Groomzilla (16 page)

“You’re not on camera. Just talk to me.” The pool cabana beckoned, lit up from within as the staff worked to set it up for the guests arriving tomorrow. “Let’s go sit over there.”

Daniel led Ander to the low wall near the Welcome to Westlake sign right in front of the pool house. The pool sparkled in the last rays of the sun, and everything seemed to be hushed in anticipation of the next day.

When Ander leaned against the wall without a moment’s despair over ruining his white suit, Daniel felt an actual surge of panic. “What’s wrong?” he asked, settling down next to Ander, shoulders pressed together.

“I think I made a mistake,” Ander said, tears choking his voice. “This whole thing….”

“Hey, I’ll tell you what I told Rafe—it’s almost over. Two days and you’re married people and it’s done. You just have to get through forty-eight hours.” Daniel gave him a little shoulder shove. “Besides, I refuse to believe you aren’t chomping at the bit for your big close-up.”

“What if….” Ander shook his head. “What if the mistake wasn’t the show?”

Daniel felt his jaw unhinge. “Ander.”

“We are so
different
, Daniel.” Ander turned away. “Rafe has his life and I have mine and what if—what if we shouldn’t have a life together? When I quit Glory and open my own line, I will be working twenty hours a day. I can’t chase after him and tell him to put down the goddamn phone. I can’t guilt him into coming home early from a business trip.” His voice escalated until Ander was shouting, his voice echoing against the water.

“You said it wasn’t much longer.” Daniel found his breath. “The trips, you said….”

Ander swung back around, his face contorted in anger. “Because he told me it wouldn’t be much longer. They were hiring someone to take over the traveling. Except that’s not happening. So basically I’ve been waiting for nothing.”

“When did you find this out? Have you talked to Rafe?”

“Sure I have. In between phone calls and whenever he’s actually in the fucking country.” Ander stood up, vibrating with anger. He walked to the edge of the pool, his head hung low.

Daniel took a huge breath. “He’s up there right now, worried about you. Please go up and talk to him—throw his fucking phone in the toilet, whatever it takes.”

Ander deflated like a pricked balloon. “What if it’s not enough to talk?” he whispered.

Daniel walked over to Ander and touched his back. “How will you know unless you try? Rafe loves you.” His throat went tight. “He wants to hear what you have to say.”

Ander shook his head, shrugging off Daniel’s hand. “We have to do the rehearsal dinner and then Victor has some things planned.”

“Oh Christ, Ander—fuck Victor. Fuck this show.” He grabbed Ander’s arm and turned him to face him. “This is your future. This is the rest of your goddamn life. If he is really the love of your life, do something about it.”

“Why doesn’t he make an effort?” Ander snapped, even as his expression wavered.

“Fifty-fifty relationships don’t exist, Ander. Look at us, okay? How much fucking effort do you put into this?”

It came out harsh, and Ander stepped back, his jaw clenched shut.

He nodded. “Right.”

“Ander….” Daniel felt done—forked and fucked and done.

“No, you’re right,” Ander said quietly. “I don’t do much but bring the drama, huh?” He moved so quickly that Daniel didn’t have time to react—he wrapped his arms around Daniel, hugging him tightly. “I would promise to stop, but I don’t know how.”

Daniel hugged Ander, rubbing his friend’s back. “I would rather just have you happy—and I think Rafe will do that.”

They stood there for a long time, until the sun set and the final lights flickered on.

BY REQUEST,
Daniel left Ander at the pool house. He bypassed the film crew and Victor and even Owen, who stood in his path. He walked until he found Rafe pacing worriedly at the dock, looking about as wrecked as his fiancé.

Daniel tried to take that as a good sign.

“He’s in the pool house,” Daniel murmured. “Go talk to him, okay? And for the love of Christ, turn off your fucking phone.”

“WE NEED
to let them be tonight.” Daniel folded himself into Owen’s arms, which were strong and tender and centering. He pressed his face against his boyfriend’s neck, inhaling the scent that used to just turn him on. Now Daniel associated it with peace, and it made the next words easier. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately, but Ander needed me, and I don’t know how else to live my life.”

