Sugar (24 page)

No one glowed brighter than Sarah or so it seemed to Cole. Having grown up in a household with a fashion diva mother and two sisters, he knew that her peach dress was “chiffon” and “tea length,” her strappy high heeled sandals most likely Manolos. She’d done something different with her hair. The blond locks were upswept and held in place not by the ubiquitous plastic clip but by myriad pins, invisible except for the seed pearls decorating the tips. A few soft curls had been left loose to frame her face. Pearl and diamond earrings winked from her lobes, otherwise she wore no jewelry. Switch out the color of her dress to white and she could have easily been the bride—his bride.

Holy Shit . . . Where the fuck had that thought come from?
But even as Cole bombarded himself with those questions, he acknowledged he already had the answer: straight from his heart.

Watching her sail through her best woman duties—making certain Peter carried both something borrowed and something blue; settling his elderly mother into a high backed wing chair, one of the more comfortable seats; checking in with the caterer to ensure that proper care was being taken of the cake—Cole was hard put to hold back expressing his awe. Yes, Sarah was a past porn star and the hands down best fuck of his life, but she wasn’t only those things. She was so very much more, not only to him but to everyone fortunate to have their lives touch hers however briefly.

Coughing and fidgeting feet confirmed the guests were growing restless. Cole had seen Sarah disappear with Peter into a side room when they’d first arrived. He decided to follow them and make sure nothing was wrong.

He found them inside the antique bathroom. Outfitted with stained-glass windows and a fainting sofa, it also served as a changing room and lounge area for brides—in this case grooms.

“Everything good in here?” he asked from the doorway.

Bent over the marbled sink, Peter answered with a groan and patted cool water onto his cheeks.

Sarah looked over her shoulder to Cole and mouthed, “Hope so.”

Peter turned off the tap and straightened. Dividing his gaze between Sarah and Cole, he admitted, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me? I’ve been looking forward to this day for as long as I can remember.” He jerked an elbow toward the door Cole had entered through. “That man waiting out there is the absolute love of my life and look at me.” He held out trembling hands. “I’m shaking like I’ve got the DTs again.”

Cole joined them at the sinks. He’d never felt more ill-equipped to comfort someone but still he tried. “Easy, buddy, it’s just nerves. You’ll get through it.”

Sarah took Peter’s hands in her steady ones. “Cole’s right. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re getting married. It’s normal to be nervous.” She punctuated the pep talk with an encouraging smile.

Releasing Sarah’s hands, Peter blew out a big breath. “You’re right. So distract me.” He jerked his goateed chin toward Cole. “I thought you and Hunk-a-licious must have something going on that day we met up at Union Square but you know me, I don’t like to pry.”

Yeah right
, Cole thought, resisting rolling his eyes.

Peter tsked. “Bad girl, you’ve been holding out on us in group. Other than yummy, what’s he like?” He made a show of checking Cole out, the “gay glance over” or so Sarah had teasingly called it. “You know what they say about big hands and big feet going with a big—”

“Christ, man, you’re making me blush,” Cole cut in, his face feeling suddenly sunburned.

Obviously feeling better, Peter divided his gaze between them. “So what’s the deal with you two? Sarah insists you’re just friends?”

Cole honestly wasn’t sure what his and Sarah’s “deal” was, not anymore. It would take another few months to cycle through the rest of her films but once they reached the magic one hundred number, where would that leave them?

“Lucky for Sarah I’m taking myself off the market, otherwise you and I—”

Wedding or not, joking or not, Cole wasn’t about to have this conversation standing in . . . a bathroom of all places. Outside, a change in music signaled for the guests to begin taking their seats.

Meeting Sarah’s amused gaze, he said, “I’ll see you both outside. Break a leg or . . . something,” he added, giving the groom a light punch on the shoulder.

Mindful of his duties as usher and stand in best man, he herded the stragglers into the remaining seats and then took his place at the front of the room beside the second bridegroom.

Pol leaned in and whispered, “He’s a ruddy wreck, isn’t he?”

Staring down at the tops of his wingtips, Cole hesitated. “Noooo, not exactly . . . well, okay, maybe a little bit,” he admitted, looking up.

