Page 72 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“He’s a big fan of yours,” says the man next to him. He looks like an older version of the kid and has to be his dad.
“Yeah? Glad to hear it. I’d give you an autograph, but my hands are full.” At that moment, a cupcake flies from my arms, upsetting the balance of the rest so that half of them attempt their own escape.
Fortunately, the containers don’t open, but they’ll be a bit smashed for sure. Brody and his dad scramble to pick them up for me, while Britta shifts back and forth, struggling to keep hers from falling.
“You must really love cupcakes, Dex.” Brody tries to hand me one, but his dad takes it from him.
“Where are you taking these? We can help you,” he says before taking a few from Britta too.
“Thank you,” she says with a breath before smiling at Brody. “They’re our wedding cake. We just got married.”
I look at her, shocked. Pleasantly. I was holding back making the announcement, afraid she might not like it. So, I’m a bit pleased she’s the one who said it first.
“Married?” Brody’s dad asks.
Britta and I both nod. I can’t see if she’s smiling, but I am. I hope she is.
Brody and his dad help us carry the cupcakes to a waiting Rolls Royce Archie arranged for Britta and me. The Escalades are packed and ready to go with our family and friends. I assume Rhys made it inside one of them—the tinted windows make it impossible to see—because there’s a crowd of people taking pictures of the cars.
Britta and I get a picture with Brody and his dad, which I’m sure will be our second wedding photo posted online, right after the ones I’m sure Stella’s already posted. Then we give them two cupcakes for their help and climb into the car.
The last time we were alone, we weren’t married. Now we are. I can’t tell what Britta’s thinking, but I’m in a bit of shock. She has to be, too.
“I guess I’m Mrs. Dexter now?” Britta asks with a sprinkle of teasing that breaks the tension
“Nah. I’m Mr. Thomsen.” I wish I could take her hand, but I don’t think she’d like that. At least she laughs at my joke.
“That works for me.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s been quite a day.”
I blow out a breath. “I’ll say.”
We go quiet again before I work up the nerve to say what I’ve wanted to since the minute she walked out of the bathroom in that green dress. “You look really beautiful. This probably wasn’t what you dreamed your wedding day would be, but I’ve never seen a prettier bride.”
Britta’s lips stretch across her perfect white teeth. “Thanks, Dex. It wasn’t the day I planned when I was a little girl, but for a wedding put together in less than forty-eight hours and that I didn’t have to spend my dad’s life savings on, I have no complaints. Archie did an amazing job planning, and I’m sure Rhys pulled a lot of strings to get us in that secret hotel and on the High Roller last minute. You have good friends.”
I nod. I do have the best mates, but I’m stuck on something else she said. “You really had wedding plans when you were a girl?”
She drops her head, and her skin flushes, but she laughs. “I was the only girl in a house full of boys, and a total tomboy. My mom let me play as rough as I wanted, but I was a flower girl a few times. To get me excited, we scrolled through Pinterest looking at weddings.” Britta lifts her shoulder, and her dangling gold earring brushes her bare skin. “It kind of stuck. We kept doing it and had all kinds of boards for my future wedding.”
“That’s sweet…” I rub my hands down my legs. Vegas is too hot, and I hate wearing trousers. “I’m sorry you didn’t get that today.”
Britta tips her head, thinking. “Without Mom, the wedding plans we made together will always just be Pinterest boards. I’m not sure I’ll ever get married for real. If this is my one and only wedding, I couldn’t have asked for better.”
I put on a smile, but the words ‘married for real’ sting. Like getting sprayed coming out of a wave. It’s part of surfing, but it still hurts every time.
We’re quiet the rest of the way back to the Mansion. When we climb out of the car, everyone is waiting for us. Archie has set up a dinner for all of us in the Mansion’s private dining room, so we won’t be bothered by onlookers. Britta and I sit by each other, but judging by the looks her dad keeps sending us, he’s not convinced Britta and I are marrying for love.
We talk a little, but we’re awkward with each other. What’s more, I’m awkward with her in a way I’ve never been. Now that I’m not supposed to touch her, that’s all I want to do. Our wedding dinner is likely one of the “appropriate” or “necessary” times we can touch, but I’m like a schoolboy hoping for a first kiss. Britta will have to take the lead, because I can’t find what to do with my hands anymore, other than use them to shovel food into my mouth.
I wasn’t this nervous at the Finals.
When dinner ends, Georgia suggests we head to the private pools. I look at Britta, who shrugs and says, “Sure.”
Georgia’s gaze skitters between Britta and me. “What are you talking about? It’s your wedding night.” She leans between us and lowers her voice. “I’m getting everyone out of your way. Go enjoy yourselves.”
I can’t look at Britta. Not while Georgia is smiling wider than a ten-year-old who’s cracked their first sex joke.
“Whatever you want to do… babe,” I manage to say before grabbing Britta’s hand, all without looking at her. So, yeah, my hand may have touched a few other body parts before I found her fingers.
