Page 25 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)
fifteen
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sutton
The Rehearsal
I slide an arm into the cool fabric, and behind me, Alex helps get my other arm into the tuxedo jacket.
He smooths his hands down the arms before plucking lint off the fabric, eyeing me in the mirror’s reflection.
“Are you happy with it?” He pulls the last pin from my shoulder.
“We did a fitted tux, not a traditional fit, like you asked.” He steps back, surveying me.
“That’s one hell of a tuxedo,” my father says, the curtain to his dressing room whooshing as he steps out in his own pressed tux. We had our final fittings three weeks ago, and today we’re picking them up, pressed and ready for tomorrow.
“I like it, too,” I say aloud, studying the satin on the lapels, and the matching satin piping down the pants. “Satin, not grosgrain?” I ask, running my thumb over the soft fabric.
“Satin,” the tailor answers, as my father comes to my side. We stand in front of the mirror, my two inches on his height looking negligible in these tuxes and in this light. Eyeing me in the reflection, my father outstretches his hand, and I sink mine into his, shaking it.
“Congratulations on tomorrow. You know I adore Avery, and the two of you are going to have a full, happy life together.”
His eyes hold mine, shining with emotion. “Thank you for allowing me into your lives.”
I’m struck by a blob of emotion in my throat, but manage to speak around it. “I’m sorry we had so many complicated years.”
He bobs his head. “Me, too.”
The tailor edges me out of the suit jacket, slipping a velvet lined hanger in the coat. I get to work unbuttoning the mother of pearl buttons on the pressed shirt, and my father does the same.
“Remind me, what time is the rehearsal dinner tonight?” he asks, nudging his dress shoes off his feet, one at a time. He pulls his dress shirt on over his white t-shirt, and shoves the tails of his shirt into his slacks.
“Eight, at the venue.” I step out of my pants, and pass them to the tailor, who gives me back my slacks.
My father sits down, digging out his phone, paying no attention to me as I redress.
“You know, she really enjoys spending time with you, and I wanted to thank you for that. Because she’s not close with her parents and I think being able to lean on you in the last few weeks has been really important to her. ”
My father bobs his head, looking at his phone screen. “I’m glad to be here for her, in any capacity that fits,” he says slowly, cautiously choosing his words in an effort to not overstep his boundaries, I’m sure.
“Are you bringing a date to the rehearsal?” I ask as I toe into my dress shoes, sitting down on the tailor’s bench next to my father to tie them.
When he doesn’t immediately answer, I look his way, and find his eyes set on me. “A date to your wedding? No. Absolutely not. It’s the most important day of your life, until you become a father, and I don’t want someone meaningless on my arm. I’d rather be without a date.”
It surprises me to hear how meaningful my big day is to him, and while we’re making great strides toward a healthier, more honest relationship, moments like this prove to me his commitment.
“I wouldn’t mind, you know, if you wanted to have a date there, though,” I tell him, adjusting my socks before the tailor passes me my suspenders. I clip them to my pants, and drag the straps over my arms, then adjust my tie.
My father watches me, expressionless, and when I’m dressed he says, “You’ve despised every woman I’ve ever dated or even brought to a Mercer mixer.”
I lift a shoulder and smirk. “Yeah, well, that’s when I thought you were a cheating asshole.” I make light of the situation often, and so does he, and I think that partially has helped us move on. “Now you’re just my old, rich, bachelor dad.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You called me old but you also called me Dad, so I’ll let it go.” His smile is soft and I tell him I love him, indirectly, because the eve of your wedding is the time.
“I’m glad we’re more than people sharing an office space. I’m glad you’re here. And I’m honored to have you stand up there with me tomorrow.”
We share a hug, then leave, heading to a Mercer Property business meeting together, for the first time, harmoniously.
I hadn’t given the rehearsal much thought. In fact, I gave it zero thought. We’d scheduled for the officiant, my father, Amelie, Uncle Ford, Cade, Kat and Roberta to be there with us, and I thought it would be a dry run simply to make sure everyone knows when to walk and where to stand.
My dad, uncle and Cade and I met everyone else there since Roberta, Kat and Avery were working on something together off-site.
A dry run so we don’t stumble tomorrow, that’s what I thought it would be.
I had no idea I’d become some tongue-tangled, bleary eyed mess when I laid eyes on her coming down the aisle. And today, too. Today it means nothing. Tomorrow is the wedding.
