concern, a glowing love for the woman barking out orders and updates. But the romantic side of his heart belongs to the lady to his left: Holland Drake, bridesmaid number two. Holland’s typically compassionate eyes are narrowed into a threat against Limelight’s drummer. Callie’s newest BFF, Silvina, is next with her ever-hovering boyfriend-slash-former-mob-prince, Gioele, behind her. Something about that dude scares the shit out of me. Then my sister Molly, brother Nate, and of course Jesse, Mila, Eli, Sweeny—and Derrick.

  My gaze rests on the empty seat beside Jesse for a little longer than the others. Parker’s chair. It’s been six months since his passing, and Jesse still leaves room for his brother’s memory. Creepy? Maybe to those who don’t get it, but for the rest of us, we can’t imagine not including the guy in our lives. Those boys have a lot to be proud of, and Parker deserves to keep his place in our journey. My stomach clenches, and I force my attention back to Callie.

  “So that’s where we stand. We’ll send updates when we have them so keep an eye out. Any questions?”

  Derrick’s hand shoots up, and Callie gives him a hard look. “What?”

  “So there is or isn’t a guestbook now?”

  7: THURSDAY 1:46PM, 2 DAYS

  “You sure you didn’t want to check out the spa with the girls?” I ask Luke, while absently strumming my acoustic.

  Luke shoots an eye-roll from the couch in my suite. “I’m good, thanks.”

  I smirk and stare back at my fingers moving over the strings. “What do you think of this progression for the chorus of ‘While You Wait?’”

  I play through the chords, studying his reaction as I hum the melody.

  “Yeah, man. I like that.” A smile lifts his features. “Run it again with the pre-chorus?”

  I do, and his face lights up. “It’s perfect. Sweeny can do a lead line over that. Here’s what I’m thinking.” He motions for the guitar, and I get up from the edge of the bed to pass it to him.

  After playing with a few notes, he finger-picks a riff the guys will love.

  “Dude, that’s sick,” I say. “Hang on.” I pull out my phone and open the voice memo. “Play it again?”

  Satisfied with the recording, I take my guitar back and return to my seat on the mattress. My hands find their natural resting place on the guitar strings and the light ambient soundtrack returns. Callie calls it Phantom Fingers, the fact that I can’t be near a guitar without having it in my hands and strumming with zero conscious thought.

  “Seriously, man. How you doing?” Luke asks.

  I glance over at him and shrug. “Sucks, dude. You know Callie wanted to call the whole thing off?”

  “What?”

  “She likes things ordered. This is really hard on her.”

  “Yeah. What about on you?”

  “You know how it is. If she’s hurting I’m fucking hurting.”

  He nods, eyes connec
ting with mine in the bond that can only be forged by years of sharing pain.

  “I just want it to be over, man. Make her my wife and move on with our lives.”

  “So why don’t you?” I give him a look, and his lips twist up through the concern on his face. “She won’t let you.”

  “Four hundred guests need their lobster and filet,” I mutter.

  “She’s doing it for you. You get that right? Those four hundred guests are your friends and family. She has almost no one. She wants to make sure you have no regrets and the day she thinks you deserve.”

  I stare over in amusement. “She pay you to say that?”

  “Maybe. Was it worth the five hundred bucks?”

  “Five hundred? She got scammed.”

  He laughs and settles back against the couch. “Case, she loves you as insanely as you love her. I hate that this is happening, but we’re going to figure it out. Hell, if I have to get that online licensing thing and do it myself right here, I will.”

  “So you’d wear a bridesmaid dress, tux, and a priest’s collar all in the same wedding? This just keeps getting weirder.”

  “You think your wedding coordinator would approve?”

  “Rita? Shit, she’d probably need counseling.”

  “Now there’s a woman who could use a day at the spa.”

  “She wanted us to have it in the Champagne Room of the Bishop Crest Plaza.”

  “Wait, that giant castle where all the royals get hitched?”

  “Yeah.”

  He snorts a laugh. “How’d Callie take that?”

  “How do you think?”

  “Damn. You’d look good holding a sword though.”

  “Wait, you think they include those swords with the wedding package?”

  ∞∞∞

  There are two problems with the scene I find in the elevator on my way back to my room:

  1. My sister Molly.

  2. My bass player Eli.

  “Where are you two kids headed?” I try for casual. Eli buys it because he has zero social awareness. I notice bikini straps peeking through a cover-up that could maybe pass as a dress on my sister. A quick glance at Eli’s pants and… well that’s no help. He’s wearing jeans. My question remains.

  “Molly wanted to go for a swim. Figured I’d be a gentleman and escort her.” He adds a bow to that which has the opposite effect of chivalry.

  “Right,” I say. “In your jeans?”

  He glances down as if noticing for the first time that he’s not properly attired. With Eli, that’s entirely possible. He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

  I shoot a glare at Molly who returns a plea. She has to know this is the oldest play in the book. No bathing suit equals a musician in his underwear, aka, kryptonite for nice girls like my sister. Not happening.

  “That’s nice of you, man, but I have some time. I can hang with you,” I offer to Molly.

  Damn. When’d she learn to wield those eye-darts? I swallow, backing up a step. And now we’re at my floor, great.

  “We’re fine. Thanks, though. Enjoy your afternoon.” Her words come with a shove through the elevator exit when the door opens.

  “But—” The last thing I see is my sister’s victorious wave.

  I immediately head for the stairs, pulling out my phone as I walk. But who to contact with my SOS? Even Luke thinks Molly’s crush on Eli is funny and harmless. Callie would help, but I can’t add to her burden. Well, fuck. I put my phone back in my pocket and take the stairs two at a time toward the ground floor. That’s where I learn this hotel has three water amenities, not including steam units and hot tubs throughout the resort.

