Fall Apart Page 2

  She was the one who figured out he was gay a couple years ago and helped him come out to his best friends. It was a long, long story. Embarrassing, too, but mostly long.

  “Come on, gentlemen,” Luke’s voice rang out behind him and Franco. “We’ve gotta go in sometime.”

  Damon grinned and pulled the groom into a hug. “If it isn’t the man of the hour! Congrats.”

  Luke kept one arm around him and threw the other around Franco. “I’m terrified.”

  “Told you,” Franco offered up. “You’ve got it easy, though. Remember my wedding day? Puked six goddamn times. Best day of my life.” And he meant it.

  Luke laughed loudly, a little too loudly, and Damon gave the back of his neck a squeeze. “Are you gonna make it?”

  His best friend swallowed audibly and stepped away to smooth his hands over his hair. “Yeah. I just wish we were on the plane, heading off for our honeymoon, and that this production was over with. I swear I’m going to the bathroom every five minutes, I’m so nervous. All this shit going on and it makes you forget what the celebration’s supposed to be about.”

  One of the doors opened nearby and Todd squeezed out with a mimosa in hand. He saluted with it and took a swig. “Number one, boys. Put it on my tab.”

  “Are the rest of the guys inside?” Luke asked him and Todd shrugged. He couldn’t stand “the rest of the guys” and avoided speaking to them or acknowledging their existence if at all possible. When he did refer to them, he called them “The Law Turds” since all of them worked at Percy Thackerey’s firm.

  From the point that Mandy began planning the wedding, there had been a great deal of discussion about the size of the wedding party. She insisted that there was no way she could have fewer than nine women standing up with her without seriously offending a great many people. Luke, who prided himself on his ability to make and keep only four close friends—one of which was the woman he was marrying—was forced to come up with an additional six men to balance out the guy/girl ratio. He adamantly refused to allow Andrew in the wedding party to Damon’s relief. Although, ten years from now, Luke would look at his wedding photos and have to ask for help identifying the six guys Mandy came up with. Damon couldn’t remember their names, but since they worked for Mr. Thackerey it meant: Don’t say anything stupid to them that you don’t want the big Thack to hear.

  Todd knocked back the last of his drink and Luke flicked him in the chest. “So…Valerie?”

  Another shrug. “She’s got a soft candy center,” he admitted, refusing to smile.

  Franco’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Don’t tell me these things. No—forget that—tell me.”

  A clinking of a knife against fine crystal made it to their ears and Luke visibly braced himself. “Too late. That’s our cue.”

  ***

  Money Bags Thackerey was standing at the head table, a glass in one hand, as a waiter gave him a microphone. He was a charismatic man with the standard salt and pepper hair and booming laugh Alarik had trouble finding sincere. All eyes were glued to him as he opened the brunch with a speech, yet when Alarik lifted his camera; his attention was on the bride, his dearest friend.

  Mandy was watching her father like everyone else, but the sunlight was streaming in the window at her back and with her head tilted just so, he was able to get a beautiful silhouette, with wisps of her hair falling softly to her shoulders.

  He let his eyes run over the rest of the wedding party at the head table, each person playing his or her role perfectly. The All-American groom. The frosty Maid of Honor. The deeply sincere and kind bride. One true-blue mate. A semi-intoxicated pal. About seven women ready to party and have sex in not-so-secluded places. Some hungry lawyer types eyeing up those women and making bets. And then there was The Best Man.

  Alarik’s camera stopped panning and he snapped three shots. He wasn’t for sure, but he thought Mandy said his name was Damon. Even after Alarik continued taking pictures of the party, it was easy to let his attention slide back to that dark hair and winning smile. The guy had no idea that Alarik was scamming pictures, so none of his expressions were filtered or posed. By the time Thackerey finished his speech, Alarik had taken several shots: Damon laughing, smiling, and leaning nearer to the neighbor on his left to hear what she was saying.

