My Wedding Knight (A Wedding Season Series)

by Alexis Adaire

  No… that’s not it.

  I’m furious with myself.

  I fire the remote at the telly as hard as I can, shattering the screen into a million pieces. I’m breathing hard, forcing these emotions back down where they belong.

  Then I have another revelation: That’s exactly the wrong approach. It’s what immature men do. I need to let this all out, to feel it at full strength. To welcome it, absorb it, learn from it.

  I need to use these emotions to make myself a better man.

  Right there, on my camel-leather sofa, with my eighty-two-inch widescreen now scattered all over the beautiful cocobolo hardwood floor, I burst into tears. Giant, gut-wrenching sobs, each one carrying countless buried emotional aches and pains to the surface. And once the floodgates open, it’s impossible to close them.

  I don’t know how long it lasts. Ten minutes? Twenty? All I know is that when it finally abates, I’m a fucking mess, with tears and snot all over my shirt. But my head is clearer, and my heart feels wide open for the first time in years.

  I pick up my mobile and make the call, listening to the ringing.

  “Dad? Think you could drop by for a chat? I really need to see you, but don’t want to bring the bleeding paparazzi along with me to the old neighborhood.”

  I buzz him in through the outer gate and open the front door as he comes up the walk.

  “For fuck’s sake, please don’t brag about being right,” I say, trying to laugh.

  His reply is a hug.

  My dad gives me a bloody hug.

  And not just any hug, this is a full-on embrace that lasts a solid thirty seconds, pulling me to him, his hand on my neck. Dad’s not even a hugger.

  “I want you to know that you’ll be fine, son. Now make us some tea, will you?”

  Half an hour and two cups of tea later, we’re still sitting at the table in my breakfast nook, talking it out. I was expecting to have to deal with some degree of condescension and more than a few I-told-you-so’s, but instead he’s being more than understanding.

  “Nobody knows the pressure you’ve had to deal with throughout your life, Rory. You’re always the one they count on to get the job done, and you always come through for them. Football-wise, of course. So it’s understandable you’ve looked for ways to release that pressure. You’ve just been looking in the wrong places.”

  I nod and sigh. I’ve been doing a lot of nodding and sighing since we sat down.

  “Two women in your bed on Sunday night, and a different one on Wednesday. That’s no way to live, boy. Those trollops will only get you in trouble.”

  I’m startled that he’s lumping Abby in with the others and jump to her defense.

  “She’s not like that, Dad. Abby, that is. Wednesday. The one in my car on the cover of the Sun this morning. She’s different.”

  He raises an eyebrow skeptically.

  “Regardless, this big mess is telling you that it’s time to grow up, son.”

  “I’m starting to realize that, Dad. But it might have come too late. I’ve buggered it all up this time.”

  “Codswallop. You’ve done nothing that can’t be undone, Rory.”

  “You’ll be glad to know I declined the KBE. Told them this morning I don’t need their shiny medal.”

  My father’s face goes pale.

  “Why the bloody hell would you do such a thing?”

  “Because it was causing me trouble. The paparazzi have doubled, all these women I’ve slept with are trying to grab a slice of publicity, I lost a good woman and friend and may have cost her her job. And it was obvious you were dead set against it. What was I supposed to do? Accepting that award would only have made things worse.”

  “Have you gone mad, son? Dead set against it? Rory, I’ve never been more proud of you.”

  “What? But…”

  “Even winning the World Cup for England pales in comparison.”

  “But you hate those awards. You always have. I was going to tell you at lunch on Monday, but then you started slagging off on Rod Stewart and… I just…”

  “It’s different when it’s your own son. My boy, a Knight of the British Empire? That’s something a man of my station in life would never dare to dream about.”

  “You didn’t even call to congratulate me,” I protest.

