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“You two are just a couple of softies, you know that.”
They both laughed and kissed my cheeks, at the same time. More unison stuff. I didn’t mind this kind of unison at all, though.
No one wanted to follow Christopher’s act, so we were mercifully done with the toasts. Next up was the cake, which we did have. I had no idea if Reader had already ordered it or if Pierre had come through again, but either way, it was great—chocolate with white buttercream frosting. No figurines on it, just the symbol for eternity on top. It was a real piece of artwork, not food. Apparently an A-C custom—we would keep it somewhere in our home at all times. I thought it was romantic. I was getting big on the romantic feelings.
Cut the cake, Jeff (ha!) did not do the smash it in the face thing, further proof I’d picked the right guy. Then it was time for the first dance.
We had a deejay and a karaoke machine. I had reservations about the karaoke but decided not to worry until I had to. The deejay looked familiar. I got closer. “Pierre?”
“MC Peterman here, darling. Oooh, is this our lucky groom? It was hard to get a clear view while you two were practicing for the Boston Marathon.”
“Yes. Jeff, this is Pierre, uh, Peter, uh, the Peterman. My hairdresser from today. And the guy who found the people to do my veil and get the flowers and probably other things James needed.”
“Like a decent deejay, darling.”
Martini—Jeff—stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Kitty, darling, I understand why you’re hanging your hat with this one. Charmed, Jeff. I’d shake, but I must keep the tunes going. Darlings, did we have a special ‘our song’ for the first dance?”
We looked at each other. “Uh, no.”
“Leaving that one to Jimmy too, were we?”
“No, just didn’t think about it. It’s been kind of whirlwind.”
Martini got a fu
Martini led me to the dance floor. Reader had the mike and was doing the usual emcee stuff to get everyone around to watch us dance. The music started, and it was a song I knew well also—“Angel” by Aerosmith.
Martini pulled me into his arms and led me in a slow dance that worked well with the song’s rhythm. I didn’t know the dance, but it didn’t matter—I had no problem following his lead, and all I wanted was to be in his arms, anyway. My throat was tight again. “You are my angel,” he whispered to me. “I promise I’ll never let my jealousy keep us unhappy and apart, even for an hour. And I want you to know—every word of this song is how I feel about you.” Pierre called that right—I did almost swoon.
All things end, and awesome rock songs sooner than you want them to. The music died away.
Reader was back on the mike. “Normally we’d do the parents’ dance right now, but we like to mess it up around here. So I thought we’d play our team’s official song.” I looked at him, hoping he caught my WTF expression. Then “Keepin’ it Gangsta” by Fabolous and a bunch of other rappers came on. I started to howl.
“I don’t get this song,” Martini said within three chords.
“You’re so street, Jeff, and you don’t get it? Let me show you how we roll downtown.” I stepped back from him a bit and went into some hip-hop moves I could do in my dress. Tim and Reader joined me on either side. A-Cs might have it over us in speed, but we could out hip their hop without any problem.
Christopher and Gower joined us and stood next to Martini. “This is half of Alpha Team, you realize that?” Christopher asked.
“Yeah, and we’re go
Christopher and Gower shook their heads. Martini gri
“You really can dance to anything, Jeff.” I found this ability a major turn-on.
He gri
Song ended, we got a round of applause. Now it was time for the parents to come on and dance with us. Dad and I danced to “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” by good old Maurice Chevalier, Martini and his mother danced to “The Perfect Fan” by the Backstreet Boys, then I danced with Alfred while Martini danced with my mother to “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong. Then the parents danced with their spouses, and I was back with Martini, dancing to Sting’s “Fields of Gold.”
The rest of the guests started to join in, wedding party first, then the couples split up and started dancing with their real mates. Reader and Gower pulled Queen Renata in to dance with them.
Pierre moved the song into Sting’s “When We Dance.” Martini pulled me closer, and I leaned my head on his chest. “You really don’t regret marrying an alien?”
I nuzzled closer. “Nope. Have a hard time sleeping without a double-heartbeat right next to me.”
The music ended and Reader had the mike again. “We have a little thing we’d like to do for the bride . . . and to remind the groom to never get complacent.” He was gri
They put chairs for us at the end of the dance floor farthest from the deejay. Then the karaoke machine was fired up. Reader jerked his head, and he wasn’t alone up there any more—Christopher, Chuckie, Gower, Brian, all my flyboys, Tim, and Tito were there with him.
“Hit it,” Reader said, and the song started—Elton John’s “Kiss the Bride.” I started the laughing that so easily turns into hysterics.
Reader had a great voice, and he could really move, too. I found myself wondering why he hadn’t gone for a musical career. The rest of the guys were joining in, all on the chorus, some on more of the song. Hearing all of them sing out, “I wa
During the musical solo portion of the music, Reader pulled me out of my chair and handed me off to Christopher. Got a peck on the lips, passed to Gower, same thing. Next to Tim, then to Brian, Jerry, Joe, Randy, Walker, Hughes, and Tito, who handed me off to Chuckie. Got the requisite peck on the lips and a wink. Then I was spun back to Reader for the last part of the song. He twirled me up next to him, arm tight around my waist. Dipped me at the end of the song and gave me the final peck on the lips.
Thunderous applause as he brought me up. I hugged him around his neck. “James, that was awesome. Everyone was great, but you were fabulous.”
He gri
“Nah,” Martini said from behind me. “You all got your last kisses from her.” He looked over at Pierre. “MC Peterman, you have a tango in there anywhere?”
“Of course, darling, I have everything.”
The beat started up, and Martini moved me into the alien tango. Since the first time he’d danced with me like this I’d loved it. The dance was wild, sexy, and enthralling. And, as always, by the time the dance was over and my chest was pressed against his, my body curved back, with one of his arms on my upper back and the other pressing my pelvis against his, I was ready to go over the edge.
“Now I get to kiss the bride,” he said, his voice dropped down to a purr. He pulled me up and covered my mouth with his. Everyone was still there, I could sort of hear them, heard the music change to “Your Body is a Wonderland” by John Mayer, but the only thing I was aware of was Martini’s kiss.
We finally had to break apart to do the bouquet and garter stuff. Kimmie ran a new bouquet to me, a little safer for throwing over my head, while I discussed things with the photographer, also known as Mister Joel Oliver. It was the first time I’d actually seen him, but he insisted he’d caught pretty much everything.