To his surprise, Pol chuckled. “That’s my Peter. The other night I predicted he’d be at sixes and sevens, but the dear, daft man wouldn’t have it.”

“You’re not upset?”

A shrug of shoulders answered that. “Why would I be? He loves me dearly and I him. Mind you, he’s a bit of a drama queen but then that’s the lad I fell in love with. He’ll be out in his own good time and make a grand entrance into the bargain.” He punctuated the prediction with a wink.

Talk about unconditional love! “Wow, okay, well, that’s awesome,” Cole said.

Folding his hands behind him, he looked over to where Sarah stood with Peter in the alcove. All at once, the room rose. An air of shivery expectation settled over the assembly, or so it seemed to Cole.

Sarah turned to Peter, and Cole thought he saw her mouth the word, “Ready?” She tucked her arm into his and they started forward, their measured steps muffled by the Persian carpet. The flower festooned mantel served in place of an altar. The grooms wore matching gray cutaway coats with a single button at the waist, ascots and silver-striped trousers. Though Cole hadn’t given much thought to it before, they really did make a handsome couple.

A beaming Pol stood perfectly, watching as Peter with Sarah approached. Reaching them, she handed him off to his husband-to-be and stepped to the side.

The interfaith minister, a middle-aged motherly type with a priest collar and a gentle smile, gestured for the guests to resume their seats. “Dearly beloveds . . .”

As Cole knew from Sarah, both grooms had written their own vows, composed in private and as yet unshared with anyone including one another. Patrick pulled a folded square of paper from his breast pocket with a visibly trembling hand and began:

“Pol, a year ago you not only caught my eye. You captured my heart by being exactly who you are: the sweetest, most loving, compassionate, and sensitive person I have ever known. You’ve been not only my partner in passion but my best friend through the ups and downs, the good and the bad and everything in between.”

Cole’s gaze went again to Sarah. Thinking of the tender way she’d held him in the aftermath of his nightmare, he felt a lump move into his throat. Weeks ago he’d made peace with her being not just his fuck buddy but his friend. Only now did he acknowledge an even scarier if still secret truth: she was his
best
friend.

“You’ve believed in me when no one else would, urging me to chase rainbows and build foundations beneath my dreams. More than anyone, you have loved me with compassion and patience, selfless understanding and unconditional acceptance.”

Unconditional acceptance—more than anyone, Sarah had seen Cole’s warts and yet she still chose to be with him.

“I promise to spend the rest of my days by your side, to laugh and cry with you, to believe in and support you as you do me, be we rich or poor, healthy or sick. Together we stand stronger and live bolder and better than we could ever hope to do alone. Waking up and falling asleep beside you are and will
always
be the best parts of my day. Today I pledge you my love, my trust, and my fidelity—forever.”

Forever was . . . a really long time to dedicate your life to someone. Joining your life with another person’s until death parted you—would Cole ever be able to make that kind of commitment? Until now, he hadn’t given it much thought, hadn’t imagined he’d ever want to, but glancing over to Sarah had him thinking that maybe not every marriage had to end up as empty as his parents’ had.

Tears streaming, Pol followed suit, his vows a traditional Celtic wedding prayer which he recited first in Gaelic and then again in English. “Peter, I pledge my love to you, and everything that I own. I promise you the first bite of my meat and the first sip from by cup. I pledge that your name will always be the name I cry aloud in the dead of night.”

The other night when Cole had climaxed, the only word he could seem to form was “Sarah.” Sugar was as good as a ghost to him now, a fantasy from his formerly hyper-charged imagination. Whether she wore black bondage wear or an oversized sleep shirt, Sarah was all he saw.

“I promise to honor you above all others. Our love is never-ending, and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage. This is my wedding vow to you.”

By the time the rings were exchanged and the marriage pronounced there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, including Cole’s. Jesus, when had he become such a pussy? Looking beyond the embracing couple, he caught Sarah watching him and returned her misty smile.

Afterward, flutes of champagne and sparkling cider were passed around. Sarah’s friend, Honey, broke hands with her date, a dissipated thirtyish man in a seersucker suit who Cole didn’t much like the look of.

Hurrying forward, she hugged and air-kissed each groom in turn. “I am so very happy for you both!” she declared in her distinctive voice, her accent sounding vaguely British but not quite. Though her broad-brimmed pink hat cast her face in shadow, Cole was reasonably certain the smudge topping one tear damp cheek was a bruise she’d tried covering with makeup.

