The Bastard Takes a Wife (9 page)

“But it made you hot? Right?” A twinkle of
mischief sparked in his green eyes.

I was hot all right. And it was his fault.
“Sort of.”

Sam wrapped his big arms around me. I felt
his biceps tense. The wetness from his body soaked into my top and
warmed the space between us. “You do know that in your state, I’d
be taking advantage of you if we had sex here. You’re as pissed as
a nit.”

“I’m in full control of my faculties,” I
giggled and to prove it I let my hand wander down to his crotch. He
was hard. Reaching up, I sucked his lip into my mouth and he pulled
back.

“Jeez, Mill’,” he whispered. “Who’s doing the
seducing here?”

“Well, you are naked. What did you
expect?”

With my free hand I brought Sam’s face to
mine and kissed him. His lips were hot. They burnt in a way that
made me tingly all over. I could feel it right between my legs. His
whiskers rubbed against my chin and cheek, the friction as he
kissed me back making me want him even more. I moaned.

The next thing I knew, Sam picked me up and
wrapping my legs around his waist had carried me into an empty
stall. Pushing the door shut with his knee, he reached to lock it.
Then he squashed me against the flimsy wall. His mouth went
straight to my chest, his hands squeezed my bum, holding me aloft
and I moaned again. I felt my breath go shallow as he put his mouth
to mine.

“Are you sure about this?” he questioned.

“Want me to talk dirty to prove it?”

Fifteen minutes and thirty-three seconds
later I was back in my seat. Sasha had gone to sleep with her head
resting on the table and Kirby was putting on rose pink lipgloss.
She looked as fresh as a daisy. Beside her, Alex was flicking
through pictures she’d taken of the event on her phone deciding
which to post on Facebook.

“My, you look a little flushed,” she said, as
I dropped into the chair next to her. “You okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s been having a quickie in
the loos,” Kirby answered for me.

I blushed and fished a comb out of my
clutch.

“See. Can’t hide the truth. She’s not even,
like, denying it.”

I looked around the table. “Where’s Mel?”

“Dunno. I think she went to find Johnny.”

“But Mel hates Johnny. The only time they
ever converse is when she pours drinks over his head.”

“Like, not anymore,” Kirby giggled, shoving
her lipgloss back into her clutch and snapping it closed. She
picked up the empty glasses and stacked them on a tray. “In fact,
this whole night’s been a bit of a revelation, yeah? I mean, Womble
might have found himself a girl; Mel’s got the hots for Johnny.
Plus, we raised about four grand for the club, which is totally
awesome ‘cause we can, like, get a new heater, and Mel will stop
complaining.” She nodded agreeing with herself. “All in all, I
think the night’s been a roaring success. Totally.”

When I woke up the next morning ~ the morning
of my first dress fitting ~ I felt as if someone had whipped my
brain with an electric beater. Even the herbal migraine tablets
Adele shoved into my mouth didn’t work, or rather didn’t have a
chance to. I was so sick I threw up twice and the smell of freshly
baked bread wafting from the kitchen only made me want to try for a
third. Yes, I knew I was hung over, but this was different. I
wasn’t all spewy because I’d drunk copious amounts of wine the
night before. In fact, I’d felt rather sober when I finally made it
home. This was about the dress.

As I sat cradling my cup of weak tea, my mind
pondered how a dress could elicit such a powerful physical emotion.
I wasn’t the type to become excited over fashion but I was excited
about this. And nervous. And anxious. I’d been dreaming about the
gown in vivid detail for days now. What if it was hideous?

Tipping the rest of my tea down the sink, I
left the kitchen and walked along the hall to my bedroom. There was
another reason why I was feeling unusually nervy about the day
ahead. A tiny gnawing sensation inside me had been telling me for
days that I was selling out. I was giving up my independence for a
dress.

When Sam proposed, I’d begun to put money
aside. Mum, of course had offered to buy me what ever I wanted ~
within reason ~ and I was happy to let her contribute but the
budget hadn’t been limitless and I’d accepted that. I’d seen the
designer gowns in Adele’s bridal magazines. I’d noted, with
startling clarity, the prices of the ones I liked and I’d come to
the sad realisation that they were beyond anything I could ever
afford. That was okay. There were many other beautiful gowns in my
price range.

