Unexpected Bride

by Abigail Graham

  "I guess we kind of got off on the wrong foot."

  "Did we?" I ask.

  "The strip club thing—not my idea. Todd swore up and down we were going to a regular club after the casino."

  "Wasn't your idea, but you were fine with his lie," I say. "Doesn't make a good first impression."

  His eyes narrow. This man is handsome, I guess, that is marrying my sister. He strikes me as lean, not just physically, but spiritually. I would say they'd be a good fit, if I was being objective. Yet there is some spark of filial affection that makes me suddenly wonder if this guy who told his bride-to-be he was at an arcade while the best titties money could buy were rubbing in his face.

  Hey, at least I'm open about my debauchery. Can't be more open than an Instagram story, can you?

  "Are we going to have a problem about that?" he asks. "I was faithful. I guarantee you Karen is no virgin. She says they had a dumb hen party, but there's male strip clubs too, you know?"

  My eyes twitch, and I take a drink.

  Does he think he's doing damage control? My sister's virginity is not a suitable topic for afternoon cocktails.

  Or any cocktails. Or at all.

  "Maybe," I say.

  "The way I hear it, you already backed up Todd's story, and so did Julia. Who went off with you. Which, if I know my Karen, she would not approve of."

  Ah, so there it is. Blackmail.

  "I get you," I say.

  He nods. "I'm glad you do. That's all in the past. You can trust me."

  "Not for me to trust or not trust you. I'm not marrying you, she is."

  "She knows who I am, and I know who she is. We're really compatible."

  "Don't have to convince me."

  I signal for another drink. Since the bar is mostly deserted, a waitress brings it out pretty quick, and brings another for Bruce as well. I pay for both and leave a hefty tip, then down half of mine at once.

  "Think the rehearsal dinner is going to be that bad, huh?"

  I give him a hard look.

  Trying to joke with me now? After that?

  Eh. I shrug.

  "I need a little liquid courage before dealing with the family."

  "Well, don't overdo it. We wouldn't want anything to slip out."

  "We wouldn't, would we?" I say.

  "Look man, I just want to know we're square."

  "We're square. Unless I ever find out you did fuck around with my sister, then all bets are off."

  "If you really care about Julia, then all bets stay on."

  My hackles rise, and I slam my glass down on the table so hard I can feel it nearly crack in my hands. Bruce stares at me with an awe shucks expression.

  "I have more to lose than you do, I admit. So what happens if your sister finds out you plowed her best friend? She yells at you? What happens to Jules, though? She'd be scrubbing toilets for eleven five an hour somewhere without Karen, and you know it."

  "Don't push me," I say.

  He nods and finishes his drink. "Thanks for the cocktail. I'll see you at the rehearsal." He taps his watch. "Might want to start to mosey over there."

  I let him go first and brood over my drink. I stick a twenty under the glass when I leave for the waitress. Yeah, I tipped her already, but fuck it. I'm in a generous mood.

  My blood is hot. Bruce has moved out of the "indifferent" category to "pissing me off." As much as I want to admit it, hell, as much as I want to refuse it, I have a responsibility to my sister if anything weird happened last night.

  My instincts are lit up like a Christmas tree.

  If he was cool and nothing happened, why would he hedge his bets by talking to me?

  That's not the action of an innocent man.

  Speaking of the actions of the guilty and innocent, here comes Julia in a sun dress that bears her gorgeous legs from mid-thigh down. The kind of light floral pattern summer dress that shows aching hints of what lies beneath every time the sun catches some loose fabric. She also wears the sunglasses of one who is suffering from a hangover of biblical proportions.

  I start towards the spot on the beach where we're supposed to meet up for the rehearsal and turn away from her. I don't need to hear her jog to catch up to me, I can feel her presence like a tension at the back of my neck. She's insistent, and she is there.

  "Don't run away from me," she snaps in a clipped tone, angry but worried her voice will carry.

  "Am I supposed to say ‘yes, dear’?"

  "Ideally," she says, pulling up next to me.

