“Don’t even think about it, buster,” she told me sternly, “if we’re having all these celebrities at the wedding I should get to choose at least a few of them! It’s only fair.”
I pretended to be jealous. “So you’re going through with this whole high-profile nonsense because of the fiddle player?” My question was in jest, but there was some definite truth to it.
Ironic how the plan I’d set into motion only for her protection and safety had turned out to be unnecessary in the end. Brynne didn’t need the high-profile celebrity status anymore because her stalker was dead, taking the eternal punishment he so richly deserved.
We never did find out exactly what happened to Karl Westman, but I had a really good theory. After my dad had driven us away from the scene, Neil, Ivan and Len stayed back to investigate. My first priority was to get Brynne to safety above all else, and I’d seen plenty of dead bodies to recognize one when I see one. Westman was killed instantly by a high caliber bullet to the head.
What happened there was strange, though. I’d worked it out for the most part and highly doubted there would ever be confirmation from the senator, but Ivan had told me that when he went looking to retrieve the arrow he’d fired, somebody had taken the body away. It was just gone in a matter of moments. Only professionals are capable of that kind of operation. Neil and Len sniffed around again the next morning when it was light and there was nothing there. Even the blood was washed away. No trace of anything.
Brynne had mentioned how the whole place was eerily quiet and that she’d never seen another person at the hotel, which made no sense with the Games happening. So that pretty much confirmed there were people involved at the highest levels. U.S. Secret Service, most likely. Westman was a dead man before he ever took Brynne from the flat.
Disaster averted, but still, far too fucking close for my comfort. This whole mess had happened for a reason. Very strange, but true. The knowledge that if Westman hadn’t started stalking her, we wouldn’t have met, or ever gotten together, or be about to marry and have a baby. It was all just a bit much to rationalize sometimes, even if it was our reality. I tried not to think about that part. Brynne was free to live a regular life now, with nobody out there plotting to take her away, or harm her, or bother with any aspect of her, and this was my greatest gift. Thank the heavenly angels . . . and one very special angel in particular.
“Ethan!” She was frowning at me.
“Yeah?” I asked, rubbing my thumb between her brows to smooth out the lines of her frown.
“You’re not listening to me. I answered you and you were off in a dream somewhere.”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
She gave me a look and then started in with the shirt plucking and smoothing again. “What I was saying was that . . . I would go through a hundred of these ridiculous celebrity weddings if it meant I was marrying you.” She lifted her brown/green/gray eyes up to mine. “You’re so worth it, Mr. Blackstone.”
It was a good while before we got on the road up to Hallborough.
Two days later . . .
?Ben and I watched Simon from the rose garden and hoped he didn’t spot us. In his very green Milanese bespoke suit, he arranged guests for candid shots in all sorts of crazy avant-garde positions.
“God help us if these pictures he’s taking get out to the general public. We’ll all be royally fucked—quite literally!” Ben said dryly, nodding his head toward the naughty antics of a certain ginger-haired prince and his unidentified date. “Why on earth did Ethan hire Simon Carstairs to do the wedding pictures?”
“Ahhh . . . well, that would be a situation where Ethan found himself having a slice of humble pie, or as we say in the states, eating crow, in regards to our dear Simon. Ethan called him to apologize for his blowup, and by the end of the conversation had secured the photographic services of the most flaming gay photographer in all of London, if not all of Europe.” I shrugged. “He takes beautiful pictures and it all worked out in the end.” I nudged Ben. “Simon really had his heart set on that freaky green suit.”
Ben and I laughed together and continued watching the revelry. Simon really looked like the train wreck you couldn’t tear your eyes away from in his leaf green suit. He had Gaby and Ivan together in a few shots. I wondered how they were getting along since they’d been thrown together in this as maid of honor and best man. Gaby looked beautiful, as always, and Ivan looked at her like he thought so too. I’d have to corner her later and get the scoop. I could see the potential for the two of them just in their body language and how they moved in relation to each other. There was some chemistry brewing, I was sure.
“I would have taken your wedding pictures, you know,” Ben said.
I looked up into his handsome face. “I know. But I needed my friend, that I love so dearly, for something much more important today.”
“I know,” Ben whispered back and grabbed my hands, “and it was my very great honor to walk you down the aisle at your wedding. I—I’m pretty speechless right now, Bree. You are so beautiful, my darling friend, on the inside and on the outside.” He squeezed my hands. “And seeing you happy, standing up there with Ethan, was just something so breathtaking I don’t really have the words to tell you properly, except that I love you.” He brought my hands up to his mouth for a kiss.
“Okay . . . I’m crying now, Benny.” I laughed through a sob. “Got a handkerchief for the blubbering, hormonal bride?”
“I’m sorry, luv,” he said sheepishly, handing over his handkerchief.
“You’re fine,” I told him, dabbing at my eyes carefully. “There really wasn’t anyone else I could ask. I didn’t want to walk alone. I don’t know why, but I knew that Daddy would have wanted me to have you there. He thought the world of you and our friendship, Benny. And you were there at the gallery that night—you told me to look over at the hot guy in the gray suit with the wide-open eyes that burned me from across the room. You were there right at the first of Ethan and me.”
“Yeah, I was.” Ben was looking pretty watery himself right now.
“Here.” I handed him back his handkerchief.
We both laughed and pulled ourselves together. “Thanks for inviting my mum today,” he said.
“Of course! I love your mom. She’s so adorable when she’s had a few drinks, and she loves to see you all prettied up. I’m so glad you brought her with you.”
“Well, she loves you too, and if I wasn’t gay she’d have made me marry you years ago. She wants to be a granny, and she’s going to be all over that baby when it gets here, so you’d better be prepared.” Ben nodded down at my bump, which was just beginning to make its appearance.
“That’s so sweet,” I said, looking out in the gathering to find my mother and Frank chatting with some Italian diplomat at their table. Things were somewhat better between my mom and me, but I didn’t know if there was much hope for the future of the relationship. And that was okay. It really was. I had a family now that needed me as much as I needed them. All of those people lived in England. This was my place in the world now.