Then Sam had heard ~ from Kirby I think ~
about my apparent, like ‘desperate’, need to have a dress by Lisa
Ho. God knows what else Kirby had said but being the generous soul
he was, he’d offered to pay the difference so that I could have the
dress of my dreams. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe how
excited I got when I accepted his help or how easily I’d justified
backing down on my previous beliefs. I told myself that by wearing
a Lisa Ho creation, I wasn’t just living a dream I’d never thought
would happen, I was fulfilling the expectation of Sam’s family. I
wasn’t walking down the aisle in some moderately priced generic
thing. Surely, that would impress them? Surely, they’d realise, at
last, that I was the perfect girl for their son?

Then again, maybe it would just add fuel to
the ‘gold digger’ fire?

*****

Later that morning, Adele and I stood in
front of the glass-etched sign of the bridal shop, my hand on the
brushed chrome door pull. This was it. I was about to meet my
dress. Taking a deep breath and pushing down the butterflies, I
stepped through the door.

My mother and Angus were sitting on the
lounge sipping champagne when I walked in. I hadn’t seen Mum in two
months and as she put her glass down and stood to wrap me in one of
her big Mummy hugs I was overcome.

“Mum!”

“Baby.” She put her lips to my hair. She
smelled of
White Linen
and coconut scented shampoo. “My
little baby is going to be a bride.”

“Yep.” I kissed Mum’s cheek and wiped away my
tears of happiness. It was true. I was getting married and I had
the best boy in the world for my partner. Not only that but
everyone I wanted around me for this special time was finally
here.

“I missed you,” I smiled. “I’m so glad you’re
home.”

“Me too,” said Mum. “Adele and Angus have
filled me in on what’s been going on. It’s sounds like it’s going
to be a very grand affair. Your father is so excited.”

“But not so excited about the budget, I
imagine.”

Dad, though not short of money, was known for
being a bit of a tight-arse. If he could re-use that teabag one
more time, he would. And Mum, bless her, wasn’t much better. It was
a family joke that she recycled gift-wrap and cling wrap until they
were practically compost. She had a wardrobe filled with every item
of clothing and jewellery she’d bought since 1985, none of which
she wore but had been keeping in case I might like it when it
ultimately came back into fashion ~ unless she still fitted into
it, of course. If economising or compromising could save a dollar
Mum was right there doing it. I guess that’s how she and Dad got to
be so well off. And why I was so surprised at the opening of purses
and wallets just because I was getting married.

“For once your father’s cheque book isn’t
sending out moths to announce its arrival,” Mum chuckled. “The
decree is that his little girl may have whatever she wants. Within
reason.”

Ah, the old catch cry ~ ‘within reason’. I
could well picture what ‘within reason’ truly meant.

“We’re not having home-made candelabras on
the tables, Mum. And you won’t be buying fairy lights from the
two-dollar shop or re-using the ones from Dad’s sixtieth birthday.
They’re so old they’re a fire hazard. Besides Sam’s family is very
picky. They won’t put up with Dad’s cost-cutting measures.”

“But it would be such a waste to buy
something new when we have something suitable in the storage
container.”

Angus put up a free hand. His nails were
manicured in burgundy that day, to match his tie. “Mrs. McIntyre,
if I may be so bold, Millicent is quite correct on this occasion.
For this wedding … the bling-ier, the better. Our catch phrase is
‘new is all that will do’.”

“So we can’t re-use the silk flower
arrangements from our wedding anniversary?” she clarified.

Not unless we wanted everyone to laugh at
us.

“No. And they’re the wrong colour, anyway.
We’re going with a black and white theme. I’ll ask the girl to show
the bridesmaid dress after we finish.” I said.

“Speaking of which,” Angus said, whipping a
bubble-wrapped object out of his man-bag, “I’ve got three
prototypes for the commemorative plate here. You need to approve
one so we can get them printed in time for the gift bags.”

He undid the bubble-wrap revealing three
dinner-sized plates, each of which had the words Millicent and Sam
2012 printed around the rim in different colours and a different
option for photos of us, the happy couple, plastered in close up in
the centre.

“Oh my,” said Adele, “they’re unusual.”

“They’re hideous. Who approved these?” I
asked, though I needn’t have bothered. I already knew the answer.
The phrase ‘money can’t buy class’ immediately sprang to mind. Too
scared to say the name, I eyeballed Angus.

