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He looked down, realizing he was rubbing his fingers over the dark love bite Mark had left above his left nipple, over his heart. Chance felt more regret over his hasty parting with Mark that morning than he did over losing Alex. How sad was that?

He shrugged those thoughts aside and returned to the task of getting dressed. He didn't want to think about love or loss, not now. Beverly had offered him a perfect distraction, and he didn't want to keep the lady waiting.

Chapter Eleven

Saturday, July 31, 2010.

Mark switched his cell phone to silent and shoved it into the pocket of his suit pants. He checked the time, and Ricardo's tarnished watch taunted him with the minute hand resting only seven minutes away from the hour mark. If he didn't hurry he would be late for Nate's ceremony.

Cursing under his breath, Mark checked his pockets to be sure he had his wallet and the keycard that would allow him back into the room when the show was over. That done, he rushed out the door and down the hall to the elevator, relieved that he only had to travel down three floors to reach his destination. He would probably be late, of course, but wasn't that considered fashionable these days?

The elevator let him off on the second floor, and Mark made his way to the large ornate doors leading into Ballroom A. The ushers were just closing the doors when he arrived, and one scowled at his late arrival. He pulled his invitation out of his suit pocket and they grudgingly opened the doors and led him inside, seating him in one of the empty chairs at the back of the room.

Mark got himself settled and watched while the three front rows were seated. He rolled his eyes at the production and glanced around the room, taking in the rich decorations and admiring the beautiful flowers that adorned the room. He had to admit it was beautiful, and far more tasteful that he had expected. Nate struck him as more the gaudy type, eager to flash his wealth and importance. The careful elegance of the set-up suggested care and consideration for the occasion, making the ceremony, for him, a tribute to the skill of the decorator.

At last everyone was in place and a man in a charcoal tuxedo took the floor. He introduced himself as Nate's best friend and business partner, and Mark had to hold back a snort, remembering a time he had held that role. The Nate he knew wasn't capable of having friendships, and he didn't share with anyone.

The 'friend' offered a flattering speech, outlining his history with the happy couple and detailing the major events in their lives. The business achievements far outweighed the personal, and Mark was surprised to hear that they'd had a son. He was only mentioned briefly, like a small side note next to the more important events like mergers and buyouts and their expansion up the east coast.

It struck Mark as odd, and he sat back in his chair, tuning out the man's incessant chattering and wondering about Nate's son. He had to feel sorry for the boy. How old was he? What was he like? Would he grow up to be as devious and selfish as his father?

The questions rolling around in his head were abruptly cut off when everyone in the room around him rose to their feet. Mark followed suit, standing up and turning to face the doors he had entered through. Two solemn looking ushers met between the two doors, each taking a handle and slowly walking backward, opening the doors to reveal Nathan and Annabelle Marshall standing just outside the room.

A respectful hush fell over the audience, followed by soft murmurs of appreciation as the couple made their way down the aisle. He heard countless comment
s
about how beautiful Annabelle was, how regal and stately, but Mark was struck by the expression on her face. He could only describe it as
satisfied.
Nathan was complimented for his good fortune, and Mark wondered just how good it really was. The woman at his side appeared sharp and calculating, more so even than Nate, and Mark wondered if maybe she was the true brains of the operation. It made sense, give
n
her background in the business.

The pair reached the front of the room and turned to face their guests. They were joined by a priest, decked out in flowing robes, who signaled for everyone to be seated. Mark was disappointed to discover that their mysterious son wouldn't be making an appearance now, and he sank down into his seat with a sigh. The priest began the usual spiel about how they were all gathered together to celebrate a loving union, and Mark settled in for a long, drawn-out show.

He wasn't disappointed. The wedding he had attended twenty-five years earlier was played out again before his eyes, broken down into pieces and interrupted by extra speeches and by special acknowledgments of particularly important friends and business associates.

Mark's gaze roamed the room, watching the other guests stifling yawns and trying not to fidget in their seats. The exceptionally well-dressed people sitting on the first two rows all seemed engrossed in the proceedings, but the rest of the throng continually cast furtive glances at their watches.

Mark
shifted his hands in his lap so the face of his own watch was easily visible. The chipped glass sparkled in the bright light, and
he
smiled, remembering Ricardo
'
s assessment of the original wedding
:
"
Damn. I
never saw so many trained monkeys in one place before! And they
'
re all dressed up like penguins, too. Do they really think they
'
re fooling anyone?
"
Mark
had
sh
aken
his head and hid
den
a grin behind his hand. Ricardo
'
s
tuxedo
had been
hand tailored, the most expensive thing he owned. It probably
didn
'
t cost half as much as the suits on the other guests, but with his pride he would never
have
admit
ted
that. He
'
d
taken
his clothes very seriously and had been horrified to learn that Mark had to rent his tux
for the wedding
.

Mark had spent the entire ceremony picking at the cummerbund and tugging at his collar. When the ceremony ended and it was time to go through the reception line he had to walk close behind Ricardo to hide the damage he had done to the outfit. The rental place had charged him an extra seventy-five dollars when he returned the tux the next morning, to cover the damages.

Mark's fond memories carried him through the rest of the ceremony, and finally everyone in the room relaxed. Nathan and Annabelle were escorted out of the room and across the hall to the large ballroom where the reception was being held. The front three rows then stood and exited by twos in a pretentious parade of pomp and finery. Once they had cleared the room, the rest of the guests began filing out, following the leaders into the reception hall.

