Vintage Volume Two (16 page)

twenty-four

We decided to wait until our rehearsal to ask Kimmy and Aaron “Fitz” Fitzgerald to stand up in our wedding.

The plan was to go to my dad’s house at six o’clock for the rehearsal, and then we’d have a small dinner party afterward.

My dad had arranged everything, security included. As we pulled up, we had to stop at two different security checkpoints. We were waved by as soon as the men saw who we were. Clearly they had memorized images of everyone who was allowed access to my dad’s estate.

Plus we were the bride and groom, so I was pretty sure they’d let us by.

I stepped out of Parker’s Jimmy and onto my dad’s circular driveway in my Christian Dior gown. Parker wore a black suit with a black shirt, a black tie, and his black Chucks.

Just looking at him dressed like that was enough to turn me on. He rarely dressed up, but when he did, it was a powerful dance through my senses.

I wanted to rip his suit off with my teeth and let him fuck me in the back of his car, but we had some things to take care of first.

A police officer met us at the door, and he opened it to let us in. The house was immaculate as usual, but the wedding was being held outside. My heart started racing in my chest as we made our way toward my dad’s backyard. It was an oasis that I had always loved, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of transformation had taken place to accommodate a wedding.

Even as I thought about it, I realized how I’d only had five short days to mentally prepare myself for this moment. While I was certain that I wasn’t rushing into things, I saw one benefit of a longer engagement—actual time to get excited.

To be sure, I was excited—thrilled—to be marrying Parker. But part of me thought it would have been nice to have some anticipation leading toward this day.

Every thought in my brain was obliterated when the French doors leading from my dad’s kitchen out to his patio opened before me.

The backyard oasis I had always loved was now a wedding oasis that was truly perfect for us.

White Italian lights were on every tree and bush in the yard, wrapped around the trunks of the palms and fanning out on their branches. Tall tents created a roof overhead to prevent nosy media, although this was all happening so quickly that I was fairly certain they hadn’t figured out what was going on yet. The same Italian lights lined the tops of the tents, and gorgeous white lace fabric formed drapery in different areas of the yard.

Everything in the yard was white. A handful of gray accents made the setting warm, modern, and romantic. 

My attention was first drawn to the tables set up on one side of the yard. They were smaller, intimate round tables with seating for six. I counted a total of seventeen tables—enough seating for about a hundred people. Under each table sat a battery-operated lantern, casting a soft glow around the entire yard.

Makeshift tables were suspended from trees behind the eating area. Little chalkboards were suspended above them with different things written on them.
Gifts. Cupcakes. Favors. Programs.

I wondered idly how inviting a maid of honor and best man last minute would affect the “Programs” table.

Next my attention focused on the pool. It had been transformed into a dance floor. Some sort of glass covered the water, and lights floated under a glass pool cover, creating beautiful mood lighting in the dusk.

And finally, I looked over to where I would stand as I married the man whose hand was clutching mine.

White chairs were lined up facing a beautiful arbor made out of wood. It was covered with draped white lace curtains and white roses. A chandelier was suspended somehow from the top of the tent over where we’d be standing.

Italian lights were strung next to each end chair and ran down the entire aisle, creating a wide and private aisle for me to walk down with my dad.

My breath caught in my throat at the beautiful scene before me.

It was charming and dreamy and romantic and enchanting and perfect for the two of us.

As much as I hadn’t had a hand in planning this day, my father easily knew my preferences to create a day right out of my dreams.

We’d be getting married in just under twenty-four hours.

I felt tears moisten my eyes as I gazed at the romantic setting around me.

It was hard for me to believe that this was all for my wedding day.

Six months earlier, I was dead inside after Damien had left me.

And now I was alive again because Parker had stepped into my life to resuscitate me.

Parker’s hand tightened in mine as we both gazed toward the arbor.

He turned toward me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Well? What do you think?”

“I can’t think of a single thing that would make it any more perfect.”

“Now that’s what a wedding coordinator wants to hear!” A booming and friendly voice interrupted our private moment, and I recognized her as Delilah, the planner from my dad’s wedding.