  I can't look at her. If I look her in the eye, if I let my eyes wander over her collarbones or the fine muscles of her shoulders and neck, I'll do whatever she says. Or just pull her into a utility closet and make another colossal mistake.

  She still has that goddamn band-aid on.

  "Still can't get the ring off?"

  "What'd you do with yours?" she asks, dodging the question.

  "I have it. It's gold, I'm not going to just get rid of it."

  She frowns. Pouts, really. If it was anyone else in this world it'd be annoying as hell, but it isn't—it's her. That look on her face makes me want to crush her in my arms and bury my face in her hair and rock her back and forth until her worries have all been squeezed out of her.

  Of course, we're walking in a romantic beach resort. Everywhere I look there's couples, or couples with kids, which is somehow worse. I never noticed that before but now it's all I can see.

  If she moved a little closer, maybe if I took her hand, we'd be one of those romantic vacation couples, too. Yet her palm and delicate fingers and soft skin seem a million miles away.

  "If you really knew me, you'd give this up."

  "First you get pissed because of all the things your sister says, and now you're trying to use it as a shield."

  Her voice is fast and sharp, a silken whip.

  She'd make a hell of a wife. No nonsense. Maybe even keep me in line.

  "I'm not marriage material."

  She considers that thoughtfully a moment, her eyes narrowing as she reads some subtext I missed in my own damn words.

  "We shouldn't walk up to the rehearsal together. People might make assumptions."

  "So what?"

  I stop in my tracks. "Julia, what will happen if Karen finds out about us? How will she take it?"

  "Badly," Julia admits. "You're not her favorite person and she's...she's always been kind of nasty about my cru...feelings for you," she corrects herself.

  I almost wish she'd said crush. It's...cute.

  God, what is she doing to me?

  "So what? She'd get over it. We're friends. You think she'd stop talking to me because I'm with you?"

  "Julia, we got married. That's a little more than a one-night stand or a date."

  "You talk about it like it was my idea," she says, icily.

  "Uh, what?"

  "You proposed. Don't you remember?"

  I swallow. "I had a lot to drink."

  She stops and faces me, her hand—the hand bearing the ring—on her hip. Head cocked to the side, she looks weirdly tough, the hard lines showing beneath all her soft curves. The sun seems to make her frizzy hair glow.

  "You told me I was more beautiful than breathing and you wanted me forever."

  "I said that?"

  "You said that."

  "Let's not be late," I say, rushing off.

  "Don't try to change the subject," she huffs, catching up.

  I stop again.

  "Julia, I don't want to hurt you."

  "You're hurting me right now."

  She reaches out to touch my chest and I grab her wrist, as if that looks any better if someone walks up on us like this. She yanks her hand free.

  "What's the matter, don't want me to touch you now?"

  I sigh. "You have no idea."

  I could spend an hour doing nothing but licking her damn neck.

  "I can talk to her—"

  "No!" I bark.

  "Oh, come on."

  "I
f anyone does, it'll be me. Can we at least talk about this later, before we make a scene?"

  "Make a scene?" she snaps, her voice rising to a near-shout.

  "Sorry, sorry," I mutter, trying to quiet her by lowering my own voice.

  "That's almost as bad as saying 'don't be hysterical.’"

  "We'll talk later. I know one thing: if Karen finds out, she'll throw a fit about me stealing her thunder. I'm trying to keep my head down. She's been trying to compete with me her entire goddamn life, I don't want her to use you to score points in some bullshit game only she is playing."

  Julia scowls.

  "You shouldn't talk about her like that. She's a great person."

  "I bet she tells you every day how great she is," I say and turn to walk off.

  Julia catches up to me and walks in silence, brooding cutely, her soft lips pursed in deep thought. She's even endearing when she scowls at me. I tell myself that so it won't hurt so much. If I didn't see the need behind her eyes when she glares at me, I think her looks would draw blood, just cut me where I stand.

  Stop being so poetic, Ryan. That's how you got into this mess.

