Page 22 of The Spare

A really hot one.

We walk back down the aisle together, man and wife. Jesus. The congregation is supposed to be singing ‘For the Beauty of the Earth’, but everyone is far too busy giving us a standing ovation. I’m not sure if they’re all incurable romantics or simply relieved as fuck to have a major scandal brighten the dull predictability of yet another society wedding, but they’re really digging us. I grin at everyone and give a few high fives to my mates as we head towards the entrance. A few glances at my bride tell me she’s hanging in there like a champ. She’s got her colour back and looks thoroughly relieved that we got through the ceremony in one piece.

‘Ready to face the wolves?’ I enquire out of the corner of my mouth. Assuming the press release was, er, released on schedule, the reporters out front will know by now that we pulled off a major stunt right in front of their noses. I can only assume they’ll be baying for blood.

‘Nope,’ she says, popping the p.

I hug her arm more tightly against my body. ‘Let’s give them what they want, then they’ll be happy.’

Sure enough, as soon as we emerge into the darkness of the outdoors, the baying starts.

‘Benedict! Selena! Over ’ere!’

‘Selena, why did you switch grooms, love? Xavier not up to the job, was ’e?’

‘Give ’er a kiss, then, mate!’

That last one I can definitely help with. I release her arm and immediately take her hand, raising our joint hands as I shout at the media, ‘We did it!’

And then, because I’m an obliging kind of guy, I pull her to me and kiss her again. She’s so pretty, my bride. So beautiful. I’m riding high on the adrenaline of what we’ve just done, and on the attention, and on the novelty factor of it all, surfing an enormous wave of wellbeing and, frankly, tickled as fuck that I finally get to stand here and kiss the most beautiful woman in any room, the woman who’s always been off-limits.

The woman who’s always been promised to my brother.

Not anymore, people.

Slinky’s lips are soft and plush under mine as she yields to my kiss. I mentally add fast learner to the things I like about my new wife. Of the pair of us, I may be the one selling the story that I’m in love with her, but she’s the one who’s obsessed with optics, with image. So I don’t, for a single second, flatter myself that she’s lost in the moment here. On the contrary, every second of this is a performance in a play she’s studied her entire life for—even if she’s had to do a hell of a lot more improv this week than she’d like.

Still, we’re united in this narrative we’re peddling, and I get to kiss her, so I don’t give a fuck about her motives. I simply allow myself to enjoy the smooth slide of her tongue against mine. It’s fleeting, and more a brush of the tips than anything else, but it’s surprisingly erotic. I feel like a schoolboy who’s broken into the tuck cupboard.

We break the kiss, and I grin at her. To my pleasant surprise, she smirks back. I’m not the only one feeling smug, and rightly so. It’s an amazing turnaround for her this week after my family so nearly ruined her entire life’s plans. Her triumph today is well earned.

It’s not until she and her enormous amounts of fabric have been bundled into the car and I’ve settled in beside her that she lets her head fall back against the seat and blows out an enormous breath.

‘Oh my God. Holy shit.’

‘You were amazing in there,’ I tell her, taking her hand and squeezing it. ‘Like I said, we did it. And you survived the press. The worst is over.’

She rolls her head so she’s facing me. ‘Not remotely. Every single person at the reception is going to want the scoop. And a lot of them are actual friends of mine.’

‘And what will you tell them?’

‘We’ve agreed not to share details out of respect for Xavier,’ she parrots.

‘Good girl.’ We had an emergency media training session this week on precisely this topic, because Slinky’s right: you can keep the press at arm’s length, but it’s far harder when you have to lie to your friends’ faces. Hence the decision to throw Xav under the bus by suggesting he’s devastated and licking his wounds—a decision he’s fully on board with, by the way.

‘And I’ll just emphasise that I was so in love with you, I had to at least attempt a Hail Mary.’

Her mouth twists in, I think, a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. From what I can tell, Slinks still seems dubious that anyone will actually buy this story, but I don’t see why they won’t. After all, everyone in that cathedral seemed ecstatic for us. They all may have been used to the idea of Xav and Slinks tying the knot at some point, but I doubt anyone was all that invested.

‘The flowers looked great, didn’t they?’ she says, staring out of the window as we wind our way back around the Christchurch quad and out onto St Aldate’s.

‘Stunning.’ I’m not about to tell her I didn’t notice them. ‘Although not as stunning as my bride.’

That has her turning back to me. She raises a sceptical eyebrow.

‘I’m serious. This may not be the most conventional route up the aisle, Slinks, but don’t doubt for a second how fucking delighted with myself I am right now. You’re always the most beautiful woman in the room—I think I tell you that every time I see you—but today you’re a knockout. I felt ten feet tall walking down that aisle with you.’

Every word of that is true. It’s also what I suspect she needs to hear from me right now. I’ve known Slinky a long time. Her self-confidence is far, far lower than anyone would guess, and let’s not get started on the dent this week’s events must have made in it.