“Lucky I’ve always admired that about you,” Owen murmured against his ear, allowing Daniel to exhale.

SUITED IN
his tux, Daniel made his way to Ander’s cabin, blessedly relieved they’d made it. No one had seen Ander and Rafe after they’d walked off together last night, which Daniel took as a good sign. They’d talk, clear the air, and the ceremony would go on as planned—and Daniel could have his life back.

At the cabin’s door, Daniel knocked gingerly. “Ander? Happy wedding day! Let’s get you ready, okay?”

He waited, then knocked again. “Ander?”

Something started to feel unsettled in his gut; he pushed it down and reached for the doorknob.

The door was unlocked.

“Ander? You in here?” Daniel walked into the cabin and all at once was hit by the dead silence and darkness.

It took him only a minute to search the two rooms. Ander’s tux hung in the bathroom, shoes posed underneath. Daniel’s breath hitched when he realized everything else was gone. No luggage, no personal items.

“No, no, no.” Daniel ran out the door and through the small grove of trees toward Rafe’s cabin.

Phone in shaking hand, he scrolled down and hit Ander’s name. As the phone rang in his ear, he ran up the stairs to Rafe’s cabin and pounded on the door as loudly as he could. Nothing.

Voice mail.

“Ander? Where are you?” he shouted.

Tearing at his ascot, Daniel raced up the hill toward Lakeside Cottage, where Ander and Rafe were scheduled to spend their honeymoon night. Gravel kicked up as he slipped with his inappropriate footwear—but then, no one had imagined this.

Ander running off before the ceremony? Rafe gone?

No, maybe he was wrong. Maybe they’d gone straight to the honeymoon, spent the night together.

But then Daniel imagined a fight, a terrible fight, and words being exchanged…. Acid churned in his stomach as he ran the last few yards up the pathway. In the distance, the quaint cottage sat, already decorated with a wreath of white roses on the door.

Hands shaking, Daniel hit the door running. He rattled the knob frantically until it opened.

“Ander! Rafe!” he shouted, ducking inside. Silence greeted him.

The scene was set with champagne and rose petals, candles on every surface, still unlit. A mood for celebration and romance, a quiet night before they were whisked away to the airport for a tropical honeymoon. Daniel walked around the quiet cottage with falling hopes.

Honeymoon. Luggage.

All of Ander’s and Rafe’s things should have been packed up by staff and brought here while they were taking photographs—at least that had been the plan. If everything else was done, that should be….

There was no luggage in the cottage.

“They both left,” Daniel said aloud, his heart breaking.

How had everything fallen apart so terribly?

With a pang in his chest, Daniel sat down on the corner of the downy-soft bed. The organizer in him noticed the lack of rose petals on the bed itself, the rumpled state of the covers.

The hastily made bed.

The rose petals crushed and scattered under his feet.

The white envelope propped up on the pillows.

It said
Daniel
.

Eagerly Daniel grabbed the missive, then tore open the back. Inside he found a square of stationary from the resort with the bold strokes of Ander’s handwriting.

DEAREST DANIEL,

I am so sorry to take advantage of our friendship this way but I know you want me to be happy and I know you’ll take great pleasure in dismantling this madness.

Rafe and I have left for our honeymoon. After last night, we had a terrible argument and came down to an ugly truth—this wedding has turned into something representing all the bad parts of us, not the good. And if we were going to have a chance, we had to put it behind us.

So.

Rafe and I are on our way to San Tropez. He’s agreed to quit his job, effective immediately, and so have I. Which means if there’s some way you can figure out us keeping the wedding gifts, that would be great.

Kidding.

Unless you figure something out.

Anyway, we’re in violation of our contract and Victor will probably sue us but I actually don’t care. I’d rather live in a cardboard box with Rafe than lose him over table settings and orchestral beats. And it turns out he loves me more than his job.

I want you to know you are my best friend and my brother. I love you. I know I have depended on your kindness and tolerance for far too long and taken advantage. Thank you for always telling me the truth, having my back, and never stealing the spotlight. Kidding. Mostly.