****

Chance ignored his father's glare and threaded his way through the crowded room to where Beverly waited with his mother. The people scheduled to participate in the upcoming ceremony milled about the room, reviewing their lines and going over which cues signaled what actions. The arrangements all seemed complicated and exaggerated, and Chance couldn't help but be relieved he had been spared an acting role in the ridiculous production.

He had to make an entrance, of course. The family and close friends, along with select social figures, were to be escorted into the ballroom just before the ceremony began. His date with Beverly had been carefully set up to prevent any gossip, rumors, or embarrassment. His relationship with Alex had mostly been brushed aside, but it had not gone completely unnoticed by Nathan Marshall's cronies. His parents seemed to have the ridiculous notion that having their son appear with a woman at his side would preserve the appearances that meant so much to them.

And, well, if they wanted to delude themselves like that, let them. Personally, he didn't care. He only chose to attend the ceremony because he knew he would get hell for it if he didn't show. He wore the suit his father had sent up for him, but he skipped the appointment with the in-house hairdresser. Instead he decided to be bold and pulled his hair back into a ponytail, knowing it would make his father furious and thrilling at the thought.

Reaching his mother's side at last, he met her eyes dead on, daring her to comment on his appearance or his tardiness… anything. To his surprise however she graced him with what appeared to be a genuine smile, perhaps even an amused smirk before throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. Stunned, Chance returned her embrace, enjoying the unusual experience.

"You look wonderful, dear." One of her hands cupped the back of his head, and Chance could feel her fingers toying with the ponytail at the nape of his neck. The tone of her voice was almost conspiratorial, and Chance could feel her smile against his cheek as she spoke. It pleased him to think that she might suspect why he wore his hair the way he did, and that she might even approve.

Letting her go, he stepped back and looked into her eyes for confirmation of his suspicions. Her expression had become the usual schooled mask of cheerfulness she always wore, but there was a glint in her eye that suggested maybe he was right.

"And you look radiant, Mother, as always."

Chance placed a quick peck on her cheek and turned to Beverly, who stood next to his mother, wearing a glittering emerald green cocktail dress that made her look years older. He wondered fleetingly if his father realized that the date he'd arranged for him was under the legal drinking age, but he shrugged the thought off. His father probably just saw a beautiful young woman seated behind a desk. Seeing how she dwarfed his son would probably cause the man to burst a vein or something.

"And you look more stunning than ever. Thank you for coming."

Beverly laughed and offered her arm. "I look ridiculous next to you, and we both know it. But thank you for the flattery just the same." As Chance took her arm, he could see that the ushers were waving frantically in his direction, trying desperately to organize everyone for the grand parade to their seats in the ballroom.

"
Hey! You really are stunning. That dress sets of
f
your eyes beautifully.
I
'
m
the one who looks ridiculous. Now, we
'
d better get moving.
"
Beverly just shook her head and curled her hand around Chance
'
s forearm. Chance turned back to his mother, offering her a quick smile.

She just nodded and waved them away with a vacant smile. Disappointed that he hadn't been able to get more out of her, Chance turned and led Beverly across the room to where the ushers were waiting. As quickly as they reached the other side of the room the doors were opened and the line of special guests—significant business and political associates—were ushered to their seats on the front rows. Chance and Beverly were in the third row, behind the power-brokers his father considered more important.

The purpose of this ceremony had nothing to do with love or family, and the seating arrangements proved it. Still, Chance was glad he wasn't on display on the front row. He couldn't help squirming in his seat, crossing his legs and trying to distribute his weight off his sore ass. It took a great deal of effort to keep the grin off his face when he considered his condition and the reason for it. Yes, he hurt a little, but the memories gave him such a thrill that he actually enjoyed the sensation and managed to maintain a dreamy smile throughout the ceremony.

Chapter Twelve

Mark held back and waited for everyone else to exit first. Once the room cleared, he bypassed the reception line and heading straight for the refreshment tables. He had already traded all the words he wanted to with Nate, and now he was determined to have a good time.

The buffet was covered in hors d'œuvres and fancy little finger sandwiches, expensive, dainty snacks with little flavor. Along the far wall Mark spotted the bar, and he decided to visit that first. After sitting through two hours of boring speeches and revolting nonsense, he needed a stiff drink. He'd earned it, the same as everyone else seated in the peanut gallery.

Mark found an empty space up close to the bar and turned his back on the crowd, waiting to catch the server's eye. A minute later he had a shot of whiskey in front of him, and downed it in one throw. Setting the glass back down on the bar he considered the merits of a second shot, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was a hangover when he met with Manny and Louie tomorrow.

The bartender returned and offered him another shot and he refused. The glass disappeared and the man moved off swiftly to deal with other guests. Mark stayed at the bar for a few more minutes, watching the servers with a professional eye and admiring the effortless way they maneuvered behind the cramped bar.

Finally Mark decided he'd had enough. He only knew one person here, and he didn't particularly care to talk to Nate again. He'd gotten the closure he'd come for; he would never feel any more regret that the relationship was over. Now he just wanted to head back up to his room and get some sleep. He had a wake-up call scheduled for four in the morning and that wasn't very far off.

Mark nodded his thanks to the head bartender and was about to straighten back up and leave when someone crowded up behind him. A heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders and the noxiously sweet scent of champagne blew over his face as Nate whispered in his ear, "Still here, I see. I knew you couldn't keep away. You want to head back to your room, finish what we started the other night? If we make it fast, no one will even miss me."