  It's not long until I spot the rest of the wedding party. As I tromp across the beach, Julia falls back, like we weren't walking together, and Karen taps her wrist, pointing to a phantom watch as she scowls and mouths "where were you?"

  I ignore her and move to the side as Julia steps up to take her maid of honor position, and the rehearsal starts. The officiant is a local preacher, a good-natured chubby guy who clearly enjoys this part of the pray trade. That's what we used to call it when I was a flyer; chaplains were sky pilots.

  Julia rubs the bandage she's using to conceal her wedding band in an unconscious tick as Bruce and Karen mime the exchange of rings. Everyone claps, and now it's time for dinner. All this walking for that.

  Julia moves over the sand lightly, walking briskly away from me as the group moves back towards the resort and the restaurant where we're all eating. There's a block of eateries near the tower where we're staying, a courtyard of shops that has a kind of Tuscan villa feel to it, and with good reason; the restaurant on the top floor is Italian.

  When we arrive, everyone heads upstairs. Todd falls in next to me, giving me those expectant looks one guy gives another when he anticipates a conversation about football at any moment. I carefully avoid even looking at him. The sight of him makes fury pulse in my throat.

  Not only did he arrange a betrayal of my sister, though hopefully a minor one, I find him personally offensive. He looks and sounds like he stopped maturing in his sophomore year and he eats something containing bacon at least once a day, and drinks sriracha instead of Gatorade when he exerts himself. I swear, he sweats buffalo wing sauce.

  Being stuck in a flying metal tube with him was not on my list of most enjoyable experiences. With my luck, I'll end up sitting next to him.

  After the hostess leads us to the table, I glance at the place cards. Of course, there's place cards. Mom is even more Type A than Karen is. I once saw her fire one of the landscapers because he didn't know that “mum” is short for chrysanthemum.

  Todd sits next to me.

  I begin to understand now. At some point in my sordid life I crashed a jet and now I'm in an ironic hell.

  If I am, then Julia is the infernal succubus sent to tempt me, and hell's teeth are sweet as they are sharp. Naturally, she's been placed opposite me in the table, as befits the maid of honor.

  As soon as we sit down, Dad, seated at the head of the table, leans back for the waitress to fill his wine glass with Riesling and looks around the table.

  "Is everyone excited? Tomorrow is the big day."

  "Very excited," Karen says.

  "I can't wait," Julia agrees.

  Dad looks at her as if the toaster on the counter started speaking to him. He's never stopped looking at her as the maid's daughter and seems to see her as Julia's beloved pet. Mostly he's tolerant and amused, but he'll silence her with a look if he feels like it. I can feel Julia tense when he regards her.

  I also feel something moving up my leg. I catch myself before I twitch too hard. It takes a moment for the gears in my brain to finally catch, the teeth to mesh, and things to start turning.

  Julia has slipped out of her shoe and is running her toes up my leg. My calf first, then my thigh. She shifts slightly as she rests her heel on my chair and starts kneading my damned dick with the ball of her foot and her toes. I shift in my seat, bristling, and have to be asked four times which of the three options I prefer for an appetizer off the prixe fixe menu mom chose and refuse them all.

  Julia gets the steamed clams.

  Once everyone has ordered, the table settles down into amicable conversation. I look at Bruce.

  "Karen has never told me how you met."

  "A meetup," he explains. "Group for startup entrepreneurs. We hit it off, had a lot in common, and here we are."

  "Sounds nice," I say.

  "You didn't bring a plus one?" he asks me.

  My head snaps up.

  The fuck are you doing, boy?

  Even Julia glances at him, suddenly nervous. Her foot draws away, which pisses me off. I'm not mad at her, I'm angry with Bruce for prompting her to do that, as annoying as it is to already be flying at half-mast under the table. A couple more minutes of exploration with her toes and I'd be sporting a full hard-on.

  A brief flash of her toes flips through my mind, like skimming through a book. Did I suck on her toes?

  I think I sucked on her toes.

  I don't even like toes, damn it.

  "I'm in between future Ex Mrs. Archers at the moment," I counter, amiably.

