Love endures all things.
I marry Ash with Embry’s bite marks on my thighs, and Ash marries me with his bite marks on Embry’s neck. There’s something kind of beautiful about that, I think dazedly as the priest recites our wedding mass. Something kind of beautiful and fucked up. Who needs a ring when you have bite marks? Who needs vows when you’ve literally bled for one another?
Then there comes the moment where the priest asks for Embry to furnish the ring—my ring—the one that will mark me as Ash’s wife and bind me to him for the rest of my life, and my tears threaten to return. I’m not sad, I’m not afraid or overjoyed or angry or guilty or excited or jealous or suspicious, it’s that I’m all of them. Every single feeling, all at once, a carnival of flashing thoughts and emotional noise inside my head. And that it has to be Embry to hand Ash that dainty platinum band…
Embry pats his pockets dramatically, and the crowd ripples with laughter at the “best man lost the ring” gag. Father Jordan Brady—a handsome young blond with that unmistakable Christian hipster vibe—is too polite to roll his eyes, but I sense he goes somewhere deep inside himself to escape the threadbare frivolity of the old joke.
Embry finally removes the ring from his pocket and starts to hand it to Ash. And instead of holding out his palm to take it, Ash turns to Embry and slowly uncurls Embry’s fingers from the ring. To everyone else, it looks like Ash is simply being careful with the small piece of jewelry, but I see both the promise and the apology in the gentle way Ash touches Embry’s skin. What does it feel like to take a ring from a man who refused yours? And for Embry, what does it feel like to still be in love with a man you couldn’t bring yourself to marry?
Despite the circus of whirling questions and emotions, the moment Ash takes my hand, I feel everything go quiet and slow and right. His hand is warm and certain around my own, his fingers sure and careful as he slides the ring onto my finger, and when I look up to his eyes, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he will do everything in his considerable power to keep me safe and loved.
And I know with the same certainty that I will do the same for him.
We exchange vows, we take communion, we sing the hymns and chant the chants. And at the end, when Ash lifts my veil and kisses me firmly on the lips, I feel the faintest flickering of the one emotion I haven’t been able to muster yet today:
Hope.
“Congratulations.”
Ash and I look up from the bridal table to see Embry in front of us. He’s already given his speech, but there’s still cake and dancing to be had in the massive reception pavilion. It’s set high up in the river bluffs, overlooking the dun ribbon of water below, and less than a mile off, the skyline twinkles merrily. All around us are nearly seven hundred guests laughing and eating and drinking while the press hovers nearby like moths near light.
But Embry looks pale. Tired. He’s still in his tuxedo jacket, even though Ash has long since ditched his, and I can tell that he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink.
“Embry,” Ash says warmly. “Pull up a chair and eat with us.”
“Actually, I think I’m going to head back to the hotel,” Embry says, not looking at either of us. “I’m not feeling well. A bug, I think.”
“Stay,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Please. Drink with us. Dance with us.”
He glances at me and then at Ash, at us together at the bridal table with our rings glinting in the twinkling lights. “I can’t. Congratulations, again. I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”
And with those hollow words, he leaves.
I stand up, about to chase after him, but Ash takes my hand and stops me. “Greer. The press.”
“Fuck the press,” I grumble, but I allow him to tug me back down to my chair anyway.
“And besides,” Ash continues, “it would be cruel to ask him to stay and endure his pain so publicly.”
Love endures all things. The Bible verse from the church floats into my mind. But perhaps love shouldn’t have to endure all things. Perhaps it would be cruel to make Embry stay.
“Angel,” Ash says, taking both my hands into his. His fingers find my ring, and I smile at the possessive way he rubs it with his fingertips. “Wife. What’s your safe word?”
“Am I going to be belted in order to earn my slice of cake?”
A small smile but he doesn’t take the bait. “Say it so I know that you have it close. That you know it’s yours to use for any limit. Any limit.”
I look down to where his fingers are playing with my ring. “Maxen.”
“Good.” He leans down to kiss the ring, letting his lips linger at the junction of metal and flesh. “Tonight’s our wedding night, Greer.”
“I know,” I sigh. “Can’t we just leave these people and start it now?”
He hesitates, his lips still on my hand.