  “Because I’m still having trouble wrapping my thick brain around it. It’s utterly impossible. My son, my own flesh and blood, my little Rory, chosen by Her Majesty for a knighthood. I just couldn’t…” He hangs his head. “I guess it made me feel inferior as a man. You’ve accomplished so much, and Alf also has in his own way. Me? I’ve never been more than a bricklayer. As proud as I am, I didn’t know what to say to you or how to say it.”

  “Dad, this was as much your accomplishment as mine. All those hours you spent at the park with me, all the team fees you found a way to cover, the equipment you bought… I could never have done this without you.”

  “Did you really decline a knighthood?” he asks, disbelief all over his face.

  “I’m afraid I did.”

  He laughs softly, despite his obvious pain with my decision. “Well, you’re no smarter than your old man, that’s for sure.”

  “But you were smart enough to keep Mum. I’ve somehow pissed away the only woman who’s ever made me think that settling down wouldn’t be a prison sentence.”

  “Who?”

  “Wednesday. The girl in the Sun.”

  “Her name is Wednesday?”

  I laugh. “No, Dad.”

  “How’d you meet this girl?”

  “She works for the Main Honours Committee. She was assigned to help me navigate all the press events this week.”

  “And you decided you had to shag her?”

  “It wasn’t like that. We went out to dinner and had a great time together. She’s beautiful, funny, and way smarter than I’ll ever be. One thing led to another and it just happened.”

  “You like her then?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, of course I like her. But it’s beyond that. This will shock you as much as it did me, but I was beginning to think I might actually be in lo—”

  The gate buzzer interrupts me. “Bloody hell, I wish they’d leave me alone. It’s the bleedin’ tabloids again. I already chased them away twice.”

  My anger renewed, I get up to put on another pot of water. The buzzer sounds again, twice.

  “Go away!” I shout in the direction of the door, quite aware that only my dad can hear me.

  As I’m filling the teapot, it buzzes again, three times in a row, and they hold the button on the final one for at least five seconds.

  “Who the fuck?”

  “There’s a girl out there,” Dad says. He’s standing at the little video screen mounted on the wall.

  I set down the pot and join him.

  “It’s her,” I say, my heart beating faster.

  “Her who?”

  “The girl from the Sun. Abby.”

  I push the button to open the gate, then run to the door. I’m standing in the doorway as she comes up the walk.

  “We need to have that little chat now,” she says sternly.

  “Of course, come in.” Her surprised expression tells she was expecting me to put up more of a fight. I escort her to the kitchen, and there in the same breakfast nook chair where Abby sat naked two nights ago is a man who looks like I’ll probably look when I turn sixty.

  “Abby, this is my father, Ray Winston.”

  If she was surprised before, she’s stunned now. “Pleased to meet you,” she says meekly.

  “Tea?” I ask.

  “Sure.” She’s clearly uncomfortable with Dad’s presence.

  “Are there paparazzi near the front gate?”

  “None that I saw.”

  “We were just talking about you,” my father says. “Rory tells me they assigned you as his nanny this week. That’s a thankless task if there ever was one.”

  “She’s not here for that, Dad. She�
�s here to… why are you here, Abby?”

  “To convince you that you’re making a terrible mistake.”

  “Which one?” my dad asks.

  Abby looks at me, confused.

  “The knighthood, Dad.” I turn to Abby. “I didn’t want all this tabloid nonsense to take away from the event.”

  “That’s a load of tosh,” my father says. “Everyone knows they’ll be gone to the next scandal in a day or two. The newer story is always the brighter diamond to them.”

  “You just called it a terrible mistake, didn’t you?” Dad asks Abby, who’s been watching the two of us like a tennis match. She’s wearing a dark blue jacket and skirt, with a white silk shirt—the same clothing I watched her put on just hours ago. I mourn the loss of being able to look at, and to play with, that amazing body again. But then, I’ll miss everything about Abby.

  “Yes, sir, I did. Without a doubt, it’s a mistake he would regret it for the rest of his life.”

  Now even I’m not certain which mistake she’s referring to. Meanwhile, Dad looks at me as if he’s just proven some big point.

