Always Alchemy: The Ever After Book (Alchemy #6)

11. Endlessly

11

ENDLESSLY

MAX

O nly a blood relation of Anton fucking Wolff would deem it appropriate to hit on the bride at her own wedding reception. As I approach my beautiful wife, I note with immense irritation the way Anton’s eldest son, Felix, is eyeing her up like she’s dinner. Equally irksome is the realisation that, at twenty-four to her twenty-six, he’s actually closer in age to her than either of her husbands.

‘Move along, you little pup,’ I growl as I step up to them. Felix grins at me like he’s amused and not the slightest bit sorry at having been busted eye-fucking Darcy so blatantly.

‘Just catching up with my step-aunt,’ he says smoothly. ‘Isn’t that right, Darce?’

Obviously, they would have met over the course of Gen and Anton’s lengthy wedding celebrations out here. I have a vague recollection of Felix hanging around, trying to fuck everything that moved as his father and Darcy’s sister prepared to tie the knot. I was preoccupied that weekend with a project of my own: ensnaring the most beautiful bridesmaid I’d ever seen, that same woman who’d given me the slip in Cannes a few weeks previously.

Now, however, she’s the fucking bride, and Fuckboy Junior here can take a flying leap off the edge of the Cap d’Antibes for all I care.

‘She’s Aunt Darcy to you, and she’s taken—twice over, actually, in case you’re too stupid to notice that part—so move the fuck on.’

His grin is unerring. He’s the spitting image of his father, lucky bastard. ‘Congratulations, Max. I’m so bloody thrilled for the three of you.’

I can feel my facial muscles soften. Charming little shit. ‘Get in here,’ I say and tug him against me, slapping his back vigorously. He can’t have been more than ten when I first started working with his father. He’s now the same height as me and about a million times smarter. ‘How’s New York treating you?’

‘It’s full-fucking-on,’ he says, releasing me. He finished up a post-graduate degree in some kind of advanced economics last year at the London School of Economics, and now he’s working for McKinsey as one of their in-house equity strategists.

‘Getting any sleep?’

‘Between McKinsey and my Alchemy membership, not on your life,’ he says, winking at Darcy, who beams back at him. I hastily drag her in front of me and wrap my arms around her waist. She rests her head against my chest, and all feels instantly right with the world.

‘Getting your money’s worth?’ I ask Felix. Jesus, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?

‘The PPF goes down every week,’ he says. ‘I’m amortising it like a champ. ’

I screw my face up. ‘PPF?’

‘Price per fuck.’

Darcy giggles. ‘Nice. Glad you’re finding value.’

‘Fuckboy economics,’ I drawl. ‘You’re a classy guy—almost as classy as your old man. How’s the club looking?’

‘It’s immense,’ he says. ‘It’s definitely drawing the finance crowd. My life is basically work, Door Dash and Alchemy at the moment. Rinse and repeat.’

‘Convenience food and convenience sex. Fair play. Wright’ll be happy to hear that.’

Our mate Adam Wright recently bought Wolff’s stake in the overseas Alchemy locations. He’s around here somewhere with his girlfriend—forgive me, fiancée —Nat. He’ll be glad to hear the Manhattan outpost is thriving, even if it’s a drop in the multi-billion dollar ocean of his business interests.

‘He should be happy,’ Felix says. ‘It’s rammed every night.’

I slide my palm over my wife’s stomach, enjoying the warmth of her soft curves through the gauzy chiffon of her dress.

‘Now that we’ve established the zeal with which you’re conducting your sex life, bugger the fuck off and leave my wife alone. I want some time with her before dinner.’

There’s a lull as I stand up to speak. The main course—perfectly pink beef fillet—has been served and demolished, and the excellent claret is in full flow. The air is still warm, the sun painting both the sky and the Med with the most glorious daubs of pink and peach and apricot.

I am a married man, twice over, my plain platinum band sitting snugly on my ring finger like the most efficacious security blanket, wrapping every rogue nerve ending in my nervous system in a state of perfect containment. Invisible to everyone else and against my skin, D&D&M ENDLESSLY is inscribed. Same for Dex’s ring. Darcy opted for a Russian wedding ring: yellow, rose and white gold bands entwined for all eternity.

My husband and my wife are next to me, Darcy in the middle, looking up at me with shiny eyes and love-drunk faces. We eschewed the idea of a top table, just as we eschewed many of the trappings of the traditional wedding ceremony. Instead, we’re in the middle of one of the many long trestle tables nestled in this pine grove, surrounded by our much-loved and extremely raucous family and friends.

I would have adored to do the dinner in the hotel’s Eden Roc restaurant down by the shore, somewhere Anton and I have dined and drunk regularly over the years, but it wasn’t large enough to accommodate this many guests. Besides, Darcy claimed it reminded her too much of Johnny English and that she’d spend the evening worrying about Rowan Atkinson popping up and setting fire to the langoustines.

