Chapter 7

Wes

I click the middle option under the picture at the same time I good-naturedly chastise, “You are aware you can help, correct?”

Bryn adjusts her aquamarine “Jaws Ready to Party” tank top prior to shifting the word search in her lap around to circle a found word. “I am helping.”

“ With this. ”

“With that.”

Amusement dances through my gaze that’s relocating to the woman sitting on our penthouse couch beside me. “ Explain, Brynley. ”

“ Say please, Weston. ”

One extended sweatpants covered leg crosses over the other alongside a chortled, “ Please. ”

“Letting you pick all the answers on our wedding test-”

“It’s not a test.”

“-not only guarantees that we’ll pass-”

“It’s not a test.”

“-it also secures us a good grade.”

Laughter can’t be kept out of my voice during my repeating, “ It’s not a test. ”

“Feels like a test,” the future Mrs. Wilcox huffs prior to passing over the booklet. “Why else are there so many fucking multiple-choice questions?”

“To help our wedding design team only pitch ideas that can be considered as true candidates.”

“Candidates?” She playfully pokes on a cock of her head. “Are they wedding ideas or potential employee recruits?”

Additional chuckles shake my entire frame.

“And why do we have an entire team ? We’re only two people getting married not a pair of tunas moving from hunting grounds to spawning grounds.”

“The amount of aquatic knowledge that leaves your mouth on a daily basis is simply fascinating.”

“Way to sweet talk your woman into doing your homework,” Bryn theatrically states around the grabbing of my laptop.

“ Our homework. ” Getting the word search into a more comfortable angle is attached to providing her with the answer she’s seeking, “And Valora has an entire team because she believes in the ‘It Takes a Village’ mentality.”

“But like why do we have to be a part of that village?”

“Because it’s our wedding.”

“But-”

“Pick something,” precedes me pointing to the screen. “And do not just pick the first option on each one to finish faster.”

Her face slightly scrunches in mirth-filled frustration. “ You don’t know me. ”

“ I do. ” Another round of light laughs accompanies me winding an arm around the back of the couch behind her. “Which is why I also know that your fondness for blue isn’t simply limited to your eyeliner.”

“Did Marguerite remember to order that before she left to visit her cousin in Doctenn?”

“She did.” My finger slowly begins to trace letters downward. “And stocked our fridge with its weekly grocery order.”

Unlike at the estate where we have staff on hand around the clock, our life at the penthouse operates a little differently.

We are responsible for the day-to-day duties of making our bed, making our coffee, making sure not to leave out leftovers that then have the entire place riddled with a foul odor. Here we tend to indulge in a more self-sufficient lifestyle that I know Bryn appreciates. She may not love to cook – or be the best cook at that – but whenever we’re at the penthouse she at least has the option to try or experiment. And I never used to think twice about having someone bring me coffee but after four or five lost battles with our espresso machine, I couldn’t possibly be more grateful for those that go into the trenches for me each morning. With that said, we do still have specific staff – like Marguerite Allard – come to the penthouse for routine cleanings, maintenance, supply ordering, and the occasional Lucky hosted meal.

He was here last night along with Clark and Lauren and made Arroz con Gandules that Bryn threw up two hours later.

I know it wasn’t food poisoning because no one else experienced any other symptoms.

And after a two-a.m. call to Hamilton – I waited until she was fast asleep – I concluded it’s probably just a stomach bug she can’t seem to kick.

However, if another vomit spell like it happens again, she will allow him to examine her.

Non-negotiable.

The last thing we need is her having some deadly parasite inside of her that we repeatedly ignored.

I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her.

And I’d make sure anyone else who could’ve prevented her pain never experienced forgiveness either.

“Peach and plum and cranberry,” complains my fiancée loudly enough to warrant my gaze. “Are we picking colors or creating fruit salads?”

“Those wouldn’t pair well together in a fruit salad.”

She whips her head to face me yet lets her finger hover beside the screen. “Don’t make me click terracotta as a pallet choice and really turn this shit into a fruit medley.”

“You want us looking like Mr. and Mrs. Clayface?” It’s impossible not to smirk. “ I’m all in. ”

An unexpected pause appears before she challenges, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” A second crooked grin grows. “Whatever you want for the day is yours as long as it ends with your last name becoming mine.”

“What if I want a Star Trek themed wedding?” The corner of her lip curls upward. “There is an ‘other’ option for suggestions on this questionnaire.”

