Black Diaries

65. Seeing Red

It didn't turn out quite as bad as I had thought. Most of the guests weren't actually greeted one at a time, which, of course, my kind groom neglected to mention to me until the very last minute. Instead of shaking individual hands from morning to night, he just stepped onto a podium, extended his general welcome and accepted thundering applause. Everywhere in the crowd I saw sashes, medals, diadems and necklaces. The glitter was nearly enough to blind my eyes. And jewels weren't the only things that were flashing.

"Lord Farleigh!" A man towards the back with a humongous black camera in his hands waved his hands in the air. "Lord Farleigh, where is your bride?"

Holy shit! Reporters?

"She's right here. Come up on the podium, my dear. No need to be shy."

Of course there's no need! I'm only getting my wanted visage on the front page—again! What to worry? I might only spend a lifetime in prison.

Thanking God with all my heart that he'd had the foresight to install a veil as part of the customary costume of brides, I stepped up on the platform, and a thunderstorm of flashes went off. Dear Lord! There were more paparazzi here than ants in an anthill! And trust me, I was a vet. I knew exactly how many ants there were in an anthill.

Men in black suits with the Farleigh coat of arms on their ties appeared, and discreetly ushered the paparazzi aside. Most of the wedding guests dispersed, some taking their seats already, some wandering through the cathedral. As for me and his Lordship, we stepped down from the podium and towards the small group of people who remained near. It was time to greet his friends. Because, believe it or not, he actually had some of those.

"Who on God's green earth would be stupid enough to subject themselves to the torture of being your friend?" I inquired, intensely curious.

He smirked. "Fine words, coming from my future wife. Don't you feel friendly towards me?"

"I don't count," I murmured, snuggling into him. "I am befuddled by love and female hormones! Unless all of your friends are women—and they'd better not be!—that can't be their excuse."

"We haven't found an excuse yet," came a cheery voice from behind me. "Still looking. But we might give up someday, and then we're going to dump his sorry arse."

I turned, and thought for a moment I was suddenly drunk. It took me a moment to realize that I wasn't seeing double and the two figures in deep red jackets in front of me actually were twins.

"Ah." His lordship smiled, and nodded at the two. "Ridgeway and Ridgeway—this is Cassidy McKinney, my lovely if slightly intemperate bride. Miss McKinney, these two are Mac and Dan Ridgeway, my old university friends and the greatest plagues on civilized society that England has ever seen."

"Charming as ever," commented Dan—or Mac, I didn't know which. The other one raised a fist and punched my beloved in the arm. "So... you're finally getting hitched, are you?"

Farleigh lifted an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"It's American, you gormless wanker! Don't you watch Hollywood movies? Means 'getting married'."

"I am contracting matrimonial arrangements, yes."

"Oh, come on!" Twin number one threw his arm around him from one side, while twin number two grabbed me from the other, pushing us towards each other like they were about to shoot a schmaltzy wedding photo. "Don't be like that! Get into the spirit of the thing! You two look so sweet together!"

"Do we, indeed?" inquired my mistreated groom, coolly.

"Yep!" Twin number two squeezed me like a grape in a wine press. "Bloody hell, Farleigh! Who'd ever have thought that you'd come out of your stables long enough to find yourself a girl. And one who doesn't have face like horse into the bargain!"