I’ll make this up to you, I promise.

Here: You are usually right, I am usually wrong.

That makes you happy, doesn’t it?

Love you forever,

Ander

PS: If you don’t manacle Owen Grainger into your life, I’ll send you every dick pic in existence every day for the rest of your life. We’ve finally found someone who deserves you. You deserve to be happy, my friend. Please take the chance.

Daniel was crying by the time he had finished the letter, tears snaking down his face and smearing the black ink of Ander’s words.

Being right didn’t feel as good as he’d imagined.

Voices outside caught his attention—men’s voices, none of which sounded happy. Daniel wiped his eyes on his custom-designed tuxedo and didn’t give a shit at all.

The door opened and a red-faced Victor stepped in first, followed closely by Owen. They stopped arguing as soon as they saw Daniel’s face.

“Daniel?” Owen asked, stepping around Victor to walk toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“They, uh….”

“If they fucking broke up, I want it recorded,” Victor snapped.

Daniel met Owen’s sympathetic gaze and shook his head.

“They left,” he whispered. “Together. They’re okay but….” Daniel gestured weakly in Victor’s direction. The man was stomping around the kitchen, knocking things off counters and tables.

“I’ll take care of him,” Owen said. He reached for Daniel, laying a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Daniel nodded but more tears filled his eyes. This entire disaster of a weekend—of the past few months—had rubbed him raw. His entire world upended for what amounted to a breach of contract and hours of unusable footage documenting every second of this mess.

“Not okay.” Owen sat down next to him on the bed. His closeness—the heat and the familiar scent—somehow made everything better and worse at once.

“I’m sorry. This is going to be so bad for your business.”

“It’ll be fine.” Tenderly, Owen wrapped his arm around Daniel’s waist, pulling him closer. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll have to sue us.”

“Daniel….”

“I know you do.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“Well I do,” Victor said as he approached, high spots of red on his cheeks and sweat gathering on his collar.

Owen’s voice took on a sharper hint, and he tightened his arm around Daniel. “We can talk about this later. We need to do damage control. Make an announcement, send everyone home. Then we’ll discuss the contracts.”

Victor narrowed his gaze, his lips trembling with something nasty and vicious. “You planned this.”

Daniel opened his mouth to say something, but Owen cut in. “Daniel had no idea….”

“Not him,” Victor snapped. “You. You wanted out of this fucking business, so you set me up. I knew something was wrong—I knew you were up to something.” He pointed at Owen, spittle flying with his words. “You’re just like your fucking father.”

Owen moved then, so quickly that Daniel almost fell on the floor as Owen lurched into Victor’s face. “You manipulated Ander to get better footage, and I let you—that is my fault. But I have never, never lied to you or tried to cheat you out of a thing!”

“Didn’t you ever think it strange, Owen, that dear old Daddy ran off with my money and not yours? I’ve always wondered.” Victor sneered. “Always wondered why you were so eager to offer me restitution. Was it all just a long game to fucking rip me off again?”

Daniel caught Owen’s hand as he stepped back, trying to stop a physical fight from breaking out. The room was humid with heavy-breathing anger.

And then Owen laughed. Bitter and brittle, it echoed off the cottage walls.

“Yes, Victor. For seven years I’ve put up with your disgusting behavior and rudeness and spending my money like it was yours. I’ve kept my mouth shut because I felt so goddamn guilty, but you know what? No more. You are right—I made restitution for my family name, and now it’s done.”

“We have a deal,” Victor said slowly, but Daniel could see his ire banking into something else. Maybe fear.

“The guilt was my silence. The agreement, however, is very, very clear. When this company dissolves, I will take with me what I came into it with.”

The quiet was deafening.

“That will leave me with nothing. Again.” Victor’s voice trembled. “You are like your father.”

“No, my father was a con man. I am someone with excellent business sense,” Owen stated. He squeezed Daniel’s hand in reassurance. “Now, you can help me disassemble this train wreck you’ve caused, or you can leave. I really don’t give a shit.”

Victor blew out an angry breath before turning and fleeing the cabin in a furious streak.