Groomzilla (20 page)

The screen wiped to Daniel standing back on the dock in his tuxedo. “So, we’ve arrived at the wedding day after a long and dramatic journey….”

Daniel knew this part, so he let the tears fall fast and furious as his voice rang out clearly from the footage. Owen pressed his warm palm between Daniel’s shoulder blades, anchoring him to the chair as Daniel pulled a handful of tissues from the box, then pressed them to his face.

“Come on, look up. This is a lovely way to finish.”

The last segment was the reception in full swing, guests dancing and mingling under the fairy lights. Everything looked perfect—Daniel’s vision come to life, a dream wedding under the stars. No grooms, however, no wedding to celebrate, but the people didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t know—it’s just so Ander,” Rebecca was saying, talking loudly as the band rolled into “Mustang Sally” to the delight of the crowded dance floor. “Like this is the
most
beautiful wedding and they’re like not here. It’s not a bad thing.” She laughed, clearly a few champagnes in. “Just—you can’t keep Ander in one place for too long. He’s too creative. He throws this spectacular wedding and he’s already on the next thing—being married. He couldn’t wait to get to the good stuff.”

“Rafe needs someone like Ander.” That was Rafe’s friend and best man Eduardo. Sweat dripped from under his impressive fluff of black hair, his collar drenched. “Keep him young, keep him on his toes. I mean, of course they eloped. Of course.” He chuckled. “Rafe hasn’t known what hit him since the day Ander crossed his path. But he’s also never been happier.”

More guests chimed in, intercut with shots of dancing and cake eating and a limbo contest involving a broom. Everyone thought it was hilarious that they had eloped.

“They can even keep the wedding gift,” snickered one of Ander’s fellow Glory designers. “This has been a damn good party.”

Another fade-dissolve and the beaches of San Tropez came into view. Sunset, waves crashing—and Ander and Rafe sitting on the balcony of a gorgeous hotel. They looked blissful sitting cuddled up next to each other wearing lush white bathrobes.

“Welcome to our honeymoon!” Ander said to the camera. “We loved seeing all the shots of the reception—our friends kicking up their heels. I saw you, Eduardo! When are you going on
Dancing with the Stars
?”

Rafe shook his head. “Thank you for your understanding and your love. We appreciate it. And thank you to the staff and everyone at Life & Style. No one has more class than you.” He gave a little salute as Ander gazed at him adoringly.

“Oh, and Daniel, my best friend and best man—thank you.” His voice softened. “For everything and then everything else. I couldn’t have ever been this happy without you.” He blew a kiss at the screen and then gave a saucy wink. “Give Owen a kiss for me!”

The screen went black.

Silence again, except for the fact that Daniel was huffing and crying and trying not to. “You…,” he started but couldn’t finish, attempting to stem the tide of tears and snot down his face with a handful of saturated tissues.

Owen pushed his chair to one side, then dropped to his knees in front of Daniel, forcing him to look up. “I love you. Ander loves you. Rafe too,” Owen said. Through all the stress and exhaustion, his gaze made Daniel’s achy heart hurt a little bit less.

“That episode wasn’t about them, though.” Daniel’s face burned.

“Yes, it was.”

“It was about me.” Something like embarrassment flooded Daniel’s system.

Owen rose up, putting his arms around Daniel. “Yes. It was a love letter to you as much as to them. It was Ander’s idea and I, of course, thought it was brilliant.”

Daniel laughed into his shoulder. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Me too.”

“Victor must hate this.”

“Victor can go fuck himself. He’s about to not be my problem anymore.”

DANIEL WENT
into the washroom to clean up. He felt like he needed six showers and a giant bottle of tequila. The mirror revealed a man with bloodshot eyes, somewhat unkempt and blotchy. A man so overwhelmingly loved that it made his knees weak.

He had never known this.

He had never even bothered to dream of this.

It had never made the list.

He rinsed his face and hands, then shoved his hair into some sort of order. Outside, Owen was getting his things together to come back to Daniel’s apartment. They would eat and go to bed, make love or watch television or whatever. At this point Owen could read the ingredients off a box of cereal and Daniel would swoon at his feet.

They could survive London.

They might just be able to survive anything.