  Alarik wasn’t the wedding photographer, but taking pictures was his thing and Mandy had hunted him down and invited him there simply for his presence. The camera came with him because it always did. He was one of those guys, lugging a Sony or Nikon or a Canon around wherever he went, because he never wanted to miss a great picture. He loved the way photographs became handheld memories. When someone said to him, “Remember the time we…” Alarik loved that he could often say, “Yes, I remember. I have a picture.”

  His seat was close to the head table so he had a great line of sight if any opportunities arose that he couldn’t resist, but his spot also offered the added benefit of a perfect view of Damon. Not a bad place to be at all.

  Servers in coat tails and black ties swept through the room with platters of food for each table and Alarik let his mind wander. Back in college, after he’d been on his own in New York for a few years, he’d made extra money working as a photographer’s assistant to a real arse who also happened to be a genius. Alarik learned more from Paolo about composition and models, light and technique; than he had in any professional courses he’d ever taken.

  Paolo did a lot of editorial work and portfolios for up-and-coming models, but he loved the big magazine cover stories best, shooting daring and breathtaking photographs that people remembered. Alarik had met a lot of actors and actresses when they were first on the scene, before the big movie deals and hype. Zane Whitlow was one of them, before he hit the big-time with The Mercenary.

  He was one of Alarik’s favorites—a man so modest, yet at home in front of the camera that photo shoots were a dream with him. Paolo let Alarik take half the shots the two times they photographed him solo and even though it was years ago and some of his early work, Alarik still included those photos in his own portfolio. They were honest. They were honestly good, too. He’d also come away from the opportunity with a lifelong friend in Zane.

  Every now and then, Paolo had someone like that come into his studio who had an unstudied, unrehearsed look. They weren’t simply responsive to direction, they melded into the moment and seemed to know where Paolo was headed and what emotion he was looking for. He’d no longer have to yell out instructions; the sessions would become silent and full of energy. Alarik loved that.

  Watching Damon at the head table, he was reminded of those times. He wanted very badly to know about that smile. And the man behind it. He wanted to see why that suit fit so well—was it good tailoring, or was it simply goodness from the inside out?

  Mandy had provided a Who’s Who rundown for him when she called last week to make certain he was still attending, and there was a lilt, a quality, in her voice when she mentioned Damon. Not the kind of lilt that said she was secretly in love with him. Rather, it was the way she spoke when she wanted to rescue someone. Alarik cocked his head as he considered the auburn-haired man who was currently pointing at his friend’s drink and holding up three fingers. He didn’t look like someone who needed rescuing.

  The woman seated next to Alarik thought they’d been silent too long and dragged him into a conversation about the “gorgeous” spread in front of them. Alarik did the polite thing and made up some observations of his own. Yes, the plates are indeed a light china.

  He was sipping his second cup of tea poured from a “lovely silver pot,” as his table mate informed him, when a pair of arms encircled his shoulders from behind and he got a whiff of Mandy’s perfume.

  A familiar happy tug in the region of his heart came and went, and he pushed back his chair to pull her into a tight hug. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispered and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You made it to your big day.”

  Mandy beamed up at him as he smiled down at
her. It was hard to believe they’d known each other for twelve years. Unlikely roommates turned unlikely best mates. He, a lad raised in London and then transplanted to New York, and she, a native southern Californian trying to make it through school in the big city. Their five-year age difference hadn’t been an issue, either.

  The groom didn’t know Alarik had slept with Mandy years ago—one of his most hilarious sexual exploits and one of only two times he’d shagged a woman. Some memories he was quite glad he didn’t have pictures of, and if he had a picture of that particular night, he’d piss himself laughing each time he looked at it.

  “Thanks for shifting around your very important, very exciting, incredibly busy schedule to accommodate my wedding.” She made a funny little face.

  “I actually came to see if you wanted to take another stab at me and you,” he pointed at his chest, then at hers. “Run away from here. Never look back.”

