I’m marrying Beatrice Bettencourt today, and I couldn’t be happier. I met my bride when I was in law school at Yale and traveled the two hours to Cambridge, Massachusetts to see Helix, who was working on his doctorate degree at MIT. We went to a mixer, and that’s when I saw her.
She was a petite thing with platinum-blonde hair that framed her pretty face. My feet felt like they were floating across the room without me telling them to, like I was riding on a magic carpet to my destiny. Helix called me a cheesy bastard when I told him that analogy, but I didn’t care. I was smitten.
I asked her out for coffee, and we found a twenty-four hour diner and talked until dawn. I learned her name was Beatrice Bettencourt, and she was doing graduate studies in computer science at MIT. She was surprisingly funny and absolutely brilliant.
Over the next two years, I drove to Cambridge on the weekends as often as our studies allowed. It was three months before we held hands and another month until I kissed her. By then, I was already madly in love with Beatrice.
She was an only child who hailed from Boston, and her family was almost as wealthy as mine, though they were quite a bit snootier. The few times we visited her parents at their historic home in the Beacon Hill neighborhood, I felt as though I could never fully be myself. Everyone dressed impeccably, even for a quiet night at home, and conversation was held in hushed tones, like we were perpetually in a library.
Beatrice’s mother, Gwenyth, was okay. She was a little meek, which surprised me because her daughter was so bold and outspoken. Gwenyth rarely said much, other than exchanging pleasantries and agreeing with anything her husband said.
Bartholomew Bettencourt, however, gave off big tyrant energy. He wasn’t the biggest fan of mine because I was studying law and not in the tech field. In his opinion, tech was where it was at, and if you were in any other field, you were basically wasting his time. My only redeeming quality in his eyes was that my family had money and a lot of it.
Beatrice was his pride and joy, though I always got the impression he wished she was a son. Nothing blatant, just a few offhand comments from time to time while he and I shared an after-dinner cigar and brandy in his study.
Bartholomew owns The Bettencourt Corporation, which is a technology consulting firm based in Boston. It’s a large company, though not quite to the status of being one the world’s Tech Giants, but he’s expressed that’s his end goal before he hands off control to Beatrice when he retires.
After two years of dating, Beatrice and I both graduated, and I proposed the very next month. She said yes and moved to Texas with me, taking over The Bettencourt Corporation’s southern expansion. Though it was a huge undertaking, she absolutely killed it. She’s the most driven and ambitious person I know, literally a genius when it comes to anything related to software and technology, and with her help, The Bettencourt Corporation is thriving and growing by the day.
Surprisingly, her father was on board with us getting married in Houston—which is where I’m from—though he wanted control of almost everything else regarding the wedding planning since he insisted on footing the bill. He informed us we could wed in two years, which seemed like an excessively long time for an engagement, in my opinion.
It’s turned into what I like to call a wedding extravaganza, complete with a pre-wedding gala, golf tournament, and events every night of the week leading up to the big day. Honestly, it seems morelike a corporate event than a wedding, but I’ve happily played along because, in the end, I get to marry the woman of my dreams.
Today.
“Hey, there’s the groom,” Remington booms, strolling into my hotel room with a huge grin on his face… and wearing the same clothes he had on last night.
“Well, you’re certainly… boisterous this morning,” I tell him. “I’m guessing last night went well?”
He sighs like a lovesick puppy and lowers himself to the couch without looking, almost sitting on Helix, who snickers and scoots over to make room.
“That was absolutely the most perfect night of my life. Minnie is… I don’t even have the words to describe how amazing she is. I think she might be the one.”
“Whoa,” I say, holding up both palms, “back up a minute, dude. Just last night you said you were focusing on your career at Hale Cosmetics and marriage wasn’t even on your radar. And today you’re ready to hitch your wagon to a woman you just met?”
Remi sighs again, his brown eyes turning dreamy. “Minnie is more than a woman. Being with her was an experience.”
Helix and I share a raised-eyebrow look, and he asks, “Does she have a golden vagina or something?”
Our older brother’s trademark scowl returns. “It wasn’t just about the sex. We talked for hours, and I’ve never connected with someone like that. After the club, we stopped at something called Waffle House before we went to my hotel room.” He narrows his eyes on me. “And thanks a lot for that, Phoenix. That Hampton Inn place you booked me didn’t even have a penthouse.”
Helix and I crack up laughing at our brother’s lack of knowledge about the real world. And at the image of Remi at a Waffle House.
“Okay,” I gasp out, “would you like to bring Minnie to the wedding so we can all meet this dream girl of yours? I can call the planner and tell them to add an extra place setting for dinner.”
Remington pulls his phone from his pocket and stares at it for a long minute before admitting, “I don’t have her number. I gave her mine, so I’m sure she’ll call or text soon.”
I check the time and see that it’s still before check-out time at the Hampton Inn. “Can you call the room and talk to her? If she’s already this important to you, we would love to have her.”
Remi’s lips pull to the side. “She was gone when I woke up this morning. I’m sure she was just being polite and trying to get out of the way because I told her I had a wedding to attend today.” His eyes meet mine, seeming to ask me for some kind of confirmation. “She’ll probably wait till tomorrow to contact me, don’t you think?”
Helix and I share another fleeting glance, this one laden with worry. “I’m sure she will,” my twin comforts.
My phone rings, and happiness floods my veins when I see it’s Beatrice. “Hello, my beloved,” I say, letting her hear the smile in my voice when I answer. “Did you get your wedding gift?”
“I did, thank you. It was very nice. Where are you?”
The smile fades a little from my face at her dismissive attitude. I spent well over a million bucks on her bridal jewelry. It’s a custom-made set consisting of a matching necklace, earrings, and bracelet with perfectly cultured cream pearls interspersed with dazzling pavè diamonds. It was approved in advance by Bartholomew the Demanding because he wanted to make sure it suited her wedding dress, which I haven’t seen, of course.