Six months later

NAOMI SAT
at the reception desk, baby Lincoln asleep on her chest in a beautifully embroidered baby carrier. The picture of contentment—and Naomi’s tired but serene smile—made Daniel grin as he stepped out of the elevator.

“Hi,” he whispered, one arm tight around the box of stuff for his desk as he wiggled out of his overcoat.

Naomi waved, one hand at Lincoln’s back. “Hi,” she mouthed.

“Just gonna….” Daniel pointed to the box and Naomi’s face lit up.

They exchanged air high fives as he disappeared into the office space, tiptoeing around the newest member of Life & Style Productions.

A lot of the furniture was gone, having belonged to Victor. The spots would be filled at some point with items selected by him and Owen together. He tried not to be overly delighted by this simple fact.

The partner desks were gone, replaced by a simple Parsons table for Owen and an L-shaped desk with many drawers for Daniel, who smiled happily as he placed the box on its corner.

In two hours the movers would arrive; files and supplies would be tucked away in the empty office down the hall. A few pieces of furniture arranged in here, a painting he liked taken from storage for the waiting room. By the end of the day, his studio would be packed up and delivered here.

And Owen’s belongings would be delivered to the apartment in Hoboken.

Six months after the wedding that wasn’t—six months of Daniel finishing out his calendar to fulfill the remaining contracts and then enrolling at NYU for his MBA.

Six months of Owen in London, ending his business relationship with Victor and moving around his assets to buy him out.

Five months since the premiere of
Groomzilla
—an absolute smash hit with their viewers, who loved the unconventional happy ending.

Phone sex and pillow talk turned into serious discussions and then a flurried exchange of e-mails.

Owen returning to New York. Daniel closing his business and letting go of the tiny studio office.

“Do you need a roommate?” Owen had asked when Daniel opened the door to him a week later.

“Do you want a new business partner?” Daniel had wondered aloud as they lay in bed, sweaty and tired and still wrapped around each other.

When the sign maker came the following day, Life & Style would become Happy Endings Guaranteed, Inc.

“So at the end of every successful season, everyone gets a hand job?” Ander had asked, the waves of San Tropez crashing in the background.

Daniel missed him more than he might admit. More than Ander would admit to him, even though he figured they were fooling no one with talking at least once a day.

The extended honeymoon didn’t have an end date. Ander and Rafe would return to New York at some point, settle back into their apartment, and then Ander would launch his label with Rafe as his business manager.

“Couples working together, being fabulous in New York—what a wonderful and interesting reality show that could be,” Ander had said, right before Daniel had called him fucking insane and hung up.

He wanted his best friend home. Slamming a door in his face would have been so much more fulfilling.

“Daydreaming on the job? Tsk tsk, I might have to speak to your supervisor,” Owen said, startling Daniel as he wrapped his arms around his waist. “First day—you wouldn’t want to end up with a spanking.” Owen rested his chin on Daniel’s shoulder.

“A spanking, huh? That sort of thing isn’t going to dissuade bad behavior.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Owen murmured before dropping a kiss against Daniel’s ear. “The delivery truck will be a little late—traffic.”

“Spanking, late truck—the next thing you’ll be telling me is Naomi and the baby have gone home,” Daniel said slowly, grinding back with intent.

“How did you guess?”

TWO MAGNIFICENT
blow jobs later, Daniel was stripped down to his long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, and woolen socks, sitting contentedly at his new desk. He had a lovely view of the city through the window—and his boyfriend on this side of it—without being in the direct sunlight. Perfect.

“Do you want lunch?” Owen asked, poking his head around the corner of the bookcase.

“Are you eating with me?” Daniel shut the drawer on his well-organized pencils and pens. He put his elbows on the desktop and offered Owen a baleful glance.

“Yes, dear.”

“In that case, absolutely.”

While Owen disappeared to place their order, Daniel started on the desktop. He had a picture of his grandmother holding him when he was a baby, and a copy of him and Ander on the dock of Grandma Constance’s house with her standing between them. He placed them side-by-side, corners touching. Daniel gave them a few moments of his time, a smile and a blown kiss. Building blocks, Owen would say. Markers on the road to get you where you wanted to be.

