My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)
My Rules: Chapter 8

The sun is shining, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky, only a dark storm brewing in my heart.

“You stand here.” The wedding celebrant grabs Blake by the shoulders and puts him into position. “And you are here.” She moves Antony into place under the arch. He smiles broadly and goes up onto his toes in excitement.

We are in the garden beside the lake. The scent of freshly mowed grass is pungent, and gardeners are pruning hedges in preparation for tomorrow’s ceremony.

Bees buzz around the canopy of white flowers, and anticipation fills the air.

She turns toward me and Chloe. “You stand here.” She moves me into position. “And you, darling, are here.”

The four of us stand in place with our hands clasped in front of us.

“Henley,” she calls. “You come down now.”

Henley smiles broadly and walks down toward us. He proudly takes his place in the center. He turns back to the boys, and Blake slaps him on the back as they chuckle.

My heart.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a groom so excited to get married, or maybe it’s just that I’ve never paid close attention. The celebrant begins to explain the proceedings, but somehow, I’m lost. I can’t explain it, but have you ever been involved in an event and felt as though you’re sitting up in a tree and watching it from afar?

As if there is a piece of glass . . . or, in this case, ice, between you and the happenings. Tomorrow is a happy day, the best day, and yet all I can feel is a deep, overwhelming sense of sadness.

Two of my very best friends in the entire world are diving headfirst into a lifetime of love, and I want to go into this wedding with an open heart.

But alas, how can I when I’m reliving the nightmare of handing yourself over to someone forever?

They keep chatting around me, and a vision comes through my mind, only it isn’t a vision. It’s a memory, crystal clear and cutting like a knife.

Me, walking down the aisle . . . to him. The look in his eyes, the love in my heart.

Was he cheating even then?

I was so naive.

My eyes fill with caustic tears at the thought.

“Rebecca, Rebecca . . . Rebecca,” the marriage celebrant says sternly, and I glance up. “I need you to listen, dear.”

“Sorry,” I stammer as I’m brought back to the present. I blink to try and hide my tears. “I’m sorry, I beg your pardon?”

“You need to go with Chloe.” She gestures in front of us.

“What?” I look around in confusion to see that Chloe is now down at the end of the aisle with Juliet. “Sorry, sorry,” I say in a fluster as I take off down to them.

“Now, pretend to hold your flowers, and walk up the aisle to the music.” The music begins. She holds her hand up. “And now.” I take the large steps up the aisle. “Now you, Chloe,” she calls. “And finally, our beautiful bride, Juliet.”

We get to the front and take our places like we practiced. Then Juliet joins us, and Henley takes her hands in his. Unable to help it, he kisses her softly, and as everyone chuckles, my eyes fill with tears anew.

Stop.

This is not about you, Rebecca. Get ahold of yourself.

In a detached state, trapped somewhere between the past and the present, I watch as we go through the logistics of tomorrow’s ceremony.

“Well done, everyone,” the marriage celebrant tells us. “Let’s celebrate with a glass of champagne.” She gestures to the restaurant. “We have canapés and champagne ready and waiting for us.”

Everyone chatters excitedly as we walk toward the event center, and the closer we get, the higher my need to be alone grows.

I feel unstable.

Once inside, I fake a smile and take off in search of the ladies’ room. I take the stairs; I’m going to go to the upstairs one. I need some distance.

I burst in the door and sit on the toilet and put my head into my hands.

I’m hot and clammy and . . . fuck.

My breath is ragged, my heart is thumping hard in my chest, and I sit for a long time as I try to pull myself together.

I hear the door open and shut. “Bec,” Blake’s voice says softly.

I close my eyes . . .

“You okay?”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say in as happy a voice as I can.

My heart beats harder. Damn it.

Leave me alone.

“Okay, see you outside,” he says. The door opens and closes, and I put my hand over my mouth and sob out loud.

I don’t want to be this person.

“Open the door,” Blake’s voice snaps.

Shit.

“I’m fine, Blake.”

“Open it, or I’m climbing over the top.”

Damn it. I open the door, and the minute I see his face, I burst into tears.

“Hey.” He wraps me in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I snuggle into his chest as he holds me. The lump in my throat hurts so bad as I try to hold my tears in.

“Bec. What’s wrong?” he whispers into my hair. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing, I’m being stupid.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s just . . . it’s just . . . failure is running through my veins like poison.”

“Babe.” He holds me tighter.

“This isn’t what I thought my life would be,” I whisper. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I don’t want to be a divorcée.”

“I know,” he says softly.

“And you’re completely right. I am a train wreck.”

He smiles against me. “I may have exaggerated the train wreck part, but in my defense, you did call me one first.”

I look up at him.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says softly as he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “We’re going to forget that we had a fight, and we’re going to forget that you ever got married, and we’re going to go out there and celebrate with our friends, and you’re going to start again.”

“But . . .”

