His Mild Touch

The wedding is an intimate affair, hosted in the backyard of my new home alongside my dashing British husband. He's a striking white gentleman, to be precise. It's possible that my father omitted these details, or if I had thoroughly reviewed the file as my father had requested, I might have been aware. Nevertheless, it's a delightful surprise—a young and handsome husband.

I can't resist stealing more glances at him as he gracefully approaches one of the many unfamiliar faces in attendance at the reception, trying my best to be discreet. His chestnut locks are elegantly swept back, held in place with what seems like a generous amount of hair gel, and a warm sensation permeates my chest.

He’s a beautiful man to look at and I don’t mind spending the rest of our reception staring at him. His lips are not as thin as you will expect from a British man, they are pouty, full and I want another taste. My cheeks heat up at the thought, I cough and his amber eyes narrow slightly in my direction before returning to his guests. Keeping to the shadows to get a better glance at his stiff profile, I pout. His nose is crooked like it has been broken and fixed one too many times.

All these features sit on a face that tells a story—a dangerous one at that and I find myself getting attracted to him. To uncover the secrets that lies behind those eyes searching for me.

Papa did try to set us up a meeting many times, I never showed up. I wonder now if that will put me in my husband’s bad book, he looks like one who never forgets. My husband? The word tastes like sour grape, I’m unsure if I like it. Is he as uncomfortable as I am about this whole arrangement?

I frown when his head falls back with laughter at something his guest—a female says, my heart clenches and a corner of my lip twitches until I give into the small smile. I love the sound of his laughter. Snapping out of these weird thoughts, I move to stand behind an empty seat. I must have looked stupid, standing a few feet from the main event, smiling alone. His guest places a hand on his shoulder, I force down the urge to stomp over and slap her tiny hands off him or throttle her with her bleached weave. That is my man. Is he? I swipe the strand of hair that keeps falling over my forehead with aggression, he is my husband so that makes him my man.

“You look so beautiful, Pat,” Ma is saying. My head snaps in her direction, I offer her a smile. She takes a sip from the flute of champagne perched between her fingertips with an elegance that surprises even me. My smile widens, I squeeze her in a brief hug, she cleans up real good.

Her fingers brush my hair, keeping in place that stubborn strand that has come undone from the high puff I managed to make from my wild curls. My hair has a mind of its own, today, it will have to deal with the style I want.

“Thank you. You look wonderful yourself,” I repay the compliment and she smiles as she does a little twirl.

She is dressed in a black off-shoulder gown that stops just above her knees to reveal her toned legs. Her skin glistens in the sun, she has truly been sun-kissed and her dimples are prominent when she smiles. Ma no longer has those hollow spaces in between her collar bone and I am glad I decided to marry this man, Trystan.

The name is foreign like many of those rich kids I attend school with but I don’t scoff at hearing it. Instead, I like the way it settles on my tongue like it’s my favourite candy and I bite down on my lip to keep from staring in his direction. He is still with that lady, why can’t they talk later?

Speaking of the devil, Trystan walks up to us with a glass containing similar content as Ma, then he whispers into my ear, “Your mother is right, Patricia, you look beautiful.” I want to be angry at him but the proximity wipes off all reasonable thoughts and I freeze. “You make a beautiful bride.”

Trystan's voice takes a few seconds to settle in, when it does, my heart gallops and my nipples harden behind my armless gown. I suck in a sharp breath, the mirthless giggles escaping him tells me he noticed my little disorientation in his presence. He places a kiss on the back of Ma’s hand and she excuses herself with a sly wink, something about giving the new couple privacy.