Page 25 of Grift

With that done, the minister takes us into the reception area that’s filled with guests and declares, “May I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Carney?”

The rest of the night is a blur. Rice being thrown in our faces. Hours of pictures. A cocktail hour on the lake with a gorgeous view of the sunset, Mrs. Kensington’s social secretary running point on reminding Jessica of who everyone is before she flawlessly greets them. “Oh I haven’t seen you since Lake Tahoe. How are the grandkids?” and “Do you still have that wonderful poodle? And how’s the medical device business?”

A consummate, well-trained, elegant as fuck society princess is my bride. My bride. Over and over, she introduces me with respect. It might be rehearsed, it might not. But it’s going straight to my cock every time. “And of course, let me introduce you to my husband Patrick.”

She stops choking on the word husband by the second table. “Patrick works in real estate down in Boston. He’s helping lead the Trinity Casino project. Isn’t the architecture there remarkable?”

Over and over, until I’m looking for the nearest route of escape.

“Let’s go outside for a minute,” my voice is gruff.

Her eyes move to the clock on the wall, following the movement of the staff, and compare it against some program in her mind. “We have five minutes, and then it’s toasts and dances.”

“Outside,” it’s a demand. A command that I try to soften. “Please join me.”

She gives me a hesitant smile and then gestures for me to lead the way. There’s a deck that overlooks the lake, with the sunset painted in vivid pinks and oranges beyond. The air is cold, invigorating, and I’ve never been so relieved to be outside in my life.

Her eyes are locked on the sky, when I reach into my pocket and pull out the small ring that’s been tucked in there all day. Callan is annoyed that I didn’t courier it over ahead of time. “People will notice she’s not wearing it.”

There it is again, optics. Still, we have no moments that are just for us. I can at least give her this ring privately, and hopefully create a good memory for the day.

“This is for you.”

She turns to me, backlit in that dress against a fiery sky with the fading sunlight catching golden streaks in her chestnut hair and smiling eyes that go wide when she sees what I hold out. Her mother told me her ring size. Marlana Kensington smoothly offered a choice from several family heirlooms she’s set aside for Jessica, and even Rose tried to proffer her mother’s wedding set.

It doesn’t matter that this isn’t a love marriage, or that it probably won’t last.

It matters to me that she knows I thought of her. That she is worth something new – and that whatever we’re doing, we can do or at least try to do – without our families’ legacies dragging us down at every turn.

My sister Bridget tried to tell me to get something vintage. She isn’t wrong about Jessica’s style, but I just can’t feel right about giving her something that’s used. I wandered the store and picked something out myself. It’s big and flashy. I’m a Carney, after all. But it’s a thin platinum band and the stone is elegantly cut. The jewelry guy says it’s called a princess cut, which sounds perfect for Jessica.

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” she holds out her hand and for the second time, I slide a ring on her finger.

There’s a clearing of a throat behind us. Damn it. Yet another interruption, when all I want is a moment alone with her or even with my thoughts.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Carney,” it’s the mother’s assistant, or one of them, looking anxiously at a clipboard. Hearing her referred to as Mrs. Carney is strange and a little exhilarating. “I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s time for the first dance.”

And we’re back to it again, with hours of more socializing, obligations, and more left in the night ahead of us.

But the light catches on her rings as she reaches up to adjust her hair, and for one second, I forget how all of this came to pass.

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