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

14. O Holy Night

14

O HOLY NIGHT

NAT

T he beautiful church is dim at this time of the evening, its ornate chandeliers turned right down, most of the light coming from the tapered candles flickering at the end of every pew and their chunkier cousins burning brightly on the altar.

I’ve always wanted a Christmas wedding. While other girls dreamt of tying the knot in June, with flowerbeds in bloom and the sun shining and champagne out on the lawn, I dreamt of ivy and scarlet velvet ribbons, of duchesse satin and ivory-coloured faux fur and pink and white snowberries everywhere and choirs singing The Carol of the Bells .

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that my husband-to-be has made this wish, like every other wish I’ve had in my life, come true.

As I walk down the long, long aisle of this elegant, ancient church in Knightsbridge on Dad’s arm, I admire through the gauze of my silk tulle veil the shapely back view of my future sister-in-law, Quinn. Her slender frame is draped in bias-cut maroon-coloured satin, custom-made by my team and providing the perfect foil to her long dark curls. In front of her, my other sister-in-law, Anna, is sporting her own version of the dress in the same fabric. They both look gorgeous.

Every wish I’ve had for festive flowers has also manifested in glorious fashion. The pew-ends match my winter bouquet. They’re brimming with white-edged ivy and grey-green eucalyptus and the soft pinks and whites of my beloved snowberries. Ivy tendrils trail down, gorgeously entangled with pale pink velvet ribbons, and the overall effect is festive and romantic as hell.

The sea of faces—warm, smiling, joyous faces—as I process down the aisle is so much to take in. Friends, relatives, Adam’s business associates, my team from Gossamer: all here to share in our happiness. But there’s only one face I care about, and the person attached to that face is standing at the very top of the aisle, next to my brother.

He comes into focus as I near the altar, cutting an imposing figure in his beautiful morning suit and silk tie, the exact same pink as the ribbons. His posture is perfect, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He’s the picture of elegant ease, except for his face.

The man looks nothing short of thunderstruck.

His gaze on me is blue and ardent, and a wave of emotion, excitement, rolls over me and through me, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The most beautiful, caring man on the planet is standing here, looking like that, waiting for me, and he’s intending, I hope, to pledge his entire future to me.

I don’t know how I got so lucky. I don’t know how on earth my life unfolded before me like the most precious flower. I don’t know how I found this man whose entire life’s purpose seems to be to give me wings.

I halt and smile at him as my dad lifts the front section of my veil with trembling hands and, with the help of Quinn and Anna who understand far better than him the importance of the aesthetics here, settles it over my shoulders.

Meanwhile, Evan scurries into view, dropping to his knees and arranging behind me the six-foot trains of both my dress and my veil. He insisted on doing this himself, claiming that no one else would get it right. Dad kisses me and squeezes my wrist affectionately as I clutch my bouquet with both hands, so hard that the platinum band of my Art Deco solitaire digs into my skin.

Winky winks at me, appropriately enough, and takes a couple of steps back, melting into the shadows of this beautiful, solemn church, and then, finally, it’s just the vicar and me and my almost-husband.

He—Adam, that is, not the vicar—takes me in, the absence of a veil now displaying the plunging vee of my neckline; the ivory silk mikado lustrous in the candlelight; the way the fabric clings to my hips before fishtailing out into my Disney Princess train, and his expression shifts from rapt to hungry. That avidness in his eyes is as hard as always to look away from, and I don’t.

Nor, if I can help it, do I plan to look away for the rest of my life.

‘I think we’re expected to circulate separately,’ I whisper in amusement to my husband, whose fingertips are digging into my waist in the best way as he pins me to his side .

‘Tough shit,’ he growls, his mouth brushing the stunning Art Deco chandelier earrings hanging from my ears. In true Adam Wright style, he arranged for my “something borrowed” to be borrowed from the actual V clustered in julep cups; spilling out of silver wine buckets.

I wish I could live in this room forever.

‘I’m so, so happy for you guys,’ Belle says, giving me a huge hug as Gen steps aside. ‘Adam looks delirious, and so he should. He knows he’s won the jackpot.’ She giggles. ‘I heard about the stag. Was he a total mess when he got back?’

I laugh just recalling the state he was in. ‘Oh my God. He reeked. He had vomit all down his tie. My brother had to help me put him to bed. But he was so sweet. He kept crying and telling me he couldn’t cope with how much he loved me… until he passed out, that was.’ I shrug. ‘It was pretty adorable. He was destroyed the next day and vowed never to touch alcohol again. He’s planning on having a sip of champagne during the toasts, but not much else.’

‘It’s not like he needs the extra high,’ Maddy says. ‘He’s ecstatic enough already.’

‘He’s in good company,’ Darcy proclaims. ‘Mads isn’t drinking, and I’m trying my damnedest to get knocked up, so I’m trying to be good, too. Every little helps.’

I glance over her shoulder at Max and Dex. They and Gabe are now talking to Adam, while Gabe’s obscenely beautiful girlfriend, Athena, chats animatedly with Anton. Gabe keeps turning away from my husband to check on Athena, which amuses me no end. This table is incestuous. By my count, Gen’s fucked two of the guys, as has her sister— her two husbands—and Athena’s got intimate with three. It’s cosy, to say the least, but they all signed off on the table plan, so I have to assume they can all handle it like the liberated adults they are.

In immaculate morning suits, Darcy’s husbands both look spectacular. I wiggle my eyebrows. ‘God. You certainly don’t need any alcoholic lubrication with those two around.’

‘Nope.’ She smirks smugly. ‘Just plenty of other lubrication.’

‘Dear God,’ Belle says with a grimace and a fleeting glance at her brother. I giggle. I can’t imagine she enjoys hearing Darcy’s colourful anecdotes about her brother’s unconventional sexual exploits.

‘What’s that like,’ I wonder aloud, ‘trying to get knocked up by those two?’

She sighs happily. ‘It’s a breeding kink come to life, that’s what it is. We may as well rename our house The Milking Parlour once a month. It’s that bad. Or good.’

‘I’m so out it’s not funny,’ Belle says weakly as she collapses back into her chair, holding out a hand in front of her face as if to stave off any more visuals. I cover my mouth to hide my amusement and shock. I really need to become cooler, but my extremely rapacious new husband keeps me plenty busy all by himself—a fact I’m sure he’ll remind me of in oooh , about three hours.

I can’t even imagine what it would be like with two of them.