“What is it? Were you planning on doing something extreme tonight? I’ll try it. You know I’ll try anything you ask me to.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. You have to agree to this because you want it, not just because you think I want it.”
He straightens and takes a deep breath. “I want Embry to join us tonight.”
I don’t answer. I can’t answer, actually, because I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“Today was perfect,” he says in a low voice. “Listening to you on the phone while he touched you was…electrifying. And marrying you, Greer, saying those words to you was the happiest moment of my life. Today feels like magic—tonight feels like magic—and I want more of it. I want us, all three of us, to feel it together. If today was about the two of us making vows, then tonight should be about the three of us taking the next step together.”
I finally find my voice. It’s dry, threatening to crack. “And what’s the next step?”
“I don’t know,” he says, giving me a smile so beautiful it breaks my heart. “But I’m ready to find out.”
The evening passes in a blur. We dance, my grandfather cries, Abilene flirts. There are too many senators and heads of state and businesspeople and celebrities to keep straight, and it’s impossible to keep track of time or the number of people who wish us congratulations. When I glance at Ash’s watch, I’m shocked to see it’s past eleven p.m.
“It’s late,” I say to Ash, squeezing his hand.
He squeezes back. “I’m having a hard time being patient too. Just a little while longer, angel.”
I don’t want to wait any while longer, little or not, and I can’t shake the strange fear that Embry isn’t alone right now. That he found someone to spend the night with, some other warm body to bury his pain in, not knowing that Ash and I are here feeling desperate for him. Not knowing that we’re going to find him.
When I mention this fear to Ash, he nods like the thought hurts him too, but then says, “Would you blame him for that?”
“It makes my blood boil.”
“Mine too. But then we could go back to our room and fuck until we felt better. Don’t you think he deserves the same thing?”
“He said something similar to me in Geneva.”
“And?”
I lift my chin. “Just because it’s fair doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“I don’t know what there is to like about any of this sometimes. That doesn’t mean it’s not necessary.”
Eight months ago, my only necessary things were bourbon and research. When did my life get so complicated?
Finally, Ash waves Belvedere over, who passes word to the wedding planner that we’re ready to leave. The party is still in full swing, the band having packed up and a DJ having come in, and any other time, I would have wanted to stay. But tonight, Ash’s bed waits for me.
And maybe Embry will be in that bed too.
Ash and I hold hands and leave the pavilion as people line up and wave sparklers, glittering fire spitting and dancing around us, hissing down into the soft green grass below. We wave, kisses are blown, and then we’re packed into the Beast, the black Cadillac designed specifically for the President.
My dress surrounds us in clouds of silk and tulle, and Ash is laughing as we try to smash it down so Luc can close the door. The door closes and then I’m being dragged into Ash’s lap, tulle and all, and we’re surrounded by walls of wedding dress.
“We’re supposed to wave goodbye through the window,” I whisper, although I like the sudden, if ridiculous, privacy we have right now.
Ash groans but nevertheless wrestles the gown out of the way so that we can wave some more as we pull away and drive towards our hotel. The minute we’re away from the crowd, Ash lets the dress swallow us again.
“This reminds me of playing with a parachute in kindergarten,” he says, glancing at the fabric.
“A parachute?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did you not do that at your fancy boarding schools? Is my plebeian public school background showing?”
“I went to a Montessori school outside of Portland. We used parachutes more than most kids use pencils. But we sat underneath them rather than drag them inside a Cadillac.”
Those dark eyebrows slant together as I get a wicked smile. “I’m happy to sit underneath your skirt, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I’m sideways on his lap, with my legs slung over the large wooden hump in the middle of the seat that houses Ash’s communications systems, and he takes advantage of my position, reaching for my legs under my dress and then following the lines of my stockings until he reaches my bare cunt.
“You never put on more panties?” he asks huskily. “Your pussy was bare this whole time?”
“Why do you think I had you pull the garter from my knee instead of my thigh? I was trying to make sure the essentials stayed covered.”
His fingers probe the soft skin of my lower lips. “Did it bother you that I had your panties in my tuxedo pocket?”
I lean my head back against the window, parting my legs to give him better access, though he stays away from the flesh that wants him the most, opting instead for the soft creases between my vulva and my thighs. “I thought it was unbearably hot.”