  Everyone has a good laugh at that, excluding my father.

  "Karen found someone," he says. "I'm sure if she can, you can too."

  Karen, reading the subtext, flashes a hateful look at him. If she could, she'd spit daggers at him. The implication was pretty easy to read there. I give her an apologetic look, but she stares straight back, as if she thinks this is all a private joke between me and Dad, like I egg him on in his mocking.

  The appetizers come out. Julia folds her napkin in her lap and plucks at the strap of her dress, and I read even that as a signal.

  Freaking Todd is staring at her cleavage. I want to do something but if I say something...

  "Want to eat one of my clams?" Julia says, sliding the plate across the table.

  My blood freezes and I go still, afraid my veins will snap. No one picks up on it, though.

  As I pluck one of them onto a plate with my fork, I slip my own foot out of my shoe and lay my toes gently on Julia's bare foot.

  At least, I thought I did. Karen perks up, and I jerk my foot away. She looks at Bruce, seated opposite her, and smirks lustily. He looks confused for a bare second then just goes with it.

  Julia glances at me, then tenses when my toes find the correct target this time. She smirks as she chews, then plucks another clam.

  "I guess you like them," she says, offering me another one.

  Karen glances at her and rolls her eyes, rather openly.

  I mean, does she really think I won't see that?

  I play like I missed the subtext and accept her offering with a grunt, like I'm bored with the starstruck admirer who is still little more than a kid to me. Except she isn’t a kid anymore, is she?

  Julia smiles to herself in a way that is incredibly obvious. My father narrows his eyes towards me, disapprovingly.

  Karen glances at Julia.

  "You never told me how you liked the arcade, Jules."

  Julia looks at me, panic flashing briefly in her eyes.

  Is Karen trying to trap her? Of course, Julia knows about the “arcade”—she was in my room when Karen interrogated me about it.

  "Boring," she yawns. "I just wanted to get out of there. I mean, the boys are fun and all, but I'm not very good at video games. Besides, I was tired."

  Karen's mouth tilts into a confused frown.<
br />
  "Have you had time to make dinner selections?" the waitress cuts in suddenly.

  Dad takes the option to wave off and go last again. A team of three servers goes around the table and takes all the orders. I order veal osso bucco with green beans and asparagus. Julia orders...spaghetti and meatballs, then leans over to whisper to the waitress that she wants a child's portion, if that's okay.

  That is so adorable.

  Stop looking at her like that, Ryan.

  She catches me and smiles enigmatically, sitting back in her seat quietly while she butters a roll and lets herself fade into the background conversation.

  "You were a pilot?"

  I flinch.

  It's Bruce, looking at me.

  I blink a few times. "I ah, yes."

  Julia studies me as I answer.

  "I thought you were Navy. That's what Karen says."

  "Navy airman," I say, tersely.

  I do not want to talk about this.

  "So what, you flew jets or something?"

  "A jet fighter, yes. I resigned my commission two years ago."

  "Wow, must be a hell of a thing. What's that like, flying one of those?"

  I tense.

  Julia puts her foot on mine, not in a sexual way but a weirdly comfortable one, a substitute for her hand. Sympathy wells in her eyes and a terrible cold fear spreads through my chest.

  She sees.

  She can see me.

  "Intense," I say, "controlled chaos. Lots of speed, lots of maneuverability."

  "Is it true you can't turn too hard or you'll black out?"

  I nod.

  He nods back, fascinated. "Amazing. With your background I'm kind of surprised you didn't become an astronaut or something."

  I bristle. He doesn't mean my background as in my bachelor's degree or understanding of aeronautical engineering, he means my background as in my family background, like I could buy myself a berth on the international space station.

  Julia looks at me with a slight shake of her head, an unspoken question on her lips. I suddenly feel very exposed, like my skin has peeled off and everyone at the table can see the monstrous gristle underneath.

  Except it's not everyone, it's just her. My parents knew I flew, as did Karen. Todd is suitably reverent, probably thinking that flying a jet must be like driving a Mustang taken to the nth degree.