CHAPTER ONE
Aleksey’s sense of euphoric triumph over his life continued for the next two days, culminating in the wedding itself. He had tried to sabotage it with his pointed comments about paganism but now allowed the entirely uncharacteristic thought to cross his mind that he had been wrong about something. He found himself caught up in the mysticism of the event. Faith, magic, aliens, simulation—it didn’t matter. His life was so entwined now with those who had roles in this other joining that he almost became maudlin contemplating the significance of the winter boughs which decorated the little chapel.
The place was packed. He’d revised his initial estimation of thousands of freaky Christians, but the place was still uncomfortably full. Fortunately, these people of the prayer were all quite small and shrivelled, so they fit well together on the pews. The little church was undeniably beautiful. Every inch of windowsill space had been filled with candles, and the air was redolent with their waxy scent. Every pillar and pew was decorated with holly, bare branches, and starkly beautiful white winter roses.
Some music began which he did not recognise, and Emilia and Molly started to walk very slowly down the aisle, each carrying little baskets from which they scattered petals as they came. The entire female half of the congregation gasped in pleasure. Babushka, who had pride of place next to him on the front pew, clapped her hands quietly and mouthed silently in Russian, ‘Oh, my beautiful girls.’
Sarah had made them white floor-length dresses with long intricately buttoned sleeves and high-standing collars that framed their lovely faces. On their heads they wore elaborate crowns of woven flowers in many vibrant colours—these wreaths the focus of all eyes in this sombre, mid-winter-themed holy place. The blooms spoke of hope for spring and the new life it would bring. They wore their hair long, one flow ruby red and one jet black, both serene, both poised. Aleksey smiled at the concentration on the four-year-old’s face. Whoever had given her a basket of petals to carry and sprinkle as she walked was a genius. Although it was midnight, so long past her bedtime that it was almost time for the next one, she was so intent on her duties that she appeared as composed and grave as the young woman walking beside her. When they reached the front, they parted, one to each side of the altar to wait patiently for the bride. Until this point, Aleksey had not noticed the young curate already hovering at the front. He appeared as many men probably did at this particular juncture in their lives—entirely lost and irrelevant to the female momentum behind the proceedings. At least he did not look drunk or stoned, which is howhe’dgot through both his marriages. Emilia had the audacity to wink at him when he caught her eye. He scowled back. He had not fully processed their bizarre conversation on the dock in Hugh Town. He was almost sure she’d been joking—that she’d noticed his attempts to thwart an incipient romance which hadn’t apparently been happening in the first place and had retaliated as he probably would have done if their situations were reversed: by annoying the instigator of such a ludicrously wrong theory. But he also had a sliver of conviction that she’d meant every word of what she’d said: she would bend the universe to have what she wanted. Again, just as he would do—had done, and did not regret in the least.
He could not entirely blame her, therefore, if this is what she intended to do.
He lowered his scowl, just to let her know he didn’t find her at all funny and turned pointedly to stare at the decorated altar. He’d been given strict instructions by the baby tyrant not to look at her in case he made her laugh and her flowers fell off.
Everyone turned their heads once more as the music began again, the traditional Canon in D played with spine-chilling passion by a young man on the cello. Sarah came down the aisle in a similar white dress to her flower girls, but hers was covered in delicate embroidered flowers of ivory satin thread picked out by tiny seed pearls that seemed to flicker in the candlelight. Aleksey could not take his eyes off the slow movement. Because she was on Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen’s arm. He could not, even after all these years, believe that this man was his, that he was not sitting there angry and bitter that he could not let down his defences and have the life with Ben that he craved. No scheming, no plotting, no ruining people’s lives. That man, undeniably the most beautiful man anyone would ever meet, lovedhim. Even now, Ben’s gaze locked briefly with his, and with no words spoken at all, he reiterated his promise, ‘I love you,’ as loudly as if he’d shouted it above Pachelbel’s soaring Baroque chords.
When he’d delivered his charge safely to the altar where her brother waited to greet her and put her hand into Daniel’s, Ben sat down alongside him. The cellist continued to play, and the entire chapel rang with his beautiful interpretation of the music, everyone held spellbound by the candlelight and intricately arranged notes. And then Aleksey felt Ben’s fingers entwine with his on the pew, out of sight between their pressed thighs. Aleksey blinked and turned his head away a little to study the stained glass, something he’d been doing for many years when life became overly complex for his raw, newly developing feelings. The fingers squeezed a little, and the music ended on one final drawn out perfectly played note which seemed to vibrate around the little place of worship and enfold them all as Martin began with the traditional welcome: ‘We are gathered here together to…’ And for the first time in his entire life, Aleksey felt part of something which he had always been at some pains to dismiss, to revile, to mock: these insignificant locals with their quaint beliefs—these people who had tried to take Ben from him. He wassomuch better than them, so much cleverer, a billionaire, a master of the universe who strode through life bending everything to his will. And yet here he was now: included and welcomed, and everything was entirely perfect. Even Sarah—dumpy, plain, silly Sarah, whom he’d secretly enjoyed watching Molly run rings around and torment with her ferocious intelligence and stubborn wilfulness—even Sarah was beautiful tonight. And in all his striving for more—more power, more money, more perfection—he realised that sometimes lesswasmore, and he’d probably have been far happier if he’d realised this a few decades earlier than he just had.