“Me too.”
“Did you and Embry…” I look for the right words and can’t find them. English has more words than any other Western language and yet I can’t find the ones that convey curiosity and arousal and permission and jealousy all at the same time.
All the same, Ash seems to know what I’m asking. “We kissed. In the groom’s dressing room at the church. He walked in and I took one look at him, and then I had him up against the wall.” Ash leans his head back against the headrest of the seat. “We kissed for a very long time, until I made sure that I had tasted every trace of your cunt on his mouth, and then I marked his neck. Did you see? I wanted you to see. I can’t decide if that was cruel of me or kind.”
“I can’t decide either,” I whisper.
Ash’s fingertip lightly runs up my seam, exposing how very, very wet I am. “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”
“Or it does matter, but I don’t care.”
But we’re interrupted by our arrival at the hotel, a Gilded Age skyscraper with a gorgeously ornate lobby. As we climb out and I grab my clutch, my phone buzzes inside the small purse and I pull it out.
Abilene: tell me when u get to ur hotel safely so I don’t worry about u
Me: just got here! It’s so pretty!
Abilene: which hotel did u end up at?
Just like in Geneva, the security team vetted a few hotels before picking a final one only hours before we left the venue. It’s an inconvenience and a lot of extra work and not part of the normal protocol, but Merlin with all his mysterious sources of information advised Ash and his security team to go to the effort since it was such a high-profile event.
I don’t think twice about it as I text back, we’re at the Sorella.
Abilene: sounds amazing, I’m so jealous! Enjoy ur wedding nite!
“Who are you talking to?” Ash asks. We’re in the elevator now, riding up to the Presidential Suite.
“Abilene.” I notice he’s sliding his own phone into his tuxedo pants. “Who were you talking to?”
“Embry. I invited him up to our room to talk.”
“Ash…”
I step into him, tilting my head back so I can peer up into those stunning green eyes. “No matter what happens tonight, I want you to know that I will never regret marrying you. If I had to choose, it would be you. Every time.”
“You don’t know how much I wanted to hear those words,” he says roughly, sliding his hands through my hair. “Oh Greer. What have I dragged you into?”
His lips on mine are hungry and searching, and I let him take my mouth like I’ve let him take everything of mine, the simple surrender of the act clearing my mind and stirring my blood. We’re still kissing as the elevator doors open, and Ash kisses me all the way down the hallway to our room. Luc opens the door for us, Ash kicks it closed behind us, and then we’re alone.
“Do we wait for Embry?” I ask as soon as Ash lets me up for air.
“I’m not waiting to do what I’ve wanted to do all day, which is this,” and then he lowers his mouth to my neck. The scooped neck of my dress—modest enough to pass Merlin and Trieste’s “America’s Sweetheart” test—still dips low enough to give Ash access to my collarbone and the tops of my breasts, which he bites and sucks with pleasure. And then he’s back to my neck, kissing and nibbling and sucking until my knees are weak and he’s supporting all of my weight in his arms.
“This dress,” he murmurs. “I’ve been staring at this perfect neck all day. It’s been driving me crazy.”
My hands fist his lapels as he continues taking his pleasure, appreciative noises coming from the back of his throat as he tastes my skin. He’s coming back up to my lips for a proper kiss when we hear a soft, tentative rap at the door.
We look at each other, and then I let go of Ash’s jacket and go to the door, not even bothering to check through the peephole before I open it.
It’s Embry.
He gives a quick look over his shoulder at the Secret Service agent standing nearby. “May I come in?”
“Please do,” Ash says from behind me, and Embry steps inside. He’s lost the tuxedo jacket and vest, although his bow tie still hangs loose around his neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong, sinewed forearms that flex and harden as he closes the door behind himself and then shoves his hands in his pockets.
“You wanted to see me?” he asks. There’s something almost defensive in his posture, in the way his shoulders are ever so slightly hunched, in the way he squares off to face Ash.
“Yes,” Ash says. “We did.”
And then he walks right over and kisses his friend, cupping a hand around the back of Embry’s neck to hold him there.
Embry’s eyelashes flutter and a small breath leaves him, but he doesn’t pull his hands out of his pockets, he doesn’t relax. “What are you doing?” he asks as Ash pulls away. “I thought today was to get it out of our systems before the wedding ceremony. Not…more.”