  Mandy snickered then gave a crack of laughter that didn’t suit the poised and put-together look of her sky blue morning dress and white wrist gloves. “We should’ve had much more to drink that night than we did, just so we don’t have to remember it now. Your accent made you sound so convincing. Even when it came to awkward sex.”

  “Awkward? You were charming,” he whispered pleasantly. “But I couldn’t get past your breasts. They were just so breasty and engaging. I kept looking for balls, never finding them.”

  Mandy had hidden her face against his suit and was trying not to snort with laughter. Alarik saw that they were drawing curious stares, many of which were from those at the head table. Damon was having an eye contact conversation with the groom, likely trying to find out who this bloke was with his hands all over Mandy. Luke shook his head with a patient smile and left the table to come their way.

  “Your groom approaches. Pull yourself together,” he teased in mock seriousness. “He can never know of our passion.”

  Mandy hugged him again and sighed. “Thank you so much for being here.”

  “It’s my pleasure and a welcome diversion from my intoxicating daily life.”

  His voice took on an edge that he didn’t intend for Mandy to hear and before she could do more than frown at his tone, Luke arrived and offered a hand to Alarik. The grip was firm and polite and there wasn’t even a hint of territoriality in it. Excellent. Mandy had paved his way.

  “It’s good to see you again, Alarik. What’s it been? Two years?”

  Alarik squinted, trying to recall the only other time they’d met. “I think you’re right. Congratulations on marrying the best woman I know.”

  Luke gave a friendly nod and asked about the hotel accommodations, if Alarik needed anything, and how long he was staying in Santa Barbara. The customary questions.

  Once Alarik had moved appointments around to make it to the wedding, he’d decided to leave his schedule open. He was thinking of using the time to sleep and relax; his life leading up to this weekend had been mad. For a few days it’d be nice to pretend he didn’t have any obligations.

  The bride and groom couldn’t stay with him long as they had to bow and scrape for the other guests, and when Alarik took his seat he found he was the focus of a blue-eyed stare. The wicked grin that rose to his lips was well practiced, but in this instance wholly unplanned. He couldn’t help it.

  Damon didn’t quite frown in return, but Alarik had irritated enough people in his lifetime to identify the signs. Here, with this man, he wasn’t necessarily welcome. How intriguing.

  Well, that clinches it, Alarik decided. He had to decipher this clue.

  Lifting his teacup in acknowledgment of that unimpressed gaze, he chuckled to himself and turned his attention back to his table. He was now committed to becoming a nuisance.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Don’t lock your knees,” Damon murmured under his breath as Luke swayed slightly. His best friend was turning an ugly color of yellow-green and was swallowing a lot; the pressure was getting to him.

  Luke had always been a tender soul when it came to being the center of attention. Since their days at Ventura High School when he’d passed out cold giving a speech about the Plantagenets, Luke had made little progress in this area. A group of five or more people looking at him at one time was enough to get the shakes going and this was much worse than that.

  The Thacks had reserved the outer courtyard of The Beacon Hotel for the ceremony and around three hundred pairs of blinking eyes were currently focused on Luke and his nine groomsmen. It was late September and mild, but Luke was sweating like it was high noon on execution day. The string quartet needed to get cracking so that the attention could shift to the bridesmaids who were waiting to glide down the aisle, but apparently no one had given them the high sign.

  Damon took a step closer to his friend and whispered, “I bet you fifty bucks that the flower girl cries, the ring bearer bolts, and a bridesmaid trips on the aisle runner.”

  Luke looked up at him distractedly until a slow smile grew on his face and some of his color returned. “Fifty?”

  Damon nodded and Luke considered it.

  “You’re on.” They shook hands and the music finally began. Those three hundred pairs of eyes shifted to the flower girl about to bop down the aisle and Luke took a deep breath. “Thanks, man.”

  Damon clapped his friend on the shoulder and settled in for the show. The flower girl was dry-eyed, the ring bearer noble. The bridesmaids in their ruby dresses were fleet of foot and poised, and Damon was out fifty bucks.