“Delilah Adams.” She enthusiastically shook Parker’s hand, and then she pulled me into a hug. She kissed me on the cheek. I felt like we were old friends even though we’d only met one other time.

“Do you have any questions for me?” she asked the two of us as she ushered us over toward the arbor.

Neither of us did, and then we were standing under the arbor.

“Your father arranged for George to officiate. Did he tell you that?”

I shook my head and I felt a fresh wave of tears fill my eyes.

I never would have thought to include George in our day, but Parker had become close to him simply through the task of protecting me from whatever threats Randy posed, and I knew how close my dad and George were. But more importantly, George had become family to me. He’d been with my dad for a long time, and I knew how hard it was for my dad to find people who he really trusted.

It was just another detail that had been arranged that was absolutely perfect.

My dad and George walked toward us, Jadyn following close behind.

“Everything look okay?” my dad asked, and I flew into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“It’s perfect, Dad. Thank you for this. I have no words that could possibly be enough.”

He kissed my cheek and then backed up. “That smile is all I need, CC.”

A flurry of activity sounded suddenly by the patio door, and I flinched as I watched security spring to action from various places in the yard.

“Get your hands off of me!” I heard a woman’s voice, and my flinch turned to a full-on cringe as I recognized it. “As if the timing isn’t bad enough, now you let your barbarians manhandle me, Gideon?”

“Arlene,” my dad said. I heard the fake enthusiasm in his voice through his gritted teeth. Security backed off as soon as my dad spoke her name.

I held back a chuckle at my dad’s tone, but it made me feel good to know at least one person in the yard understood what it was like to deal with my mother.

My mother greeted my dad by kissing the air around both of his cheeks.

“It’s been too long,” my mom said, smiling at my dad. She pulled back to look at me, and I could have sworn I heard my dad say “Never too long” under his breath. 

“Darling!” My mother smiled as she turned her attention to me and then rushed toward me.

“Mother!” I said, imitating the inflection in her voice to give her the sense that I was excited to see her.

I wasn’t.

The only thing about her that had really changed since the last time I’d seen her was her hair color. I looked more like my dad than my mom. She had brown eyes and chestnut hair that was now streaked with blonde highlights.

She grabbed me in her arms and air kissed both of my cheeks, too. Overdone make-up and a thick coating of hairspray gave her an air of a tacky imitation of a sophisticated world traveler.

“Where is this boy you’re marrying?” she asked, an accent tinting her American voice. She couldn’t have been in England for more than a few months. I hardly thought she’d actually acquired a British accent.

“He’s a man, mother, and this is Parker.”

He smiled warmly at my mom. His was the only genuine smile in our small circle.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am,” he said.

Ma’am
?

“Please, call me Arlene,” she said, air kissing both of his cheeks, too. “Tell me, Parker, why are you marrying my daughter so fast?” She led him slightly away from our group, as if she wanted to talk to him privately.

I rolled my eyes at my dad, who was stifling a laugh. My eyes met Jadyn’s, and she looked like she was ready to murder my mother.

God, this was awkward.

I was just thankful that getting married was only happening once in my life, because I was certain I couldn’t take my mother in the same room as my dad and his wife again.

Parker and my mom chatted for a few minutes. “Can you get rid of her?” I asked my dad.

He laughed. Loudly. “No, I can’t. I had to fly her in for this. She doesn’t go back until next Wednesday.”

“And she’s staying here with us,” Jadyn said, her sugary smile phonier than any smile I’d ever seen in my life.

Maybe Jadyn and I had finally found something in common.

But I still thought she was somehow involved with Randy. I still thought it had been her who had taken my journal. Somehow she made my dad happy, though, so I was trying my best to put it out of my mind.

Our rehearsal began shortly after my mother’s arrival. I loved her—I had to, because she was my mom—but all she did was get in the fucking way. Between “too much white” and “roses are so blasé” and “Delilah, what about this?” I was ready to put her back on a plane to London myself.

I was pretty sure she was going to give me an ulcer. If I heard her opinion on one more thing, I was going to throw something. More than once during the evening, I felt Parker’s hand tighten over mine. Painfully.

He was making the point that I needed to shut my mouth, because he knew I’d regret it if I said something.

And that was why I was marrying him.