“I’ll wear a gold shirt.”

“And if I wanna walk down the aisle to the opening song?”

“We’ll hire an orchestra to play it.”

“And if I wanna say our vows in Klingon?”

“I’ll start studying between every conference call.”

Girlish giggles freely floating through the air are followed by her leaning over to plant her lips on top of mine. In tandem, they spread apart to allow light touches that almost instantly become even lighter teasing.

Teasing that leads to me abandoning the pen in my possession.

Knocking away the booklet.

Sliding the laptop onto the coffee table where my feet were just resting in order to safely lower Bryn onto her back.

Cover her body with mine.

Allow one hand to slip underneath the thin fabric to glide upwards across her silky, soft skin that feels like it’s been forever since I touched.

Right as my thumb manages to brush her bra protected nipple, a familiar voice grouses, “ Come on, guys. I sit on that couch! ”

An unhappy grumble escapes as I return to my sitting position. “Why didn’t you knock?”

“When have I ever knocked?” J.T. juvenilely jeers back.

“Maybe you should start.”

“Or maybe you shouldn’t tell me that it’s alright to pop over before I head to the hanger when it clearly isn’t.”

The opportunity to make a rebuttal is stolen from me courtesy of Bryn rising to her feet. “We’re good, Puppet Boy. There wouldn’t have been time to do more than a light double tap to the bat switch.”

Heat threatens to flush my face; however, my best friend openly jokes, “You’re the reason I’m comfortable watching those movies now.”

“And you’re the reason I can’t watch those Annabelle movies with Vanessa because you really are a doll come to life.”

He warmly laughs, shakes his head, and gives her the finger, which she quickly returns.

As much as I may not always appreciate their closeness, I’m grateful for it.

I would rather them be on the same side than forever feuding opponents forcing me to choose between the love of my life and family.

“Speaking of Vanessa, I should probably be going.” Bryn using two fingers on her left hand to flick strands of hair away from her face allows me a small glimpse of her engagement ring that’s in full display. “She said ten thirty for brunch, so me showing up a couple minutes early should be fine.”

J.T. slides his hands into his navy suit pockets on another amused smirk. “It’s ten thirty-four.”

“ Fuck ,” mutters Bryn during a dart away for our bedroom, “ of course it is. ”

“You really can’t tell time, can you?” taunts the other male in the room.

“And you really can’t finish a whole box of trojans.”

The snap back momentarily renders him speechless allowing me to call out, “ Grab your phone. ”

“On it!” she replies in the distance.

I wait until she’s returned to the room, device in hand, to request more details about her day, “Why do you have your workbag?”

She gives the object on her shoulder a small push upward. “Post brunch with Vanessa, I have to meet Calen at The Institute to go over a few last-minute changes to this coming weekend’s trip itinerary, which reminds me that we need to reschedule our meeting with Valora to next week because I don’t know how late I’ll be getting back Sunday and reallllyyyyyy don’t wanna do champagne and chipper that early on Monday.”

“ Noted. ”

“We would’ve done the plan changes this morning, but it was tank cleaning day with the scuba divers, and Raquel lets her merman fantasies clog her ability to communicate until they leave.”

“And then you’ll be home?”

“ Actually, ” her body cautiously creeps closer, “I told Calen I’d help him look into getting his marine veterinary license.” She tucks her cell into her pocket. “Ever since Steven’s injury, he’s been really considering it.”

“How is Steven?” J.T. asks the question I can’t believe I haven’t yet.

Hm.

Why haven’t I?

Why hasn’t she just gushed about him?

The situation?

Work?

Is she hiding something?

Ashamed?

Perhaps between all of our social calendar engagements she hasn’t had time?

“Completely healed – thank fuck – and now into the next step of securing his move.”

“That sucks,” J.T. sincerely expresses.

“Doesn’t rock.”

Uncertain of exactly what other sentiment to add in leads to me suggesting, “Dinner?”

Bryn swings her crystal gaze my way.

“Can I plan on having dinner with my future wife?”

“With her or on her ?” she salaciously sasses back.

“ In the room… ” mutters J.T. at the same time he lets his head fall dramatically backward.

“He won’t be tonight,” I promise, instantly receiving a glare from him but a round of giggles from her.

Those matter more.