The last picture felt a little silly—after all, Owen would be sitting a few feet away, sleeping next to him at night, but Daniel had never had a boyfriend and this was a thing he wanted to do.

Framed in burnished copper was the picture Naomi had snapped of them wearing their tuxes, dancing in the moonlight.

“We look like the ideal gay wedding advertisement.”

Daniel turned in his chair to find Owen holding a plastic bag and smiling at him. “Maybe we should blow it up—put it in the lobby.”

Owen dropped the bag on the desk, then went to get his chair. “Or we can wait for an actual wedding portrait—put that up instead.”

It was casual—almost too casual. Daniel looked up from where his nose was buried in the fragrant scent of Cuban food. “Make it official,” Daniel said softly, a grin overtaking his face.

“False advertising is a poor way to begin a business.” Owen sat down, then rolled over to sit next to Daniel. “We want to deliver on our promises….” He dropped a kiss on Daniel’s mouth, heartfelt and tender, swoonworthy.

Daniel leaned back and regarded his boyfriend carefully. “I don’t need an official portrait to make promises.”

“Oh, I know that.” Owen reached up to stroke Daniel’s jaw. “The only reason I want to make it official is because I love you. And I already know how devastatingly handsome you look in a tux.”

“One request?”

“Anything.”

Daniel tipped his head against Owen’s strong shoulder, feeling the arm snake around his shoulders. “No videotaping of any kind will be allowed. Still photography only.”

Owen laughed, then pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll hire one of those people who draw the pictures in court.”

“We’ll start a new trend….”

“
Law & Order: Unholy Matrimony
!”

“We’ll have our own cable network!”

Owen wheezed in response.

“You’re both ridiculous!” boomed a voice from the lobby.

Daniel perked up. “No way!”

“Did I forget to mention Ander was back?” Owen pulled Daniel up and then wisely moved aside.

“You liar! You said you didn’t know when you were leaving the island,” Daniel shouted, dodging chairs and bookcases and walls until he reached the lobby. There, in all his suntanned glory, was Ander, in a bright coral polo and white Bermudas, a broad smile on his face. A giant, fluffy, white fake fur lay on the couch, as if the Abominable Snowman had died to make Ander’s coat.

“Did you enjoy my performance? I had to answer your last call in the men’s room to hide the sounds of the airport.” Ander opened his arms and then folded them around Daniel’s shoulders. “God, did you shrink?”

“Shut up,” Daniel murmured, insanely happy to have his best friend back.

“I love you, idiot,” Ander whispered back, burying his face in Daniel’s neck. “And if you think for a millisecond I’m letting you get married without a videographer, you are batshit insane.”

Daniel pulled back reluctantly. “Ander—”

“I am going to give you guys the most romantic wedding ever!” he announced as Daniel’s face froze with terror.

“We’re not even engaged.” Daniel looked around and realized Rafe was sitting on the couch, reading a
Variety
. And wearing an Ander-matching outfit right down to the pimptacular coat. “Rafe!”

“Hi, Daniel,” Rafe said, dropping the
Variety
. He looked over at Ander with adoration in his eyes. “Just say yes.”

“No.” Daniel felt Owen’s hand at his back and tensed ever so slightly. “You have a fashion line to develop, we have a business to run. I’m in school! No. Besides, we’re not even engaged,” he gulped.

“Yet,” Owen added.

Daniel tried—and failed—not to smile.

Ander made a dismissive face. “Give me the tour of your
business
and Rafe will tell you boring things about our new venture, and then I’ll start sketching ideas for your tuxes.”

Daniel let himself be taken by the arm and propelled down the hallway. He turned back to look at Owen—handsome Owen; kind Owen; loving, perfect boyfriend Owen—and shook his head.

“Yet,” Owen mouthed and blew him a kiss. “Hold out for custom linens and a nice little suit for Lincoln!” he called. Daniel shook his head, still being pulled away by Ander. “Naomi’s dress too!”

“Ugh,” Ander yelled. “Fine. And before you ask, yes, I’ll design your going-away clothes and trousseau.”

“Going-away—what?”

TERE MICHAELS
unofficially began her writing career at the age of four when she learned that people got paid to write stories. It seemed the most perfect and logical job in the world, and after that, her path was never in question.