When Kimmy and Fitz arrived, we pulled them into my dad’s office and asked them to stand up in our wedding. They were both honored. Kimmy flat out cried, while Fitz and Parker shared a hug. As Parker introduced his sister to his best friend, my mind switched to matchmaking mode. I saw the way Kimmy’s eyes met Fitz’s, and I wanted to gently nudge—or push—the two of them together.

When we left the office to rejoin the rest of our guests, it was like Parker could read my mind. All he did was shake his head as he directed a smile toward the floor. I took it as a green light to play Cupid to two of the most important people in Parker’s life—and our life together.

twenty-five

Damien and Katie were both there. They were smiling as I walked down the aisle toward Parker.

I wasn’t sure where my dad was. Katie was my maid of honor, and Damien was Parker’s best man.

I was walking down the aisle all by myself.

Where was my dad?

He must have been running late. Everything was fine.

It had to be.

It was my wedding day.

I repeated the mantra in my head:
Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine.

I smiled at Damien, standing in a tux and looking handsome next to my fiancé.

It was so bright out. Too bright. We were getting married at dusk. It was too early.

Maybe Delilah forgot to tell my dad the time changed. 

When I looked closer, I saw that Damien was crying.

Only instead of tears falling from his eyes, it was blood.

His nose was dripping blood, too.

It felt like I was in an episode of
True Blood
, only Damien wasn’t a vampire.

I looked in terror over at Katie. She was crying blood, too.

I looked around for my dad. He was supposed to be walking me down the aisle and I didn’t know where he was.

My mom was in the front row, and she stood.

She was the only guest on either side.

I supposed no one else knew that we’d changed the time of the ceremony.

Why had we changed the time?

The sun was shining, and my mom was wearing all of these sparkles. Rhinestones, crystals, bedazzled beads… she was so bright, she looked like a mirror reflecting the sun.

“Where’s Dad?” I called to her.

She glanced around and shrugged.

I looked at Parker next, and he shrugged, too.

I silently giggled at Parker’s shrug.

That was
my
move.

I looked toward Damien and then over to Katie.

When they answered my question, they spoke in unison.

“He’s with us.”

twenty-six

I still hadn’t written my vows by the time I’d woken up the morning of my wedding. I had this premonition that I’d magically come up with the words when I needed them, so I figured I had time. I’d gone to sleep the night before hoping I’d wake up with a clear mind, ready to marry the man who’d been assigned to protect me but who ended up being everything I never knew I needed.

But instead of waking with a clear mind, I awoke with the fog of a nightmare hanging over me.

When Parker stayed with me, I slept more soundly. Maybe he somehow protected me from the demons residing in my mind.

But true to tradition, we slept apart the night before the wedding. Neither of us was traditional, yet for some reason we agreed to it.

We wouldn’t see each other until he was standing under the arbor where we’d be married. We agreed that we wouldn’t even talk to each other.

But I wanted his comforting arms around me after the nightmare.

At first, I couldn’t remember what it was about. I knew it was bad, but the details were missing.

It was when I thought about seeing Parker waiting for me at the end of the aisle that the details came rushing back to me.

In order to see Parker, I’d have to take my dad’s arm as he escorted me down the aisle to give me away.

And the moment that thought flashed through my mind, all the morbid details of that dream washed back over me.

Kimmy had slept over in my guest room. I had invited her to stay, and she said it was obviously a maid of honor duty to stay with the bride the night before the wedding.

We stayed up later than we should have laughing and drinking wine. I didn’t get drunk because I didn’t want a hangover for my wedding day pictures, but I did get to know her better.

I’d known plenty of siblings who didn’t get along, but Kimmy truly admired her brother. They were close friends who picked each other up after the tragic losses they’d endured. She confirmed for me that Parker was truly a good man who had been dealt a crap hand where his dad was concerned. He’d handled that in various ways, but he wanted happiness just like anyone else. And it was his sister who pointed out how it just took the right woman for him to see that the meaningless relationships he’d been in for the majority of his life had nothing on finding your one true love.

At least I hadn’t woken up from my nightmare screaming. It wouldn’t have been the first time I had, but it probably would’ve scared the shit out of Kimmy.

