It’s been a weird week, weird month, actually.
We’ve hit the ground running, a lot has happened, I fell pregnant, got engaged. Tristan was hell-bent on being married before the baby is born and I didn’t want to be a huge bride.
So we had precisely four weeks to pull together a wedding, plus I’ve had morning sickness from hell. No idea where it’s come from, I wasn’t sick at all with the boys.
This older pregnancy thing is not for the fainthearted, let me tell you.
Thankfully, Tristan has taken care of almost every detail. Who knew wedding planning would be his thing?
Marley takes the flowers from me. “I’ll find a vase for these, you need to start getting ready.”
“Is this really happening, Mol?”
“Uh-uh,” She nods. “You have bagged the biggest, sweetest hunk in the world.”
“I have, haven’t I?” I hunch my shoulders up in excitement. “I wonder what’s going on with the boys?”
We are marrying in the church that Tristan’s parents married in in New York. The boys are at his penthouse getting ready together. I wanted them to stay here but he wanted to stick with the no seeing the bride the night before tradition.
“Knowing Tristan, he will be all drill sergeant over there making sure everything is running to schedule, the boys will all be in their suits and being warned with death if they get dirty.” Marley smirks as she fills the vase.
“He would, wouldn’t he. That’s exactly how it would be going.” I smile. “I still can’t believe he asked the three boys to be his groomsmen.”
“Why not?”
“He has three brothers who are his best friends, and yet he asked the boys to stand beside him.”
“Because he’s Tristan.” Marley widens her eyes. “Need I say more.”
“This is true.” I turn and float up the hallway to my bedroom, I rub my hand over my small baby bump.
Forever his.
Tristan
Jameson holds up his glass of champagne. “A toast.”
I smile and raise my glass to his, Christopher and Elliot do the same.
Dressed in black dinner suits, we are primped and primed for my wedding day.
“To happiness.”
The silhouettes of my beloved brothers blur as emotion overwhelms me.
“Fuck me dead, if you cry like a baby at this wedding…” Jameson mutters dryly.
“As if he won’t,” Elliot replies. “Please, save me the drama.”
We all laugh and I shake my head in disbelief. “Who the hell am I these days?”
“Maybe you’re pregnant too?” Christopher winks.
“Fuck off.”
We’re out on the terrace of my penthouse, as hungover as all fuck. What was supposed to be a quiet night with my boys ended up in a rowdy card game with my brothers as well. They ended up all staying here and I don’t know what happened, one minute we were playing cards and then Jameson brought out a case of Dalmore Scotch, next minute, all seven of us were dancing on the furniture.
Even Patrick.
I look in at the boys as they play PlayStation. “You reckon it’s late enough for them to get dressed yet?”
“They can’t get dirty now, surely?” Jameson shrugs.
“You’d be surprised.” I glance at my watch. “Yeah it’s getting close, we leave in just over an hour.” I stick my head in through the glass doors. “Start getting ready, boys.”
“Yes, finally.” Patrick drops the remote like a hot potato and runs upstairs at full speed.
“I think he’s excited.” Elliot smiles.
“I fucking love that kid,” Christopher says as he watches him disappear out of view. “I’m excited too.”
I drain my glass of champagne. “I’m going to go and help them.” I pat my suit pockets. “Jay, you’ve got the rings, right?”
He pats his jacket inside pocket to check. “Yep.”
“Elliot?” I ask.
Elliot pulls out folded pieces of paper from his pocket. “Got the speeches.”
“Christopher?” I ask him.
“I know, I know. No photos.” He ticks his finger. “Check, check, double fucking check, if I see a phone I’m going ham.”
I don’t want any details of the wedding to leak to the press, it’s just not happening.
“Okay.” My brothers may not be acting as my official groomsmen in the church, but they are unofficially still my groomsmen.
I couldn’t do this without them.
“Okay, I’m getting the boys ready.” I slap Jameson on the back as I walk past him into the house. “Back soon.”
I take the stairs and walk down the hall; Patrick is in one bathroom showering and Fletcher is in another I find Harry lying on his bed in his room. “How come you aren’t in the shower?” I ask him.
“I was thinking.” He scrunches his pillow up and rolls it under his head as he lies on his back as if he has all the time in the world.
Fuck me, not now.
“About what?” I take his suit bag from his wardrobe and hang it from the door.
“I think I need to shave today…you know, for the wedding.”
My eyes flick over to him, he doesn’t have one fucking whisker. “Do you now?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” I throw my hands out and gesture to the bathroom. “So go shave.”
“Yeah but…” he continues, “…it’s going to take time.”
“So don’t get any ideas about shaving your two pubes, we are in a hurry today.”
“Why would I shave my pubes?” He frowns.
“I don’t know. Why do you do any of the weird shit you do?” I throw a towel at him. “Get up.”
He exhales heavily and drags himself into the bathroom and closes the door.
Seriously…
I hear Patrick’s shower turn off and I walk into his bedroom, his suit is already laid out on his bed and I smile as I look over it. His bathroom door opens and he appears with a towel around his waist. I go to his wardrobe and grab a bottle of deodorant and pass it over to him. “Wear deodorant today.”
He looks at it in his hand and then back up at me. “Why, I’m just a kid. I don’t sweat.”
“I’m not taking any chances. You will smell nice today if it kills you.”
“Okay then.” He rolls his eyes in an overdramatic way. “Fine.”
“Call me when you’re dressed and I’ll do your tie.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t forget your vest,” I remind him as I walk out of the room, I head down to Fletcher. His bedroom is at the end of the hall, I find him already dressed in his suit and doing his tie in the mirror, I feel myself relax a little bit. “That’s my boy.” I slap him on the back as he looks in the mirror at himself. “Do I look okay?” he asks.
“You look great, man.” I take over doing his tie for him.
He gives me a proud smile. “I do, don’t I?”
“Argh,” We hear a cry come from Harry’s room. “Tristan.”
“Fuck’s sake, what now?” I whisper as I march down the hall.
Harry has a towel around his waist, the hot water is running and the bathroom is full of steam. He is holding a flannel to his face and there is blood everywhere.