“No buts; no more living in the past.” He kisses my forehead. “That’s it. Those are the last tears you will ever cry over him.”

“It’s not even him I’m crying about.” I sniff, feeling stupid. “He’s an idiot. This isn’t about him.”

“What’s it about, then?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Lost dreams, I guess.”

He gives a subtle shake of his head.

“What?” I look up at him.

“We’re a fucking mess, you and me.”

“How so?”

“You only like players; I only like party girls. Neither of which can give us the desired outcome we want.”

“Train wrecks,” I reply.

“Total fucking train wrecks. Come on.” He pulls me out of the stall and turns on the tap. “Dry your eyes, crybaby, and snap out of it.”

I give a halfhearted smile.

“Because today is the last day that you and I are going to live like this.”

“Like what?”

“In the past.”

I blink, confused. “I know I do . . . but . . . how do you live in the past?”

He shrugs casually, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I think I’m twenty-one.”

“Feeling twenty-one is not a bad thing, Blake.”

“It is if you act it, and you were right—everything you said to me is true. I am a walking red flag.”

I smile sadly.

“And for the record, I probably do have syphilis in my dick; it wouldn’t surprise me.”

I bite my lip to hide my smile. “I can’t believe you got your dick pierced.”

He cocks his leg and rearranges his crotch. “I actually have an ice pack in my underpants right now.” I laugh out loud, and he does too. “Oh,” he says, “I’ve been dying to ask—are you a foot millionaire by now?”

“No,” I scoff with a roll of my eyes.

“No?”

“I haven’t sold one single picture.”

“Not one?”

“Nope.”

“Meh.” He shrugs. “Those weirdos don’t know hot feet when they see them.”

He bumps me with his shoulder, and I bump him back.

I think our fight is over.

The violins sound, and I hunch my shoulders up in excitement. “This is it, Jules.”

We are at the top of the garden, about to walk down the aisle. We can see the boys in their black suits down below, waiting for us under the arch.

She bounces around on the spot. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

She’s wearing a fitted white lace dress and the most beautiful antique veil; it was her great-grandmother’s. Her hair is up, and I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride. She is literally glowing.

I kiss her cheek. “Go marry your man.”

She laughs again. Her excitement is palpable. Chloe pulls her into a hug and then begins to walk down the aisle in slow double steps. I take off next and make my way down. Chloe and I are wearing ice-blue strapless dresses. I feel like a glamorous Grace Kelly; the dresses have a real old-Hollywood vibe.

As I get closer, I see that Henley is watching his beloved Juliet walk down the aisle to him through tears.

Oh . . .

I look around to see that both Blake and Antony are choked up too.

My heart.

We take our places and turn to watch Juliet on her father’s arm walk the last of the aisle. As Henley wipes his tears with the backs of his hands, Juliet is giggling like a schoolgirl. She’s practically running to get to him.

She turns and passes me her bouquet, and then her father kisses both her cheeks and passes her to Henley.

“Hi.” He smiles.

“Hi,” she gushes.

“You look so beautiful,” he mouths.

“So do you,” she mouths back.

He leans in and kisses her softly, his lips lingering over hers, and from my peripheral vision, I see Blake wipe his eyes too.

Who knew these boys were so emotional?

“We’re getting married,” Juliet whispers, as if this is a surprise.

“I did notice that,” Henley whispers back, and we all laugh.

This is such a happy day.

The best.

The waitress carries out a huge tray of cupcakes and puts them down on the table. “Oh.” From across the room, my eyes widen in excitement, and I drag Blake over toward the table. “Let’s go get some.”

There must be fifty cupcakes laid out in the shape of a giant heart. “Look how pretty.” I smile as I look over the choices. “Take a photo of this for me.”

Blake takes out his phone and snaps a photo. “Hold a cupcake up,” he instructs me.

I pick up a cupcake. “They’re still hot,” I gush. “And the icing is oozing.” I take a big bite. “Oh . . .” I go cross-eyed in pleasure. “You have to have one of these. The icing is lemon.”

“You all right there?” Blake frowns as he looks at the ground.

I glance down to see the hot icing has drizzled down my shin and all over my foot. I giggle. “Eww.”

“Hold that thought.” Blake gets down on his knee and begins to snap photos of my foot in my strappy stiletto.

“What are you doing?” I glance at the people surrounding us. “You look like a weirdo.”

“Yeah, well, you look like you’ve got come all over your foot, and if it’s turning me on, imagine what those sick fuckers would do.”

“What?” I whisper.

Blake stands and grabs my hand and drags me outside. “Sit down and take your shoe off. I’m going to video it.”

“Huh?” I frown in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Just fucking do it.”

I sit down on the edge of the garden. “Don’t get my face in this.”

“I’m not.” He begins to video and puts his finger up to his lips for me to be quiet.

I slowly untie the strap and slide my foot out of my shoe. The white icing is now dripping between my toes.