So instead of calling Parker to come wrap his loving, protective arms around me, I wrestled with whether or not to tell Kimmy about my dream.

I took a shower, taking my time to shave my legs carefully, and then I let my hair dry naturally. I didn’t put on any make-up. I rubbed my favorite lotion everywhere. That was the extent of my beauty routine. Experts had been called in to take care of the rest.

Rather than going somewhere to have our hair and make-up done, my dad had arranged for them to come to me. They’d been cleared by my dad’s security team, and they were apparently top notch and very highly recommended. 

I called my dad to make sure he was okay under the guise that I was just ensuring all of the details were taken care of. He assured me that everything was under control, and then made me promise that I wouldn’t worry about anything.

I didn’t have the nerve to tell him that it was
him
who I was worried most about. Instead, I thanked God that my dad had answered when I called, and I pushed the awful dream out of my conscious thought.

Kimmy and I had just finished rinsing our dishes from lunch when we heard a knock at the door.

Our stylists had arrived. Brittany, the make-up artist, and Bethany, the hairstylist, were both young and stylish. While Bethany worked on Kimmy’s hair, Brittany worked on my make-up. Kimmy and I giggled as she told me stories about Parker as a teenager.

Primping with a Coke and a woman who was the closest thing to a girlfriend I had helped me to snap out of my fog.

George stopped by with two gift boxes somewhere between eye shadow and mascara. He set them both on my table with a smile.

The first was a larger box. I tore open the card attached to the top.

To our CC on her wedding day:

We love you and couldn’t be happier for you. If you ever need anything, you know we’re both here for you. Always and Forever.

Love, Mom and Dad

I smiled at the card, tears threatening. I watched as Brittany sent up a silent prayer that she hadn’t done my eyeliner or (waterproof) mascara yet.

My dad always signed my mom’s name on cards to me whether or not she was involved in the actual purchase of a gift. Come to think of it, she had never been involved in the actual purchase of any of my gifts. My dad had taken care of everything for my entire life, and here he was, throwing together a very last minute but perfect wedding celebration just to please me.

He ended the card with the same phrase he usually did:
Always and Forever
. It was his predictability—or maybe it was the consistency—that provided a comforting harmony.

The card caused tears to threaten. The contents inside of the box caused them to cascade.

I opened the box and found several items: a delicate platinum and diamond jewelry set including a bracelet, necklace, and earrings that would match perfectly with my dress; a beautiful princess cut sapphire ring; a fragile lace handkerchief; and a set of crystal wine goblets.

All of the items had notes under them, all written in my dad’s distinctive, masculine penmanship.

The note under the jewelry said,
Something new for you.  
 

The note under the sapphire ring said,
Something blue for you
.

The note under the handkerchief said,
Something borrowed. This belonged to your great-grandmother on my side. She wrapped it around her bouquet at her wedding.

The note under the wine goblets said,
Something old. My parents toasted their first drink as a married couple out of these glasses. And now you and Parker can continue the tradition.

Kimmy read each piece of paper after I did. “Your dad is amazing,” she said, and I smiled because she was right.

And then it was time for the second box. I’d barely recovered from my dad’s meaningful gifts, and there was more for me to open.

The second box was much smaller than the first. There was a card accompanying it, and the front said, “To the future Mrs. James” in Parker’s handwriting.

I tore it open. The envelope boasted “Flashing Light” on the outside. He’d used band stationery to write his letter to me.

And the words written on the inside stole my heart.

Jimi,

How could I have possibly known when Gideon Price asked me to keep an eye on his daughter that I’d end up finding everything I need to survive this life?

I used to be this guy who did whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to. I never put anyone else first because I never had to. I never wanted to. I never thought I would.

But now there’s you.

You’re everything to me. You’re what’s important. Our love and our future are all that matter, and I will spend each day for the rest of my life proving that I’m worthy enough to call you my wife. No part of me believes that I am, but I’ll do my best to be everything you need. You will be part of everything I think, say, and do for the rest of my life. And that starts today.