  Do I care enough to comb through every one? I try to imagine myself as Uncle Casey to Eli’s children. Scratch that. I try to imagine Eli’s children. Yep, it’s worth it.

  The first pool is a bust. This must be the pool where exasperated parents bring their exasperating spawn. I do find myself even more urgent to stop this Eli-Molly romance after that. The second pool is indoors, small, and reeks of chlorine. It’s also packed with guests my uncles would appreciate. Wait…

  I look closer. That is my uncle. I try to back away from the glass, but not before I’m spotted and beckoned with that wave only old people can do after years of practice. I draw in a deep breath, knowing I have no time to spare.

  “Hey,” I say, poking my head into the room.

  “Well, Casey Boy. So nice of you to join us. We tried to say hello at dinner last night but you were clearly too busy for your Uncle Alan.”

  Passive-aggressive much? I see Uncle A hasn’t mellowed since the last time I saw him at my father’s funeral.

  “Fancy a swim, young man?” a woman I don’t recognize says. Her beckoning finger is frightening in its power. I find myself almost at the edge of the pool before I realize what’s happening.

  “Thanks, ma’am, but I’m actually looking for someone.”

  “I hope it’s not your bride!” Uncle Alan laughs so hard at his own joke I swear he’s the one causing those bubbles in the hot tub. Reason number seven not to get in. His companion joins in the laughter, though her eyes never stray from me. I can’t help the feeling that she’s hoping I’ll end up in the water without a suit.

  I clear my throat. “Okay, well it was good to see you. Enjoy your afternoon.”

  “Have you met my woman?” Uncle Alan interrupts with a strange hand wave toward Ms. Ogle Eyes. Is he drunk? Probably. I search the deck for evidence of substances but only see the ginormous bottle of cranberry juice in his hand. Well… okay then. Hard to imagine why both of my uncles are single.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, already backing toward the exit.

  “Her name’s Blanche. It’s her stage name.” He adds a wink as if that would do anything but lead to more questions I don’t want to consider.

  “Nice to meet you, Blanche.” I find myself bowing. Damn those southern manners.

  Blanche fans herself with all the charm of a woman who has a stage name like Blanche.

  “Well, aren’t you a honeysuckle.”

  I force a smile and nod.

  “They used to call him that in school,” Uncle Alan cackles. “Ain’t that right, Casey Boy?”

  “No. Not even ever.” I take another step back. “Well look: again, it was great to meet you but—”

  “Blanche here was nominated for a Pinwheel Award in the ‘70s, weren’t you, dear?”

  “Oh, Alan. You tease!” She swats him into another cackle, which leads to a cough, which leads to a giant swig of cranberry juice. “I was never,” she assures me. “But it was certainly discussed at one point.” This time her lashes bat with all kinds of innuendo I choose to miss. Plus, I don’t know what any of that means.

  “Okay, well, congratulations…” I think? “I’m sure we’ll see you at the reception.” This time I dart from the room before I fall victim to any more conversation. Funny that once I’m in the hall I find myself heading back to the elevators instead of the next public space. Molly’s a grownup. She can take care of herself.

  8: THURSDAY 3:12PM, 2 DAYS

  I’ve just made it back to my room, found my bed, and closed my eyes for an attempt at a nap when a knock ends that fantasy. I press my fist against my forehead and wait. Nope, there it is again. Cursing, I throw back the sheet and swing my legs to the floor. I don’t remember the path to the door being so long. I pull it open only to be greeted by a greenhouse explosion.

  “Mr. Barrett?” the obscene bouquet asks. A face peeks around the side, and I sigh.

  “Yeah.”

  “Delivery for you.”

  The man does his best to transfer his burden to me.

  “Thanks,” I say, grunting when the full weight of the arrangement transfers to my tired muscles. I stagger back a step, and the man smiles.

  “If you can wait just a moment, Stuart will be here with the rest.”

  “The rest?”

  “Yes, the cart.”

  “Hang on, w
hat?” I follow his gaze to the squeak down the hall. No fucking way. “No.”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Those aren’t coming in here.”

  “But sir—”

  I place the flowers beside the door and pluck a card from the mass.

  To the happy couple.

  Marty Heilman

  Who the hell is Marty Heilman?

  “This has to be a mistake.”

  “You are Casey Barrett, Suite 1401?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  He shows me the delivery slip.

  “Are all of these from Marty Heilman?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Stuart” arrives with the cart, and I start picking through the bounty.

  Best wishes.

  Marty Heilman

  Love is a gift.

  Marty Heilman

  Joined hands and hearts forever.

  Marty Heilman

  The fuck?

  “Is this a joke?” I ask the poor man who shrinks back a step. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. These aren’t coming into my room.”

  “But sir, we must deliver them.”

  “Well, un-deliver them. Return to sender. Whatever.”

  “Sir?”

  He and Stuart exchange a look, and I get it.

  “Here.” I return to my room and grab my wallet off the dresser. “A tip not to deliver these.”

  They look even more confused, but tentatively accept my gift, probably by force of habit. Their wide eyes watch me from immobile faces as I lift my hand in a courtesy wave and disappear behind the door.

  I drop to my bed, pull up the sheet and have one of the best half-hour naps of my life.

  ∞∞∞

  “Babe?”

  A gentle tug of my hair pulls me back to consciousness. I blink and settle back to rest at the profile of my girl.

  “Hey, Cal,” I let out.

  “Hi, hun. Sorry to wake you.”

  “It’s okay. You can make it up to me.” She squeals when I yank her down beside me.