“ You’ve got yourself a deal, Weston. ”

“ Then come sign on the dotted line, Brynley. ”

My request is quickly met; however, the chaste kiss is far from my favorite.

Particularly when she’s about to spend the vast majority of a day in the presence of another man.

“Take Hill with you,” I firmly insist, leaving no room for debate in my tone.

“Fine,” she surrenders suspiciously easily.

Rather than turn the verbal pages to search for answers, I simply allow the conversation to end and her to peacefully exit.

Once the door is successfully closed behind Bryn, he saunters over to one of the unoccupied cushioned chairs. “You know the rumors aren’t true, Wes.” He casually flops down. “Your naughty buttons are the only ones Uhura is interested in pressing.”

I lightly laugh and retrieve the laptop to finish the survey. “Tell me that’s not what you stopped by to talk to me about.”

“It isn’t.”

“Is it about you using the company plane to visit that teacher in Ann Arbor?” My finger wiggles itself across the mousepad to wake it back up. “Because as long as you conduct some sort of business before or after, there’s no need to switch to one that is intended for personal use only.”

“First off, no. I have no intent on seeing her again.”

“You two looked like you had fun that weekend.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Often.”

“Aside from not being able to agree on much – including simple shit like dessert – she’s got a fondness for baby talk in the sack and that’s not the type of role playing I’m personally into.”

Holding in my laughter is impossible.

“This is league week,” he gingerly reminds during a crossing of his legs. “I’ve got introductory meetings across the country with most of the major sporting leagues to discuss sponsorship eligibility and requirements as well as an interview dinner with an app interrogation developer from Bennett Enterprises who wants to branch out of food and into alcohol.”

“You’re going to need a night off.”

“I’m going to take one to meet an exclusive buyer named Gwendoly n Kincaid who I want to hire to procure me the actual 3-D chessboard and pieces they used during an episode of Next Gen where the crewmembers played it in Ten Forward.”

“Is that the name of the episode?”

“That’s the name of the bar ,” J.T. bites without remorse. “How is it you’ve seen entire seasons of the show and still don’t know that?” I’m not allotted time to response. “Anyway, if she accepts the job, then I’ll have Bryn’s wedding gift as good as got.”

Alright.

Looks like I need to begin searching for the perfect wedding present myself.

And the best, best man gift given the lengths he’s gone to for her.

Me.

Us.

“The reason I wanted to stop by on my way to the hangar is because I wanted to be the one to inform you that there has been some new, unexpected digging into your past.”

Clicking a silverware choice precedes me meeting his stare. “And?”

“And…” an adjustment to his lapel is made, “this isn’t the typical, where was the recluse for the last ten years, type of shit. It’s… further back than that.”

“How far?”

“Your childhood.”

“ Why? ” Discomfort has me pushing the device onto the couch space beside me. “What are they searching for?”

“I don’t know.”

“ Why are they searching?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long have they been searching?”

“I don’t know.”

“ What. Do. You. Know? ”

“Other than cyber has cautious eyes on inquiries? Not much. However,” two hands are offered up in a cautious manner, “Park says unknown visitors have been by your parent’ s mausoleum – according to the groundskeeper – and one of his sources in the historical society has contacted him regarding a series of questions regarding lineage.”

“Lineage?” My brow pinches together in question. “ Why ? Is someone…trying to make a documentary about my family? A mockumentary?”

“Again…” his shoulders bounce in cluelessness, “I don’t know. But I do know you. And keeping something like this to then blindside you later results in much bigger hysterics than had someone simply mentioned it sooner; therefore, that’s what I’m doing.” He gestures an open palm to me. “Mentioning it sooner.”

A small nod of appreciation is presented. “Thank you.”

After echoing the action, he adds, “Pham wants your focus and theirs to currently remain on cleaning up the PR nightmares from the merger hiccups, the app stumbles, the possible new brand sponsoring we may be getting in bed with, and the annual Red, White, & Blue festival, while Evie and Jenni find it to be crucial to keep your personal press showcasing you and Bryn are a power couple planning the perfect wedding around your social obligations with nothing to worry about.”

I can’t stop myself from scooting to the very edge of the couch. “Do you think I have anything to worry about?”

“With the company or Bryn?”

“Either.”

“No.” Whatever relief he delivers is short-lived. “But we were also taught to always be cautious of the calm.”

The remainder of the wise words of my father mindlessly leave me, “ Because the calm always comes before the storm. ”