I’d have thought she’d be more put off by the fact that her sister had had her rehearsal dinner there, but nope.

If that doesn’t sum up the weird and wonderful brain of my new wife, I don’t know what does.

In any case, here we all are, and it’s perfect.

Darcy and Dex have both opted not to give speeches, preferring to leave it to yours truly. Darcy’s dad said a few words just now, keeping it short and light and perfectly pitched. Anton and Rafe, as my and Dex’s best men, will proceed to verbally tear us both limb from limb in their joint speech, I’m sure. But for now, it’s my turn to attempt to put words to a happiness I’m sure even Shakespeare would struggle to depict.

I’m never nervous about giving speeches. It’s a part of the job. Only a few days ago, I spoke to hundreds of CEOs at The London Stock Exchange, in fact. And so it’s not nerves, exactly, that consume me as I begin to speak.

Emotion, though?

That’s another matter.

There’s whooping and hollering—led by the venerable and pretty tipsy Anton Wolff sitting across from us—as I clear my throat. I grin and wait for the noise to die down before speaking.

‘My wife and my husband and I,’ I begin, cut off instantly by roaring, clapping, and the hammering of palms on table tops. These guys are something else. Everyone is so fucking happy for us. I hold up a hand to get them to quiet the fuck down so I can get this done before I collapse in a giant puddle of sentimentality.

‘ As I was saying. My wife and husband and I are thrilled and touched beyond measure to have you all with us this weekend. I know Cal’s here for the free food, but to everyone else, I’m grateful.’

I grin at Cal, who gives me the finger, before pressing on, my voice growing more sober. ‘I gave a speech on diversity to the great and good of the FTSE 100 earlier this week, and I closed it by telling the audience that I was marrying a man and a woman this weekend, and you could have heard a pin drop. People simply didn’t know what to say. Being queer is one thing, but polyamory is still a whole other ball game, and it’s one that’s still marginal and unfamiliar and feared , even.’

There’s silence as I speak, the faces of those people we love thoughtful, accepting .

‘I get it,’ I tell them. ‘It sounds dodgy, and, I dunno, greedy, maybe? But I invented greed—or, rather, Anton Wolff did, and I learnt it from the best.’

That gets me a laugh.

‘God knows, I’m a greedy man. I’m also a man who’s famous for knowing what he wants and going after it. But it turns out I’ve never actually known what I wanted, and I have never, ever known greed like the blood-heating, stomach-churning avarice I felt when I met Darcy and then Dex. How could I possibly choose between the most vital, enchanting woman I’d ever met and a man so pure of heart he’d make angels weep? And how could it possibly be wrong, or unnatural, or blameworthy not to choose between these two souls?’

As applause, warm and swift, swallows my words, I attempt to clear the emotion gathering in my throat. I glance down at Dex, who’s weeping silently, openly, and mouth I love you. He mouths it back as Darcy takes the hand not holding my mic and squeezes hard. She doesn’t let go.

‘The spoiler is,’ I plough on, ‘that, as you know, I didn’t choose. I couldn’t choose. I fell hard for both of them, for both of these glorious, spectacular human beings. With Darcy, it was effortless.’ I smile down at my wife, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. ‘She makes everything easy, and joyous, and beautiful. Let’s just say Dex made me work a lot harder.’

A sprinkle of knowing laughter winds its way through the pine-scented air.

‘But it was worth it,’ I continue, my eyes lingering on my husband for a moment. ‘It was worth every second, because I know that the struggles I had to convince him to give me a chance were absolutely nothing to the struggles he underwent at the beginning of his journey. He chose a path so different from the one he always believed he was meant to want that all Darcy and I could do was support him and wait for him and love him.’

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Dex’s mother, Lauren, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. I’m aware that what I’m saying will sting, and I hope that my words will exalt Dex without shaming his mother, but I need nevertheless for him and everyone else at this celebration to hear them.

‘I will never stop being grateful that he took a chance on Darcy and me. And we’ll never stop proving to him that he made the right decision. I feel really confident about that, because every day that we’re together, the three of us bring each other such myriad experiences of happiness that I, personally, know I wouldn’t have found with just one person.

‘I’ve used the analogy of a three-legged stool ad nauseam, and for that I apologise, but it’s a bloody good one. The richness of the dynamics, the love, we all have for each other is one of the most marvellous things about this relationship. The way in which my wife and my husband love each other is selfless and joyous and beautiful. It’s a delight to behold, and it’s different from the love Darcy and I share, or the love Dex and I share, and so it should be. We’re three foundational pillars, and we simply don’t work without each other.

‘Which is why I’d like to ask you, before we go ahead with thanking all the wonderful people who’ve helped this wedding happen, to please be upstanding to toast the wonderful, wonderful Rule of Three.’