“I told you the last time I asked you to marry me,” Ash says softly, “that I don’t want you out of my system. No matter how many times you want me out of yours.”
Embry looks away, emotion ticking in the muscles of his cheek and jaw. “It was for the best I said no. You know that.”
“Greer says you told her that you loved me. Is there a reason you can’t tell me that?”
Embry doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at Ash.
“Because I love you,” Ash confesses in a torn-up voice. “I’m sorry if I didn’t say it enough before. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I only wanted to use you, to fuck you like I owned you. I do want to use you and own you, but because I love you.”
“Stop it,” Embry whispers, squeezing his eyes closed. “Just—stop it.”
Ash takes a step forward, changing tactics. “The three of us—we all love each other. We’ve all tried to live without each other. It obviously didn’t work.” A rueful smile. “So we need to try something different.”
“Like what?” Embry asks, still turned away from us.
“We need to find a way to be together.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Embry asks, turning back to Ash. There’s a scowl on his face, but his eyes are wet. “You and Greer are married now. There is no together for us three.”
“Says who?” Ash responds. “We know what happens when two people fall in love. It’s happened between each of us. We have to find out what happens when three people fall in love. All together, all at once.”
“This is fucked up.” And then Embry frowns. “And I don’t want to be the third wheel in your marriage. A guest who gets kicked out when he wears out his welcome.”
“You’re not and you won’t be,” I speak up, and Embry turns toward me. It’s the first I’ve spoken since he walked in. “It’s supposed to be the three of us, can’t you see that? Can’t you feel it? Today in my dressing room or the night of the Polish State Dinner—couldn’t you feel what was happening between us all? God, Embry, don’t you want us? Don’t you want to fuck me again? Have Ash inside you again?”
His cheeks flush red against his fair skin. “Of course I fucking do,” he says. “Of course I fucking want it. That doesn’t mean it’s right.”
“Just because it’s not common doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” I say, pleading almost. I walk up to him and take his hand in mine. “I can’t live the rest of my life like this. Torn between the two of you. Watching Ash watching you. It will rip my soul in half.”
Embry exhales.
“But we can’t do anything without you wanting it too,” I say. “If you can’t be one of three, then you have to be one alone. We have to decide the boundaries here and now, because when Ash and I get back from our honeymoon, we will need to know exactly where we stand with you.”
“This can’t work,” Embry says, looking down to where I’m holding his hand. “You understand that, right? There’s no possible way the three of us could make this work.”
“It will be hard,” Ash says, coming up next to us. “It won’t be easy at all.”
“People will suspect. They’ll learn the truth. If it ever gets out, all three of us will be ruined. Forever.”
“That’s right,” Ash says, and he takes Embry’s other hand. “We’ll have to be extremely careful.”
“And we’d have to have boundaries of our own. For the sake of your marriage and my sanity, everything would have to be crystal clear about what’s on and off limits.”
“Yes,” I agree, looking at Ash. “We would have to figure that out too.”
“And the minute it hurts too much, the minute it stops working, we have to be honest about it,” Embry says, and his tone has shifted from resistant to something quiet, begging. “We have to be able to stop it if it ends up wounding us.”
Ash and I are holding hands now too, the three of us standing joined in a circle. It feels very solemn, very surreal, with the low sconces throwing off patterns of gold light and the patter of May rain sounding on the window.
“Yes,” Ash affirms. “But we have to promise each other that we’ll try to make it work. That we won’t run away when it gets hard. That we will love each other as best as we can in all the ways we can for as long as we can.”
His words hang in the air, serious and spiritual.
I take a deep breath and go first. “I promise.”
“Me too,” Ash says.
Embry looks at us, our faces, our wedding outfits, our joined hands. He looks down to where we hold his hands too. He takes a deep breath and a tear spills over and races down his cheek so fast that I barely see it before it falls to the floor.
“I promise too,” he says finally, heavily.
The moment is almost more sacred than the actual marriage vows I recited earlier, almost like God knows that this is the real promise that needs to be made.
This is the real wedding that will happen not with incense and boutonnieres but with words and skin and sweat.
