Page 34 of Always Alchemy

DEX

The moment she takes our hands, we’re complete. I can feel it. I can feel the relief and disbelief, that joyfulholy shit, this is happeningebullience as I grin at my beautiful bride andsneak a glance at my dashing groom. He’s not holding back either. His blue eyes are limpid with emotion, his smile blinding as he takes Darcy in and then meets my eyes.

Many people have Max Hunter tagged as a hedonist. I can see why they’d think that, but my observations of the man from the close quarters of a guy obsessed with him tell me that he holds back as much as he lets go. Rather, it’sbecausehe holds back so much that he lets go in such spectacular fashion. He’s an orchestrator, a master puppeteer. He makes things happen. And when he does let go, he’s that elastic band that’s been stretched tauter and tauter.

Watching him snap, coaxing him to unleash himself, is my absolute favourite thing to do.

Their hands are warm in mine as the three of us grin and grin at each other like lunatics, and there’s a cheer from the audience that starts as a single whoop (my money’s on Cal) and grows in rowdiness until it’s joined by a smattering of applause. We may not have said our vows yet, but every single person here knows how momentous this moment feels to us, and they’ve come here in their droves to show their unswerving support.

At the sound of their appreciation, Darcy giggles while Max, ever the showman, tears his gaze from us and inclines his head towards them in thanks.

Fuck, he’s sexy.

God, I love him.

The celebrant, an older British guy who lives out here and provides that avuncular, vaguely ecclesiastical vibe that we wanted for our ceremony, clears his throat discreetly behind us.

‘Shall we begin?’

As we’ve rehearsed, the three of us stand holding hands in a semi-circle, Darcy in the middle and the celebrant to myright so that the audience can see us all. The singer, Aoife, finishes her hauntingly beautiful song, and the audience quietens down.

‘Welcome,’ the celebrant begins. ‘And thank you for coming here today. We are gathered to give our own brand of blessing to a very special union indeed, the union of three souls who have found each other and have opted to join together for life, forsaking all of those bounded ideals of how married love looks. Maximilian, Dexter and Darcy are here today to choosemore,to choose a love that is vast and vibrant and unmoored, andweare here today to celebrate alongside them and to wish them well on their exciting, remarkable journey. Let us begin.’

11

ENDLESSLY

MAX

Only a blood relation of Anton fucking Wolff would deem it appropriate to hit on the bride at her own wedding reception. As I approach my beautiful wife, I note with immense irritation the way Anton’s eldest son, Felix, is eyeing her up like she’s dinner. Equally irksome is the realisation that, at twenty-four to her twenty-six, he’s actually closer in age to her than either of her husbands.

‘Move along, you little pup,’ I growl as I step up to them. Felix grins at me like he’s amused and not the slightest bit sorry at having been busted eye-fucking Darcy so blatantly.

‘Just catching up with my step-aunt,’ he says smoothly. ‘Isn’t that right, Darce?’

Obviously, they would have met over the course of Gen and Anton’s lengthy wedding celebrations out here. I have a vague recollection of Felix hanging around, trying to fuck everything that moved as his father and Darcy’s sister prepared to tie the knot. I was preoccupied that weekendwith a project of my own: ensnaring the most beautiful bridesmaid I’d ever seen, that same woman who’d given me the slip in Cannes a few weeks previously.

Now, however, she’s the fucking bride, and Fuckboy Junior here can take a flying leap off the edge of the Cap d’Antibes for all I care.

‘She’sAunt Darcyto you, and she’s taken—twice over, actually, in case you’re too stupid to notice that part—so move the fuck on.’

His grin is unerring. He’s the spitting image of his father, lucky bastard. ‘Congratulations, Max. I’m so bloody thrilled for the three of you.’

I can feel my facial muscles soften. Charming little shit. ‘Get in here,’ I say and tug him against me, slapping his back vigorously. He can’t have been more than ten when I first started working with his father. He’s now the same height as me and about a million times smarter. ‘How’s New York treating you?’

‘It’s full-fucking-on,’ he says, releasing me. He finished up a post-graduate degree in some kind of advanced economics last year at the London School of Economics, and now he’s working for McKinsey as one of their in-house equity strategists.

‘Getting any sleep?’

‘Between McKinsey and my Alchemy membership, not on your life,’ he says, winking at Darcy, who beams back at him. I hastily drag her in front of me and wrap my arms around her waist. She rests her head against my chest, and all feels instantly right with the world.

‘Getting your money’s worth?’ I ask Felix. Jesus, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?

‘The PPF goes down every week,’ he says. ‘I’m amortising it like a champ.’

I screw my face up. ‘PPF?’

‘Price per fuck.’

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