Below Unforgiven (20 page)

“What the fuck, Luke! Dad is gonna kill you.”

“I ain’t skurred.”

“You sound like a fucking asshole. Get your shit together and stop trying to be Chingy.”

I smiled at that memory, and when it was my turn for the best man’s speech, Luke turned my way nervously. I gave him a reassuring grin.

“Hi, I’m Luke’s big brother, Keaton,” I began, winking at Vivian as several of the women actually catcalled me. “I recognize a lot of faces,” I managed, and Madeline chimed in.

“And a
lot
of pissed off husbands,” she added, under her breath, and I raised my eyebrows while the crowd laughed nervously.

“Well, that’s my gorgeous girl, Vivian, right thurr, right, Luke?”

Luke turned his face to mine, laughing, and I raised my glass at him. He pointed toward Vivian. “Right thurr?”

“Right thurr,” I confirmed, and the guests chuckled, entertained by our shared memories. “Luke, you have been the best brruther that any man could as furr. You trreat a woman with rrespect,” I continued, and he laughed in protest, shaking his head.

The DJ chimed in with a sample of Chingy’s “Right Thurr,” and the entire cheesefest going on up at the wedding party table was genuinely constricting my chest as I turned to my little brother with pride.

“Anyway. I’m not a marriage expert. Obviously. But I can tell you a few things
not
to do.” I turned to my mom, warmed to see that she was gripping Vivian’s hand, tears lighting her eyes.

“You don’t hit, you don’t cheat, and you don’t leave. Everything else in between is negotiable.”

The laughter and applause I was used to, but the look on Vivian’s face took me completely by surprise.

She released my mother’s hand and clapped, stopped, and covered her heart. I watched her mouth the word
yes
to me as she nodded, and I raised my glass, first to her, and then to Luke and Madeline.

The first dance was Garth Brooks’ version of “To Make You Feel My Love.” Madeline and Luke took the floor, and as I settled back into my seat at the head table, I watched them sway together on the spot-lit dance floor.

The dreamlike atmosphere, the music, the formalwear and the people, all of it seemed to give the entire reception a stage-like quality. I made note of the young flower girl sitting on her father’s lap as she played with her gown, kicking her feet impatiently during the ballad.

Details
. A server paused near the kitchen with a pitcher of water, a far-away look in her eyes, and I wondered who she was thinking about at that moment.

The attention is in the details.
I gazed at Vivian through the semi-darkness, watching the thumb of her left hand rub against the base of her ring finger.

She’s thinking about her fiancé.
I wondered about Numero Uno, trying to determine how hung up on him she still was. My mother reached for her hand, and Vivian turned to her, smiling reassuringly.

The bride and groom were the center of the room, and yet all I could see was Vivian.

I thought back to when I was a kid, and how I’d lie awake in bed and listen to my dad yell at and berate my mom. My mom had pleaded with me to not get involved, because when I’d try to defend her, he’d turn on me. One night in particular, when I heard him hit her, I burst from my bed, catching Robin in the hallway.

“
Let me go!
” She gave a whispered half-cry, trying to fight me for the stairs.

“No. Go check on Luke.” Even at eleven years old, I had the ability to take charge of the situation. Robin had continued sobbing, and I remembered wondering if I should hug her or let her cry it out.

“I’m gonna kill him, Keaton.
This time I am.
” She carried a long bread knife that she must have stolen from the kitchen and hidden in her bedroom.

“No. Go to Luke. Turn up the radio so he can’t hear. I’ll go downstairs.” I recalled that I was wearing white pajamas with a random sports number on the front.

I remembered because, by the end of the night, they had been so saturated with blood that my mother had to throw them away.

Robin had offered me the knife, but I shook my head, pointing her back to Luke’s room. Our little brother couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.

I made my way down the stairs, hating the way the pendant light in the kitchen swung back and forth, casting shadows in a repetitive drone on the walls. My mother was crying, and my father was screaming at her.

I’d gone into the kitchen.

That was the night my father had broken my nose. It never healed exactly right after that, and at the Emergency Room, my mother made me swear to tell Children’s Services that I’d fallen down the stairs. My father, being that he was the town pastor, garnered all the appropriate sympathy from the doctors and nursing staff. I sat waiting on the cot quietly, bleeding into a wad of fucking paper towels.

