Ian and Ella never did have any particular song they considered their own so they chose to play the standards at the wedding, music that would suit a wide range of ages. Later in the night there would be jazz and some alternative for the younger guests. Selected arrangements were from varied singers such as Sarah Vaughn, Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday, and Nelson Riddle’s last ones, those he created for Linda Ronstadt. For the couple’s first dance together, the small orchestra plays I’ve Got a Crush on You, followed by Isn’t it Romantic, and Round Midnight. The female singer Faith hired is exceptional, belting out one song after the other, each one sounding better.
Ella looks up at her gorgeous husband. Her husband. It sounds strange to her ears. “It’s a very good thing you could dance otherwise we’d have had to take lessons for the wedding.”
As he spins her around the dance floor effortlessly, he grins. “My mother insisted we all learn at an early age so as not to embarrass her on the rare occasion it would be called into requirement. Today is the first time it came in handy.”
“Didn’t you go to your senior prom in high school?”
“Yes, but there was very little slow dancing. How are you feeling, Mrs. Blackmon?”
Smiling, Ella begins singing the lyrics. “I’ve Got a Crush on You, Sweetie Pie,” and Ian swoops down to kiss her.
“Now you can’t escape me ever, Ariel. You’re officially mine.”
“Wasn’t I always?”
“I don’t know. Were you?”
She bats her eyelashes. “I’m afraid so.”
“Didn’t you think to tell me?”
“Of course not. A girl never gives up her secrets, silly.”
“So I chased you to Britain for nothing because you were always going to come back to me?”
“Well, you might have expedited the timetable if you’d shown your ugly mug.”
“Hmmm. Well, I could kick myself now. All those months kickboxing out my frustrations. I could have been having my evil way with you.”
She looks up and smiles. “Yes. Silly you. But look at the bright side: all that kickboxing did marvelous things for your legs. And you got a much-needed lesson in self-control. Didn’t you?”
“I suppose so…” he leans in to whisper in her ear, “but now I have an irresistible urge to spank you for making me suffer for so long.”
“I suppose then it’s lucky for me that I’m wearing this long and hard to remove wedding gown.”
“Oh, ye of little faith. Is our song over yet?”
She laughs. “You still have to dance with your mother and mine and I have to dance with our fathers. Remember?”
“Fine. Immediately afterward, we rendezvous at twenty hundred hours, upstairs in my old bedroom. Got it?”
Her cheeks flushed pink, Ella peers up at him, trying to decide if he’s kidding. “Twenty hundred hours, upstairs, your old bedroom. Got it.”
The rendezvous is not to be, however, since they have hundreds of guests to see to. After the dances, Mariah grabs Ella to scold her.
“Why did you push me at Mason so soon? I mean, there is a virtual smörgåsbord of men here, Ella. A cornucopia. Quentin and Nathaniel, for example, are rather stunning specimens of the male human. And that Daniel Butler, ooh la la.”
Ella rolls her eyes. “Keep those little purple panties on, Mariah. First off, I told you that Daniel is oh so happily married, newly married at that. And—”
“Pish-posh, he might change his mind. Can’t a marriage contract have a period of rescission like other legal contracts? Anyway, Ian’s brothers aren’t married, are they?”
“No, but I don’t know them very well. For all I know, one or both might be gay. And what’s wrong with Mason, pray tell? He’s strong, handsome, buff…”
“True that. It’s just that I’m like a hungry girl at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Seems a shame to focus on just one dish, delicious though it may be, you know? That Quentin is smokin’, don’t you think?”
“He’s not bad looking,” Ella replies dryly.
“Ha, the queen of understatement. Hey, your dad is adorable by the way, Ella. And I promised him a dance so I’ll go make good on that. Ta-ta.” She sashays away in her short little dress, men’s eyes following her closely as she makes her way.
Gasping, Ella sees why, when Mariah gets ahead a few paces: the little slut is wearing a thong under that slinky dress so one can see every jiggle as she walks.
She feels hands from behind her, wrapping around her waist. “Do I have to guess who?”
“There’d better be only one guess or I’ll have to fight in my tuxedo. How are you doing, love? Feet hurt from dancing?”