Still, as she rounds the corner from outside to in, stepping onto the Saltillo tiles, her feet bare, toenails white–my heart nearly stops, I swear to Christ it does.
Then she’s standing there, holding my cousin Cade’s arm in place of her father, her long blonde hair spilling down her chest, over her breasts, the honey strands wild, not unlike the waves in the cold Pacific just outside these doors, lapping at the shore.
Wearing an off-the-shoulder cream colored gown, it clings to her stiffened nipples and her hips, showing off the svelte shape of her body.
She finds me standing next to the officiant, and her eyes lift on the edges, adoration and happiness encircling her aura.
My heart thumps heavily, making me a little woozy for a moment as I blink back unexpected tears.
She’s so effortlessly perfect for me. Avery has, in one year, brought me everything–happiness, laughter, adoration, desire.
Before Avery, my life looked good on paper, but now, I have a life worth living, off the page.
Kat jumps out into the aisle, asking her something about the music for tomorrow–timing? I’m not sure, I can’t quite hear. I adjust the way my hands are stacked, held at my groin in patience like every groom in the world.
A moment later, soft music restarts and my cousin, who I’ve kneed in the nuts and gone toilet papering with before we even liked girls, walks Avery in, wearing a smirk. “Here you go,” he says, handing Avery’s hand to me as if she were a grocery item on a belt. I pat his chest. “Thank you, Cade.”
Avery blinks up at me. “You look so handsome up here,” she whispers, her sweet voice nearly doing me in.
“You take my breath away,” I admit. “You always do.”
I still remember choosing the Golden Gate Club at the Presidio.
It was the last venue we toured, and Avery was wearing this lilac colored linen dress.
We stood with our toes in the sand, looking back up at the club house, white chairs aligned in perfect rows on the manicured lawn.
The bay air rolled in off the water, stinging our cheeks, leaving a chill in our bones.
I shrugged out of my suit jacket and wrapped Avery in it, pulling her against me.
“What do you think?” I asked her, and she smiled, saying, “This is where I am going to become Mrs. Sutton Mercer.”
We get through the rehearsal then head inside where the club is hosting a dinner for us. The first glass of wine takes the emotional edge off, which is needed since I will be giving a toast in a few hours.
“Nice toast,” my father says, reaching over the playing cards to grab the bottle of whiskey. He refills my glass. “Last one. As your kind of best man, I can’t let you be hungover tomorrow.”
Cade snatches the bottle from my dad and pours himself a few fingers. “You want the title of best man? Have it.” He takes a sip and winces. “I’m not in the love mood anyway.”
I snort. “You’re not the one getting married. You’re just standing in a suit for a few photos. You don’t need to be in the love mood.”
Kat drapes her arm around her brother, dropping her head against his shoulder. “Cade’s still bent out of shape about one of his favorite classes transitioning from the lecture hall to online.”
He peels his sister's arm off and tosses it back her way. They have a good relationship, but Cade is, well, kind of an uptight asshole. Not unlike myself. “That already happened.”
She pats his shoulder while looking our way. “So he’s big mad about something else now.”
“You can’t just tell him he's the best man,” I say, the two glasses of wine and two whiskeys starting to force my words into one another. “I said you were both going to stand up with me.”
My father lifts his glass, eyeing me over the rim. “That was worded by design so you wouldn’t have to put yourself out there and ask me,” he says, calling me out on exactly why I didn’t ask him to be my best man.
Kat sips her whiskey, holding her glass to her chest, chipped black nail polish making her brother wince. “That sounds like a total Sade move.”
I finish my drink and notice my father refilling it with water. “Sade?”
Kat smirks into her drink. “You and Cade are like, almost the same person, so behind your back, me and my dad and Roberta call you guys Sade. The amalgamation of two uptight guys who wear dress socks and sip espresso shots.”
Cade blinks. “Just because it’s a shot doesn’t mean you have to shoot it like a heathen, Katherine.”
Uncle Ford laughs, tossing his head back, the ink on his neck moving with his Adam’s apple. “You sound like her father, not her brother.”
Kat slams her empty glass down on the table. “Let’s not get caught in the weeds. The whole point I was getting to was just that, it’s nice for the rest of us, that’s all. You know, you two getting along now.”
The room falls quiet and I meet my father’s eyes over the cards and empty glasses on the table. He smiles, and my chest warms. “Yeah, well, we hold the record for longest miscommunication.”
Kat bats her eyes. “My favorite trope.”