And I vowed to never lie again in my whole fucking life.

Vivian stood, pulling me from my memories just in time. I watched as she quietly excused herself. Sliding my chair back to follow her, the groomsman to my right called after me.

“We have to go dance with our partners after this song, you know,” he reminded. I think his name was Brandon. Or Braden, or Brendan, or some annoying variation of Brandon.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, slipping along the side wall to the back of the reception hall. The music muffled in the lobby as soon as I let the door close, and I made my way toward the restrooms.

I pushed open the door for the ladies room, catching her by surprise. She stood at the sink, dabbing her eyes with toilet paper. “Keaton? What are you doing in here? Go, you have to dance!”

“I know.” I closed the door behind me, turning the lock on the single-stall restroom. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” She sniffed, that brave smile returning to her heart-shaped lips. “Of course I am. Chicks cry at weddings, director.”

I dipped my hand into my pocket, retrieving the small, gray velvet box. She dropped the tissue in her hand, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re my fiancé. I just proposed. Happy birthday.”

As I pulled back the hinges of the jewelry box, she exhaled quickly, her hand curling into a fist at her mouth. The 1.5 carat, princess cut diamond engagement ring seemed to steal all of the air from her lungs.

“Oh…,” she managed, and then cursed herself as she gave a resolute shake of the head. “No! I can’t pretend this. This is too much,” she hissed, trying to escape around me. I caught her in my arms and took her hand, slipping the ring onto her finger.

“Come on, the song’s ending, and I have to go dance with Lindsey,” I hurried, lifting her fingers to my lips. She paled at the way the diamond caught the light, pleading with me.

“Please, Keaton, don’t do this. To your mom, to Robin…,”

To me.
I could hear her silent words as she struggled with them. Holding her chin in my hand, I tipped her face to mine.

“I’m engaging myself to you.”

“What? You can’t en
gage
yourself to me! You’re not a king! You have to ask me!”

“Fine, then, will you marry me?”

“No! You’re crazy,” she cried, starting to turn, but my mouth was on hers, persuading.

I backed her against the wall and kissed her slowly, taking my time. I could feel her tremble in my arms. She gripped my wrists as I cradled her face, and I felt the moment that she finally surrendered. She responded to me in the way that I’d been waiting for all weekend, rising to her tip-toes and tilting her head to allow me better access to her mouth.

I grinned against her lips.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she murmured, dropping her forehead to my chest as the song came to an end.

“Meet me on the dance floor in three minutes.”

She sighed and lifted her hand to look at the ring, a slow smile playing on her mouth. “Okay. But I can’t keep this.”

I raised my eyebrows, adjusting my tie. “V, when I give you something, it’s yours. Forever. I already told you that. Now, get out there, do your goddamn job, and teach me how to Dougie.”

She burst with laughter, nodding resolutely and putting her hand in mine. “Fine. Come on, fiancé.”

Fucking hell, she felt good in my arms as we walked through the doors of the reception hall. The DJ was rambling some bullshit into the microphone to stall the bridal party dance, and as soon as I entered the hall, Madeline shot me a homicidal glare.

The spotlight swung to us as the groups of tables gave a sarcastic round of applause at our tardiness, and I tugged Vivian against my hip.

“Show ‘em why we were late, V.”

Vivian grinned and flashed the back of her left hand, and the white light caught the diamond in a spray of twinkling beams.

“Oh!” My mother cried, and Robin sent me a shitty smirk, downing a shot.

“Well, love is in the air! Let’s give a round of applause for the best man!” The DJ announced, and suddenly I was dancing with Lindsey, not Vivian, while my mother, Aunt Meems, and several other women gushed over my fiancé’s ring.

Lindsey held on to my arms with polite distance as we danced to “Friends in Low Places.” I was glad that it wasn’t a sappy ballad, and in no time guests were joining us on the floor.

Lindsey gave my elbow a pat, releasing me. I jogged over to the mob surrounding Vivian, offering the chummiest smile that I had for the group surrounding her as I pulled her to the dance floor.