  “We’ll it doesn’t matter anyway ‘cause I’ve already cocked it all up. You can’t replay the match.”

  “This match you can,” Abby says.

  “What are you saying?” I ask.

  “We never told the Prime Minister.”

  My jaw drops. “What?”

  “There’s nothing to undo, Rory. McKibben and Owensby still expect you to accept the award. They say declining it would cause repercussions everywhere. They sent me to convince you to go through with it.”

  “So all I have to do is—”

  “Just say that you want it,” Abby says. “Don’t disappoint me twice, Rory.”

  I look into Abby’s eyes and know beyond a doubt that I was right; I’ve fallen in love with her. I always expected this moment to be trumpets blaring and angels descending from on high. Instead it’s just utterly peaceful, the most normal thing in the world. Like the universe has been pushing me in this direction all along.

  I say, “Of course I’ll accept it.”

  As Dad nods his head in relief, Abby’s eyes narrow.

  “Do you mean it? No changing your mind this time.”

  “I wouldn’t do that do you again,” I say. Suddenly Abby is a key factor in my wanting this award.

  “Good,” she says. “I’ll have to reschedule those interviews, though. Hope you don’t mind working on the weekend.”

  “Perfect. Less time for him to do anything stupid,” my father quips.

  “Dad, come on.”

  He lifts his hands in surrender.

  Abby stands. “I’ll be getting back to the office, then. I have a lot to do. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ray.”

  Dad gives her a longer-than-necessary look as he shakes her hand goodbye.

  I walk Abby to the door, then to the gate.

  “I get the feeling my dad likes you. That’s unexpected.”

  She frowns. “Really? Hard to believe, is it?”

  “That’s not what I meant. He just doesn’t ever like the women…” Fuck, I can’t finish that sentence without swallowing my foot whole.

  “He seems like a nice bloke,” she says, “but I’m done with Winston men, thanks just the same.”

  “Abby, listen to me: I am so, so sorry. If I had any idea you were going to enter my life, I’d have been a fucking saint while waiting for you to show up. I never meant to hurt you because I didn’t even know you existed.”

  “Rory, all I want from you is a promise that you’ll stay away from women this weekend. We don’t need a new story before Monday.”

  “Of course. But what about us?”

  Abby looks exasperated.

  “There is no us! That’s done. I was impulsive and foolish and regret every minute of it.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Abby glares at me and slowly shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling slightly and tears forming in her eyes.

  “You have no idea how much I do mean it.”

  She turns to go.

  “Abby, don’t.” I gently grab her wrist to keep her near me. “I love you.”

  Although I’ve never said them to a woman before, the words feel absolutely natural. She spins back to face me, tears already streaming down her face.

  “Don’t you say that, Rory Winston. Don’t you dare say that.”

  Then she yanks her arm away and runs out the gate. I watch it shut behind her, my heart sinking. After doing my best to buck up, I return to the kitchen and my Dad.

  “Well, that’s good then,” I say. “Looks like I’ll be knighted after all.”

  “Like I said earlier, I’m proud of you son. But that’s not the only reason that girl came here.”

  “What are you saying, Dad?”

  “She could have just rung you up to tell you all of that.”

  “It’s done. Over. I just tried to sort it out with her and she wasn’t having it. She’ll never forgive me for… for what happened on Sunday, the day before I met her.”

  He sighs and nods. “So that’s it.” He thinks for a moment, then says, “Might not be easy, but you’ll do what you have to do to get her back.”

  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I’m starting to a little cheesed. “It’s pointless, Dad. And why does this even matter to you?”

  “Rory, I just want you to be happy. And if there’s one thing I have accomplished in my life, it’s that I recognized a good woman when I found her, and did everything I could to hang on to her.”

  “Right, but you and Mum dated for a year before you got married.”

  “That was for her parents’ sake. You know Nana. But I was sure after our first date that she was the one.”