I wrote some lyrics the night we first spoke at Vintage—when Flashing Light did our appearance. I’d been protecting you from afar before that, falling in love with what I knew of you, but it was that night when we finally spoke for the first time. You were such a smartass and so sexy, and that was the night I knew that someday I’d marry you. These words make up the refrain for a song that’s going on our next album, and you’re the first person outside of FL to see the lyrics. I hope you like it because it’s for you. See you in a few hours. I’ll be the sex god in a tux waiting for my goddess at the end of the aisle.

Love You Forever,

Parker James

“My Forever”

I’ve been watching you

From across the room

Across the street

Wondering when

We can finally meet

I’ve been wondering

What makes you moan

If you’d like to fight

What your eyes look like

When I fuck you right

I’ve been wanting you

Since that first day

And now I never

Want to be without

My forever

It was one of those letters that I would cherish for the rest of my life. It was one of those letters that I’d never share with anybody else. This was just for my eyes. Always.

Tears were streaming down my face as I read the words he’d written for me. It hadn’t been a long road, but it had certainly been a hard one.

I was ready. This was rushed and scary and way too fast, but it was the way things were supposed to be. I knew that in my heart with absolute certainty.

That little wave of love that Parker had mentioned less than a week earlier shuddered through me. I loved him with a fierceness that I’d never experienced before, and I knew that song lyrics he’d written for me were only the tip of the iceberg. We had a long, happy, and safe marriage ahead of us, and it was all set to begin in a few short hours.

Kimmy glanced expectantly at the card as she waited for me to pass it to her. I grinned as I held it to my chest.

And then she handed me the box.

Once I’d read his words, I’d forgotten that there was more. I felt like the words he’d written for me—his song—were my gift. It was all I needed.

I set the card on the counter and picked up the box. It was heavier than I expected. I tore the paper off of it and opened it to find a photo album.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held an actual album of photos in my hands. We all took pictures of everything, it seemed, on our phones. No one printed pictures anymore. As I held the closed album, I figured it had to have been middle school when I’d last created an album like this one. 

But when I opened it, I realized that I’d never created an album quite like this one.

The first picture in the album happened to be the first one that Parker and I had ever taken together. It was a random selfie that he’d taken at the café at Vintage one afternoon after he’d gotten back from his first tour and before he’d finished writing his new album. A slip of paper in the plastic sleeve above the photo said “Our first picture” in Parker’s handwriting.

I smiled at it because it was symbolic of everything we had been through. We were both smiling, but neither of us really wore a sincere smile. I’d been hesitant to get involved with a musician, and Parker had been fighting his feelings for me in his own way. As I looked at Parker, I could see the conflict behind his eyes. It was before he’d revealed who he was, before I knew he was protecting me and watching out for me.

I studied the fear behind my own eyes. I could tell I was repressing how I really felt. Thanks to the man in the photo with me, I’d just gotten back the arsenal of emotions that had been missing for a long time, and I was too scared about what that might mean.

Back then, I would never have pictured myself walking down the aisle with him only a few months later.

I flipped to the next picture and saw Parker standing outside of the Wells Fargo Arena in Philadelphia. The picture was a little dark, a little far away, but I recognized that same conflict in his eyes. A smile stretched across his lips, and anyone else would’ve thought he looked like an excited musician taking photos outside of every venue where he toured.

But I could tell that something was wrong. There was more at play behind the eyes that I’d gotten to know so well. The eyes I searched out in every room.

The slip of paper above the picture said, “This was taken before you arrived. I was so nervous to see you and tell you what I’d been keeping from you. I learned my lesson, and I will never keep anything from you again. Team James forever.”

I flipped through each picture and studied each caption that he took the time to write. Tears filled my eyes—again—as each of his words invaded my mind and filtered down to my heart. It was a chronicle of our relationship. Every stop on the tour was represented, and some of the captions had other memories, too—the pizza place in New York, the Walgreens and our “engagement” in Raleigh, songs that represented how he felt about me and little explanations about why he’d chosen certain ones he’d covered, and the final stop of the tour in New Orleans.

None of the bad memories were recorded. None of the break-ins, not the stolen journal, not the fight that last night in New Orleans.

When I looked at these pictures whenever I wanted to for the rest of my life, I would only remember the good stuff. I’d only remember the good memories Parker gave to me, not the horrific ones Randy created.