From somewhere in the back of the room, a voice bellows, “Kiss your wife, Mica.”
Mica looks at me and he has a sappy expression on his face. For a second or two, I think he’s going to do it formally, the way he does everything. Instead, he moves closer, cups my face in both hands, and kisses me like he means it. And it’s panty-melting hot. His touch makes me weak in the knees, and I easily get lost in the moment with him.
The room explodes with applause, shouted encouragement to make the most of the kiss, and even a few whistles. It’s all meant in fun, so I don’t mind. When the kiss is over, he pulls me to his chest and holds me close for a few seconds.
Then we turn and walk to the table holding our marriage agreement. That’s when I realize that his family intends to make a production out of us signing what must look to the assembled guests like an alliance of some kind. These shrewd bastards never miss an opportunity to press an advantage.
Rock steps forward first. He looks at me intently for a few seconds before asking, “Are you ready?”
“Of course,” I tell him.
He steps back and gestures towards the table.
Mica picks up the pen and signs in one neat clean line before passing the pen to me. Without hesitating, I sign my name with a dramatic flourish.
Rock signs as a witness. Then Jasper steps up beside him and adds his name as the secondary witness, with a flourish fit to match my own. Jasper is the weirdo in the family. I can tell that much already because he gives Mica a grin before walking off.
Mica picks up the marital agreement and hands it to me. “Yours for safe keeping, wife.”
Mica’s hand finds the small of my back again and I let the moment settle.
What happens next is more of a rave than a reception. They are roasting meat and food is appearing like magic.
The music is loud, the alcohol is flowing, and there are bare knuckle boxing matches for fun.
Mica stays right by my side as we meet and greet almost every guest who came. Dozens of brothers slip white envelopes into my hands, so many that Queenie has to take them a couple of times because I keep dropping them. They all have hearts or outlines of brides in ballgowns hand drawn in different colored ink on the outside. I’m guessing they are cards saying congratulations, because there sure aren’t any wedding gifts. Not that I mind. I would feel guilty accepting gifts under the circumstances.
At the end of the night we cut the cake, throw the bouquet, and then head upstairs because I’ve had about all the fellowship I can handle for one evening. It seems that two hundred people have been waiting for exactly this moment. Whistles and shouts come from every direction. Boots begin stomping on the hardwood floor in a rhythm that builds. Crude jokes are shouted by men who have been drinking too much. It’s a bawdy biker send-off.
Two prospects follow along behind us, dragging pillowcases. It takes me a moment to realize they’re filled with those cards everyone was giving me. The prospects follow us to Mica’s suite and dump all the cards on his huge king size bed.
“Out,” Mica commands as he pulls out his cellphone.
They scurry away and he jerks his chin towards the bed. “Lay on your back and show those long pretty legs of yours.”
I’m shaking my head before he can get the sentence out.
“What? No way.”
“It’s the tradition for our club. The brothers shower you, not us, with cash, and you thank them by giving them a sexy picture of your legs while wallowing all over their cash.”
“Are you being for real right now?” I ask, squinting at him.
He picks up three envelopes and rips the top off all three at the same time with his teeth and turns them upside down on the bed. Sure enough, hundred-dollar bills fall out.
“Come on, beautiful. I didn’t invent this tradition.”
I fling myself back onto the bed because what’s the harm in letting the brothers see the same amount of leg that my shorts show every summer. I lift my skirt and pose my legs to the side with my satin high heels showing.
Mica snaps several shots and sends them to the brothers before tossing his phone away. He goes to his knees in front of me and gives me a lopsided smile. “Do you want anything special from our wedding night?”
I know what he’s hinting at and quickly lower my skirt as I shake my head. “No sex.”
He just laughs. “I thought you might say that. How about help counting your money?”
I slide off the bed and sit on the floor across from him. I realize he’s got a couple of bottles of cold beer in his hand. I reach for one and he lets me take it.
“Is this money really mine to keep?”