He turned his head to regard Ben’s profile as the green gaze followed the ceremony. Then he took a firmer hold of the fingers he adored and, closing his eyes for a moment for courage, brought their joined hands out from the darkness into the light and rested them entwined thus on his leg. He felt exposed, his feelings too raw to be bared so. After a while, this sense of being in the spotlight was so acute that he knew he was being observed, the old familiar prickle on the back of his neck almost burning. As if just releasing a crick, he turned his head to the end of the pew. The moron, sitting next to his boyfriend, was studying him. It was always a little hard to say if he was ever actually thinking, but at that moment his mind did appear engaged upon some deep calculation.
He turned back to face front. He’d never seen why he should have to change to suit other people’s convenience. Yes, obviously, he’d applied this to other things in the past, but now he was applying it to holding Benjamin Rider-Mikkelsen’s hand in public.
They reached the end, the rings were exchanged, and Mr and Mrs Kennedy turned to accept the congregation’s congratulations, and suddenly everyone sitting behind the family’s front pew surged to their feet in unison and began to sing, swaying and clapping,
‘Stamp your feet and praise the Lord, clap your hands and find His beat, sing His songs and spread His love, for the Lord is in the dance. Find your salvation in the beat, find God’s rhythm in your soul, He is master of the choir, lift His praises higher and higher.’
Ben stared around as puzzled as he was, but Sarah was laughing with tears in her eyes, gently chastising her new husband who had evidently planned this as a surprise for her. They kept singing as the couple made their way slowly back up the aisle, grasping hands that stretched out to bless them.
‘Stamp your feet and follow the Lord, on a path that’s hard and steep, lift your voice to echo His, and the beat will make you leap.’
Molly swept up by the gospel beat of the song and the clapping, or perhaps just frantically overtired, began to dance in the aisle, her dark hair flying out as she spun, holding the hem of her dress high, petals cascading from her basket, flower crown askew.
By the time they emerged into the darkness of the New Year’s first hour, Sarah and Daniel were dancing together. Some of their friends had sacrificed their attendance at the ceremony to secretly light up the bower that had been created for the newly married couple to walk under, and so as she danced, Sarah’s dress became illuminated by hundreds of lanterns, and she appeared more spirit of the woods than bride. The entire walkway from the chapel to the huge marquee had been covered with boughs and lanterns and ribbons, and as the congregation had begun to outpour from the little stone building, they’d grabbed the candles and so formed a candlelight procession behind the bride and groom, still singing, some of the men whooping and stamping their feet to the increasingly frenetic rendition of the song, which only urged them on. ‘Clap your hands and stamp your feet, and you will find our master’s beat.’
Following behind them all, the last to leave, he and Ben stood together, hand in hand, in the little porch. Spontaneously, Ben reached up his free hand, cupped him around the back of the neck and kissed him deeply, resting their foreheads together when their lips parted. Quietly, Ben murmured,
‘I remember taking you into a church once and fearing you’d combust.’
‘Did I?’
Ben laughed softly, giving him a little shake of admonishment. ‘Have I told you recently that I love you?’
Aleksey snorted at the old joke between them: the telling by the not saying.
Openly hand in hand, they walked under the lanterns, following the sounds of the singing and laughter, and if anything said I love you, then Aleksey reckoned this small act did. No one else knew, but they did. It was the first time they had acknowledged their relationship in such a public way, and that it was at a wedding seemed even more significant somehow. Different kinds of desire. Different kinds of commitment. In the end, it was all the same.
It was just love.
***
Chapter Two
A few days later, not yet dawn, Aleksey woke to a pair of green eyes observing him intently. It was becoming something of a habit, and he had worked out by now that Ben was possibly doing something nefarious to him while he was still asleep to make him wake so.
As usual, being studied so closely could be good or bad, and he cast his mind back about his behaviour over the last few days as he came slowly to consciousness. Then he grinned, felt immediately guilty but saw a matching smirk of glee cross the doting father’s face: she was gone. For awhole week.
The baby tyrant, bodyguards and kitten in tow, had departed for St Albans the previous evening. Ben pretended to cock his head, listening for something then murmured slyly, ‘Nope. No sound of little footsteps. Just us.’ To illustrate his point, he pounced. Laughing, Aleksey tried to fend him off, but it was a weak gesture intended to be defeated, and it didn’t take long for Ben to be straddling him, elbows on his chest, chin propped up on his hands, his intense scrutiny returned.
‘So, what to do…what to do…’