“Well, Sam said he’d rather they be in
Hornet’s or
Western Force
colours….”

“Is that some kind of joke?”

Angus’s face became more serious than ever.
“I totally agree Millie - blue and yellow would be a joke. That was
why I suggested the font should be gold to match your theme, or a
stylish black.”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t mean that. What I
mean is I don’t want the plates. Not at all. They’re ridiculous.
We’re not Prince William and Kate.”

“What else will we use to fill the gift bags
Patricia asked for? The custom labeled wine isn’t enough and I know
you don’t like personalised fountain pens.”

“This isn’t a fashion show. It’s my wedding
and I don’t want gift bags. You’ll have to ring Patricia and tell
her.”

“But I’ve already ordered them. And the
Swarovski vases and beer tankards with your names and the date
engraved. Vases for the ladies, tankards for the gentlemen.”

It seemed tacky could happen at any
price.

“Patricia had better be paying for this
because I don’t want my parents forking out for such rubbish.”

“There was no question.”

“What else is she putting in this stupid bag
then?”

“Ah, there’s a small thank you note from you
and Sam.”

“Fine. I agree with that.”

“And Sam has requested Gold Seating at a
Western Force
home game for all the guests.”

“What?” Since when had Sam been involved in
the wedding planning? A month ago he told me he didn’t care what we
did on the day as long as he got a beer and a wife at the end of
it. Now he was organising gift bags?

“He wanted scarves too but Amanda said that
was ridiculous. She suggested Pandora heart earrings and tie clips
to replace it. More stylish.”

I thought I was going to cry. This was my
wedding and they were taking over. It wasn’t that I didn’t want
them to help or give me ideas but I wanted it to be our wedding in
the end. Mine and Sam’s. Not me and Sam and his family. I turned to
my mother for support.

“Do we absolutely have to have this humongous
affair? Can’t we cancel the whole thing and run away to Bali?”

“I think this one might be beyond us, Millie.
You’re marrying into one of the most prominent families in
Australia.”

“And that gives them license to fill my every
waking hour with crap?”

“No, but we have to be considerate.”

Oh God. I knew she was right. My mother was
always right.

“I want it to be tasteful, Mum. Classic,
elegant and tasteful. I want to wear your veil and have beautiful
photos that won’t look stupid and dated in three years. I don’t
want gift bags and string quartets and doves flying out my
bum.”

Mum blinked away a few tears and gave me a
watery smile. “You want to wear my veil? Oh, Millie. It’s been my
dream all these years that you’d want to wear the veil. It was
passed down from my mother. She was given it by your
great-grandmother, who wore it too. It’s the ultimate
hand-me-down.”

“And the colour will go perfectly with my
dress.”

“It’ll be your something old,” Adele added.
“Which brings my to my contribution… I was wondering if you’d like
to borrow my solitaire diamond pendant for the day. If it goes with
your dress, of course. Brian gave it to me when Paige was born as
my Push Present. It’s a one of a kind, Heart’s Desire cut, designed
especially for me by the little man at Sinclair’s.”

Now I was going to cry. “I’d be honored,
Adele. You, Brian and the children are like my second family.”

“You’re such a fortunate, girl. You have a
wonderful fiancé and fabulous friends and family who want you to
have the most stylish, loveliest wedding Perth has ever seen.” Mum
hugged me again, then she turned and hugged Adele before taking a
hanky out of her purse and blowing her nose three times.

“Does that mean you want me to cancel the
white carriages and horses I ordered to convey the guests from the
valet parking to the venue? The horses are black. I was going to
add white plumes to their heads for extra impact.” Angus asked. I
think he was getting the hint that tacky was not on my menu.

“For Pete’s sake,” I cried. “I didn’t want
you to order them in the first place. I told you that. Now, can we
please try on the dress!”

“That must be my cue.” My skinny little
assistant friend, who had been silently blending into the gown rack
during this discussion, stood tall. Her face was bright, her eyes
gleaming with expectation. She seemed as excited as me about the
first fitting. I hadn’t seen her since the meeting with Lisa where
we discussed designs but after the amount of emails and texts we’d
exchanged in the last few weeks, I felt as if I’d acquired another
bridesmaid.