  The music changed and Mandy appeared at the end of the aisle, arm-in-arm with her father. She was as pretty as any bride could hope to be. The dress was eye-popping, but her smile stole the show. Luke, of course, was mesmerized.

  Good for you buddy, Damon thought. Nobody deserved it more.

  Mandy was weepy during the vows and Luke’s voice was only slightly choked as he promised himself forever. The mothers in the front rows were creating rivers and streams of tears. Old Thack surprised the hell out of Damon with his own wet eyes. Luke’s father, on the other hand, was the rock no one could squeeze blood from—totally stoic.

  Everyone cheered during the kiss and as the newlyweds retreated down the aisle. Damon offered his arm to Valerie and she took it, but her focus was over his shoulder where Todd was standing.

  She pasted on a neutral expression as they made their own escape. She waved brightly at old family friends and guests while Damon’s goal was simply to get down the aisle and out of view as quickly as possible. The photographer had stopped Mandy and Luke, so Damon was forced to slow down so there wouldn’t be a pile up.

  Andrew was in the fifth row; Damon had spotted him before the ceremony began and ignored him the rest of the time. Three rows back from that, on the aisle, was the guy he’d seen at the brunch—the slick photographer friend of Mandy’s that she couldn’t stop talking about at the rehearsal dinner. She’d actually sought Damon out several times with the express purpose of discussing him, it seemed.

  What was his name? Godrick? No…

  Unfortunately, the way the guy looked wasn’t as easily forgotten as his name. Upon first glance, Damon had been reminded of the actor from the TV show Lost. Not the Jack guy, but the other dude, Sawyer. Although, Mandy’s friend kept his jaw clean-shaven. He did have the bright eyes…the goddamned dimples. He looked very nice in a suit and very, very nice in a tuxedo.

  It was really frivolous to be so good looking, Damon decided. Whatshisname probably didn’t have to be talented in order to be successful, looking like that. And even though he shared similar features with an actor, he also seemed to share the devilish attitude and smirk. Damon didn’t like that, either, and that was mostly because he liked it so much.

  At the aisle’s end, the wedding planner directed him and Valerie like a well-dressed traffic cop until they were rounding a corner and crammed into a vestibule with the bride and groom, who were locked together and kissing pretty well.

  He and Valerie froze, and then simultaneou
sly spun around to stare at the carpet, the wallpaper, dust…anything.

  Sheeze. Save some for the honeymoon, pal.

  When Luke groaned, Valerie broke her silence. “That’s plenty!” she barked. “Pictures, then drinking, then food, then dancing, then cake, then honeymoon and honeymoon sex, okay?”

  As the rest of the wedding party arrived and everyone was talking at once, Damon squeezed himself off to the side and was shortly afterward packed in a corner with Franco and Todd. The former was messing with his tuxedo jacket and the latter was leaning back, hands in his pockets and his eyes closed like he was going to snatch some sleep during the uproar.

  “Franco, what are you doing?” Damon asked as he was elbowed in the gut for the third time.

  His friend grunted and kept fidgeting. “Sandra found my cigarettes. She’s got me wearing one of those damn patches and it’s driving me crazy.”

  Todd laughed, his eyes still closed. He didn’t have to say it; they both knew what he was thinking. You married her.

  For a second, Damon felt sorry for Todd. He wondered how the wedding affected him and if he was upset. Then Franco elbowed him a fourth time and he forgot about it, jerking around in the small space, forcing his buddy to stand up straight and tugging on his lapels until Franco was back in order.

  “Accept it, Franco,” Todd drawled with one eye cracked open in sympathy. “Your life is no longer your own. Sandra won’t let cigarettes kill you. That’s her job.”

  Franco gave both of them a sour look and stopped twisting around like a kid forced to wear short pants. “You’re just jealous I have someone to care about me,” he mumbled under his breath.