For the next three hours, I drank, she drank, and we danced.

And I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

The corny traditional dances became my favorite moments. First up, a polka, and Uncle Charlie cut in for a chance to dance with Vivian. She accepted his arm with a dazzling smile, promenading with him over the floor. The song quickly moved into “The Chicken Dance,” and I did something I hadn’t done since I was seven years old.

I clapped, I twisted, and I fucking chicken danced.

Vivian laughed at my side, tugging my arm and encouraging me to go lower, and somewhere between Little Eva’s “The Locomotion” and Chubby Checker’s “The Twist” (and the open bar), we ended up laughing and kissing on the floor beneath the limbo stick. I already knew that she could dance, but when she pulled out swing-dance moves for Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood,” she earned herself a line of my older relatives just waiting for a chance to relive their youth with my gorgeous girl.

The DJ moved into another polka and the bridal dance began. When I produced a hundred dollar bill for the white, satin bag, Robin snatched it from my hand, arching one eyebrow. “Thanks, director.”

I ignored her, listening to Ben E. King sing while dancing with my new sister-in-law, Madeline. “Congratulations, Keaton. Way to upstage my wedding reception,” she chided, semi-playful, semi-pissed.

“What can I say? I can’t imagine life without Vivian. I wanted her to know that. Tonight. On one of the best nights of my life. Seeing Luke happy… that’s all I need.”

“You’re so damn charming. Get out of here, and stop kissing my ass.” She pushed at my shoulders, and I laughed, letting the next guy in line take his turn with the bride.

My older relatives and out of town guests began to bid their farewells and head upstairs to their suites, and the DJ dimmed the lights and pulled out a multi-colored strip of bulbs. When it was time for the bouquet toss, Vivian was pushed to the dance floor, despite her protests. “Ring doesn’t mean married,” Robin rationalized.

The jungle-cat attack on the bouquet left the thing tattered and shedding petals all over the dance floor. I didn’t pay attention to who caught it, because I took that opportunity to grab Vivian and drag her into the shadows against the wall.

She was getting tipsy-I could tell by her theatrics as she kissed me. She looped her arms over my shoulders and melded her mouth to mine, groaning softly with every plunge of my tongue, and I broke away to pull her back to the bar.

“Hey! It’s the beautiful Twenty-One!” The bartender called to Vivian, and I realized that they’d apparently already made friends. “Ladies first.” He bypassed the line and winked at her, producing shot glasses for us both.

We watched each other as we tipped our heads back, and she downed the Bacardi smoothly. “
Come on,
” she slammed the glass to the bar, and I managed to shove a tip into the bartender’s jar before we were back on the dance floor.

Dark. Hot.
Her body sliding up and down against mine, and some Pitbull song about how much we fucking wanted each other. (No shit, amigo.) Another shot.

Luke’s friends from high school took over the requests, and Luke joined them in a flash mob of “Soulja Boy” until Madeline told the DJ
not
to take any more requests, and to stick to the song list.

Vivian, moving, in my arms. She fit there better than any woman ever had, and the way that we danced together was intoxicating. We had perfect rhythm with each other, and pressing her against my body in the most decent way possible, I forgot my original intent. I couldn’t remember if there was still a contract, or if I was leaving on Monday, or how morally wrong it would be to sleep with her. I tasted rum and Vivian’s mouth, and all brain power was eliminated upon impact.

Slow now. Berlin. She lifted her face to mine in the semi-darkness, her eyes watery. “Hey, it’s our song, Maverick.”

Her words were a vice on my heart. I wouldn’t admit to any living soul that I had a romantic bone in my body, but I did, and I had never shared “a song” with Kelsey. Our wedding had been a formality, and in retrospect, I could remember hearing Kanye West holler “we want prenup” over every radio station around the time that we were planning to elope.

I should have fucking listened to Kanye.

I lifted Vivian to me and kissed her throughout the entire ballad, not caring who cared. I pulled away just to look at her for a second, and her eyes swam with tears as she managed a breathless, “what?”

“I can’t believe you’re happening to me.”

She smiled slowly, rising to her toes again to bring my lips back to hers.