Blinking watery eyes, Liz echoed the sentiment. “I’m not usually big on weddings but yours . . . Sarah, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thanks, but I had a great team,” she said. “Jonathan, you were an awesome ring bearer.”

Jonathan’s black button eyes shone. “I know, I really rocked it didn’t I?”

Grownup guffaws greeted the declaration. Cole threw his arm about the boy. “You certainly did, buddy. If I ever need a ring bearer, you’ll be the first kid I call on.” As soon as the words were out, it struck him that he’d made a Freudian Slip of the worst kind.

Looking up, he caught Sarah’s eyes on him, her expression wistful, even a little sad. “We wouldn’t be here without Cole. He found the venue for us and managed to get us in with just a few weeks’ notice.”

Everyone but Cole raised their glass. Holding Sarah’s gaze, he slowly shook his head. “I’m just the gopher. Sarah did all the heavy lifting, so if we’re toasting anyone, it should be her.”

“How about a dual toast?” Liz proposed, her gaze dancing between them. Lifting her cider, she said, “To Sarah and Cole, thank you for bringing us all together to celebrate our dear friends’ special day in such grand style.”

“To Sarah and Cole,” everyone echoed, including Jonathan who slugged down his “Shirley Temple” from a grownup glass.

Sarah cleared her throat. Cole saw that she was doing her best not to cry. “If we’re finished with our mutual admiration, the buffet is opening downstairs. There’s a carving station, a raw bar, a French crepes station, and one for sushi.” She looked over to Liz. “I asked the chef to be sure to include some vegetarian rolls.”

Liz smiled. “I never doubted it.” Setting her hands on Jonathan’s shoulders, she said, “What do you say to some food to go with all that sugar you’ve been knocking back?”

“Okay,” he said, relinquishing his drained drink.

“We’ll see everyone in a bit,” Liz said, steering him toward the stairs.

“I think I’ll join you,” Honey said, glancing across the room to her date, openly flirting with one of the female servers. Turning away, she hurried off.

Left alone together, Cole turned back to Sarah. “Can you finally relax now?”

“Who says I’m not relaxed?”Sipping her champagne, she continued scanning the party like a vigilant hostess.

Helping himself to a miniature crab cake from the tray of a circulating server, he exhaled roughly. “It’s like you’re channeling Jennifer Lopez from
The Wedding Planner
.” Not even the gorgeous musician and actress could compare to Sarah. Whether outfitted in black bondage wear or bundled up in a bathrobe, she did it for him like no other woman ever had—or would, he was coming to think.

“Life is like one never ending movie marathon to you,” she remarked irritably, a frown marring her pretty face.

Her snappishness had Cole wondering. Reenacting the scenes from her films had been his idea, but once they’d got going, she’d certainly matched him for enthusiasm. Had the game stopped being fun for her? What was he missing?

“I thought you liked movies.”

She sent him an exasperated look. “Of course I do, it’s just that I like to think that at least a few things are still sacred, weddings especially. Would you believe I used to play bride when I was little.”

Cole snorted. “You played
bride
? Is that even a real kid’s game? Are you sure you don’t mean doctor?”

She reached out and hit him—hard. “That’s exactly what I mean. Everything’s a joke to you.”

Making a show of rubbing his shoulder, he shook his head. “Not everything,” he said softly. Iraq wasn’t a laughing matter in the least. The other night in her arms he’d told her things he’d never uttered to another living being.

She stared at him so hard he was amazed her eyes didn’t cross. “Well, you can at least show some respect.”

“Sorry,” he said, wondering again why she was so bent out of shape.

A group cheer drew their attention over to the fireplace where Peter and Pol, faces wreathed in smiles and gloved hands holding flutes of sparkling cider, mugged for the wedding photographer.

Watching them, Sarah took a sip of champagne. “They make such a handsome couple.”

His own champagne forgotten, Cole drank in the purity of her perfect profile.
I love you
, he felt like saying but really where would that them? Instead, he settled for a safer admission. “You look beautiful by the way.”

Turning back to him, she smiled. “Thanks by the way.”