He stops filming for a second. “Now, swipe your finger through it, and bring it up to your mouth,” Blake says.

“What?” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “I don’t want my face in anything.”

“I’ll edit it out; just do it.” He holds the camera up and then drops it again as he has another thought. “Don’t put your finger in your mouth; smear it across your lips instead.”

“What?”

“Just fucking do it,” he whispers.

I do as he tells me, and he smiles and holds his thumb up. “Do it again.”

I do it again.

“Now, smear your fingers through the icing on your foot, and then rub it into your toes.”

“You’re perverted, you know that?”

“I do know that.” He keeps filming, and after a good ten minutes, he says, “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” He scrolls back through his photos and smiles. “This is hot.”

“How is this hot?” I frown as I lean over his shoulder to look at the photos.

“I’m going to upload this one,” he tells me.

The photo is of my foot when we were inside by the cake table. It’s the one with the icing drizzled down my leg. “Yeah, okay.”

He passes me his phone. “Log me in to your dashboard from my phone so I can upload it.” I log in to Foot Finder and pass him his phone back. “No faces.”

“I know, I know.” He concentrates and goes through the process. “I’m going to add a teaser for more content and put a ridiculous price on it.”

“What do you mean, a ridiculous price?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “We’re faking it till we make it here.”

I bite my lip to hide my smile. Faking it till I make it has literally been my life motto lately.

He keeps concentrating on his phone.

“I’m going to the bathroom to wash this icing off. I’m sticky as all hell.”

“Okay.” He keeps typing in his phone. “See you inside.”

Blake swings me out and then rolls me back in as I laugh out loud. We’ve had the best time dancing and laughing—so much laughing. We are on the terrace dance floor; the fairy lights twinkle above, and the magical night is coming to an end.

Blake holds me in his arms as we sway to the music. “I have a confession to make.”

“Uh-oh.” I look up at him. “Do I want to hear it?”

He chuckles. “Maybe not.”

“Hit me.”

“I read your list.” We keep moving to the music.

I frown, confused. “What list?”

“The dos and don’ts of dating that you wrote.”

Huh?

I try to remember when he would have seen that.

“I came in to say goodbye to you in the morning, and it was on the end of your bed. I hate to tell you, but the list was a complete hit and miss.”

“Oh.”

What did I write?

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve got an idea.”

I roll my eyes as we dance. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“Hear me out.” He smiles down at me. “What if I helped you?”

“Helped me?”

“You want to have fun and new experiences, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t want to get hurt.”

“True.”

“What if I showed you the ropes?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if . . .” He gives a halfhearted shrug. “What if I coached you through your first few dates?”

We sway to the music. “How would you coach me?”

“I don’t know.” He thinks for a second. “Maybe we could go on a few double dates, and I could . . . observe.”

I frown. “Observe?”

“You know, just watch over you and keep you safe, and you could”—he shrugs again—“have the fun you wanted. The next day, we could go through my observations and tweak certain aspects of your”—he tries to articulate himself—“delivery.”

“Who would you bring to our double date?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs again. “I’m sure I can replace someone.”

I think this over as we dance. “And what happens at the end of the date?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happens at the end of the night when I want to go home and have sex with my date?” I ask.

“Then you go home and have sex with your date,” he replies. “Hopefully he’s got a good dick and gets the job done well.”

The idea rolls around in my head. “So let me get this straight—you want to coach me on how to be a player?”

He smiles wistfully. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but . . . in a nutshell, I guess that’s a good analogy.”

I think on it for a moment. I do want to play the field, and maybe . . . I mean, if Blake did finally meet someone, I wouldn’t rely on him so much either. “Okay, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” He looks down at me.

“I get to coach you on how to be boyfriend material.”

“Ahhh.” He smiles as he looks out over the crowd. “But there lies the problem. You see, I don’t want to be a boyfriend.”

“So just take the few dating lessons and then don’t be a boyfriend, but you will have the knowledge in your tool kit for later on when you do.”

His eyes hold mine as we continue dancing. “I just want to help you; I don’t need help. When it comes to women, I have my ducks in a row.”

“I beg to differ. Your ducks are completely out of control. Do we have a deal?”

“No. I just coach you.”

“Not happening. It’s a two-way street. It’s both of us or nothing.”

His eyes hold mine, and I can see his brain ticking as he thinks it over.

“Do we have a deal?” I ask hopefully. “You are the only one who I trust to help me with this.” I shrug. “And besides, who else can show me how to be a player better than the best player himself?” I smile up at him. “You were literally made for this job, Blake.”

“Because I’m a red flag?”

“You are the king of red flags.”

He rolls his eyes, unimpressed, and I know I’m wearing him down.

“Come on.” I smile up at him. “Even you know that this is a good idea.”

“Fine.” He sighs.

“Fine what?”

“We have a deal.”