  “Yeah, well this is different.”

  He scoffs. “I may be just a union bricklayer, son, but I know a little about some things. And trust me when I say this—”

  He points a thumb at the door Abby just left through.

  “—that one’s a keeper.”

  Abby

  A huge crowd of people has gathered in front of Buckingham Palace for Rory’s investiture ceremony. The area within the palace’s gates has temporary seats for the occasion, all filled with those with a title or enough wealth to snag a ticket. Outside the gates are the real people of England, and there are thousands gathered, spilling out past the Victoria Memorial into St. James’s Park and Green Park.

  The ceremonies are usually held in the Buckingham Palace ballroom or the Waterloo Chamber at Windsor Castle. For Rory’s ceremony, it was decided a rare break with tradition was in order and it was moved to the balcony so that the British people all had the opportunity to attend. From what I hear, the officials were expecting a large crowd and were surprised when a massive one showed up instead. They should have known, though; this football-mad country doesn’t win a World Cup that often, and these people are here to cheer on their hero. Some of them came here two days ago to get a good spot.

  I’m standing in the dignities area to the left of the balcony, with Geoffrey McKibben and Malcolm Owensby, among others. We have a better view than most, but it’s still not that great. That’s beside the point, though. I played a part in this. You could say I’m invested in the investiture ceremony.

  Some twenty of these ceremonies are held every year, with a hundred or more people receiving awards at each, investing in them the honour of holding an official title within the British Empire. Most are “lesser” awards, MBEs for the Members of the British Empire, and a smaller number of OBEs and CBEs for Officers and Commanders. The KBE or DBE awards, for Knight or Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire, are the rarest of all. These are the people who are given the title of Sir or Dame. The awards are normally handed out a few months after the official announcements from Buckingham Palace.

  Today, though, there will only be a single person receiving an honour, and only days following the announcement. The Prime Minister’s id
ea to announce Rory’s award and then give it to him as quickly as possible, due to Rory’s proven propensity to find himself in the tabloids, seemed to have backfired. But the positive stories generated by all the press Rory did last week have counterbalanced the tabloid stories.

  Often Prince Charles or Prince William preside over things, but Her Majesty herself is going to wield her father’s sword today, with Charles, William, Harry, and their wives all looking on.

  In case I haven’t sufficiently made the point yet, this is a gigantic fucking deal.

  It’s certainly been the most interesting week of my life. This has been a whirlwind, from meeting a real-life sports hero, to ending up looking down into his eyes while I rode his lovely cock, to finding myself on the cover of the red tops. My heart was filled and then emptied in a four-day span, and I am left feeling betrayed by Rory and livid with me. It’s hard not to be angry at myself for allowing that happen. After all, he’s never been known to have a girlfriend, but just a series of random women on his arm. For a few fleeting hours, I had begun to let myself think I was somehow different.

  The military band that has been playing for the last half hour suddenly goes quiet, and an anxious hush descends on the crowd. Everyone stands as the National Anthem begins. I see Rory on the balcony in a dark grey suit and pale blue tie, looking quite nervous. Thankfully, he kept his promise to me and no new women have shown up with him on tabloid covers.

  When the anthem ends, the various members of the Royal Family emerge from inside, attended by The Queen's Body Guard of the Yeomen of the Guard. Prince Charles steps up to the microphone and thanks everyone for attending. “Since the ceremony is so short, and some of you have come a long way, we will have a brief interview with Rory Winston afterward, before he heads to a party hosted in his honour in the Buckingham Palace Ballroom.”

  The Prince takes his seat and the Lord Chamberlain steps to the mic.

  “Rory Winston, Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire.”

  The crowd erupts in applause, cheers, whistles, and outright yells. The commotion continues as Rory stands and approaches the Queen, kneeling before her on the ceremonial pillow. It grows louder as she pins the medal on his lapel, and gets positively deafening as Her Majesty raises the sword and lowers it to each of his shoulders.