My nerves are shot to bits. I don't know why. I know I'm doing the right thing, but damn I'm a stupid mass of nerves. I'm alone, my first few, silent, reflective moments of the day so far and probably the last. I've been waiting for this tiny snippet of time, begging for it among the chaos surrounding me. I need this moment, just me to myself, absorbing the massive leap that I'm taking trying to gather myself together. I know these moments will likely be precious from this day forward.
It's my wedding day.
It's the day I promise myself to this woman for the rest of my life—not that I need a piece of paper or a metal band on my finger to do that. But she does. That's why only two weeks after she fell to her knee on the terrace of Lusso, I'm marrying this woman. And why I'm now sitting in my robe on a chaise lounge in one of the private suites of The Manor—the suite where Lisa cornered me all those weeks ago—trying to gather myself.
I'm getting married at The Manor.
The biggest day of my life is taking place at the plush sex haven she owns. My nerves aren't only a result of me being the bride. My parents, brother, and family members are all roaming around the grounds of Lisa's supposed country retreat. They're all poking around the building and gushing at the opulent splendor. That's why I have a five kilo padlock on the double doors to the communal room. I've checked it a million times, and I've double checked that all wooden, cross-like wall hangings and suspended, gold grid frames have been removed from all of the private suites. I've also grilled the staff of The Manor repeatedly. Lisa's poor army of employees have all endured my constant whittling and persistent reminders that my family are oblivious. They humor me, just rolling their eyes and giving me a reassuring shoulder rub or a sympathetic look, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I'm not so worried about the male members of my family, they'll all just prop themselves up at the bar and only move on demand. But my mom and aunt are a different story entirely. My mother, with her love of all things luxurious, is gushing over the place and has suddenly taken the role of tour guide, keen to demonstrate just how magnificent Lisa's county estate is. I wish she wouldn't. I wish she'd join my dad at the bar. I wish I could cement her backside to a stool and feed her Mario's Most Marvelous all day and night. Marrying at The Manor is an added stress that I really don't need on my wedding day, but when my challenging, neurotic birthday girl had me surrounded by her warmth and sprawled across the terrace, I agreed—no sense fuck required.
I know she's taken care of everything. The Manor really does look just like an exclusive resort, but I know what's on the next floor, and all of those beds are currently dancing on the ceiling above me, like they're lonely. They probably are. The Manor has been closed to members for two days so preparations could be made, and that alone has cost Lisa a small fortune in reimbursed membership fees. I might be just as unpopular with the male members as I am with the female members now. They must all hate me—the women for snatching Lisa from under their noses, and now the men for putting a halt on their preferred sexual adventures.
I look up to the ceiling and roll my shoulders in an attempt to dispel some of the growing tension. It's not working. I'm too fucking nervous. Pulling myself up from my reclined position, I walk over to the mirror and gaze at my reflection. Despite my unease, I look fresh. I'm glowing and my make-up is light and natural. Phillipe has done an incredible job of glossing my blonde hair to within an inch of its life, the long, heavy waves flouncing freely and loosely pinned on one side with an intricately jeweled hair comb. Lisa loves my hair down. She also loves me in lace.
I turn towards the door where my dress is hanging and drink in the vast expanse of lace—lots of lace, with explosions of tiny pearls sewn here and there. I smile. She'll stop breathing. This simple gown, with delicate shoulder straps, plunging back and nipped-in waist will have her on her knees.
