12/17/11

Beverly Hills

Cinderella’s carriage had been a pumpkin and not an Uber, her heels glass and not black leather. But none of that stopped me from feeling a bit like her as I stepped slowly out of the car and stared up at the castle-like hotel before me, tinted golden pink by expensive uplighting.

“Welcome to the pros,” I muttered under my breath.

There were head-to-toe black outfits everywhere, some toting walkie-talkies, others cameras. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a paparazzo inch toward me, but when I turned to glare at him, he backed off. I never heard a shutter.

And why would I? At the end of the day, I was showing my distinctly un-famous face at what was probably, objectively, no matter how dear he was to me, a D-list wedding.

I fished the ornate invitation from my purse, the Spectacular! Spectacular! headline catching my eye again in passing, and showed it to the guy at the door. A bouncer at a wedding. We didn’t have those in Illinois. Maybe in Staten Island, but for entirely different reasons. Alicia didn’t call my adopted hometown Jersey East for nothing.

The lobby alone, all chandeliers and plush carpets and uplighting, made me feel like hiding behind the concierge desk. In my mind, I heard violins playing some foofy French concerto. A few glamorous, very tall people stood in clusters. Heat prickled in my cheeks, and my little black dress seemed ill-fitting, the peplum droopy and chintzy, my stilettos clumsy, my purse cheap. This wasn’t my element. I should just get on the next plane back to my shitty little—

A wolf whistle sounded from across the lobby. No one but me looked up. I turned around, ready to retort, but the smart words died in my throat as Brian strode toward me. I’d still been in the shower when he’d left to come over here and pop his head into the groom’s suite, and he looked stunning. I’d never seen him in a tux, but here we were, and it was classic and fit like it was made for him. Which, I realized half a second later, it probably had been. My Macy’s clearance special felt all the cheaper.

He laced his fingers through mine and kissed my cheek gently. My heels were so high that for once, he didn’t have to lean down, much.

“You’re the most beautiful woman here,” he whispered in my ear.

My knees wobbled, and it wasn’t the shoes. He knew just what to say. I bit my lip. “You devil. I bet you haven’t even been in there yet,” I said lightly.

“You’re right. I haven’t.” His eyes twinkled dangerously, and my knees disappeared entirely. “Forget the wedding. Let’s just get a room.”

I wanted to drag him upstairs myself, but before I could reply, a hulking black man I didn’t recognize, and hadn’t even seen behind Brian, cleared his throat. He inclined his head toward the ballroom. “You look very nice, ma’am, but I ain’t got all day.”

I’d always thought “breathtaking” was a cliché, but I stumbled backward at the sight of the ballroom, which seemed too large to be in such an intimate hotel. The walls and ceiling had been draped with white cloth, projected with images of Paris at night, a starry sky above us. Behind the altar was a huge red windmill, so large that the happy couple’s heads would be level with the bottom of the windmill’s arms. A string quartet in tuxedos sawed away next to the altar. Rows of red velvet chairs awaited us, already filling up with the butts of the well-connected.

“He wasn’t kidding about the Moulin Rouge theme,” I whispered to Brian as the security guy melted away.

Brian snickered. “Does either one of them look like someone who’d do something halfway?”

Howie strolled up to us, wearing white tie and tails, obviously not paying attention. “Bride’s side or…” When he saw our faces, he rolled his eyes, grinning. “Who let you in?”

I winked at Howie. “We’re on the catering staff. We just wanted to see the ballroom.”

Howie returned my wink and offered his arm to me. “Miz Michaels, you’re a vision.” He inclined his head toward Brian. “If you’re ever sick of this jabroni, I’m sure I could figure out something with Leigh.”

I eyed Howie, who was actually a hair shorter than me, in these shoes. “Howie, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re a little short for me.”

“Yeah, and ‘jabroni’?” Brian chuckled as he followed us down the aisle. “Is all that wrestling rubbing off?”

“You don’t know what kind of day it’s been,” Howie said to me. He stopped a few rows from the front. “Have fun, kids. I’ll see you at the reception.” He subtly pantomimed tipping back a bottle.

Brian gestured for me to go ahead, and I settled into my seat, eyes still on the windmill, which practically filled my field of vision. What kind of people got married in front of the world’s most famous whorehouse, I would never quite figure out.

A throat cleared next to me, and I turned to find green eyes watching me, topped with heavy black Groucho Marx eyebrows, one of which lifted.

“Sure, settle on in,” their owner said dryly, with just a hint of a drawl. “We’ll introduce ourselves. I surely wasn’t relying on your boyfriend to be a gentleman, cuz,” he said pointedly as he leaned past me to give Brian a meaningful glare.

Brian didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, it’s time someone told you the truth. I actually grew up in that horse barn behind the high school. They just brought me in the house for Christmas and stuff.”

“You don’t need any introduction, anyway,” I said to my neighbor, who could only have been Kevin. I grinned and proffered a hand. “Mr. Richardson, I presume. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Kevin returned my smile, genuine but more reserved than Brian. “Miz Michaels, I presume. The pleasure is all mine. Your reputation precedes you by a mile.”

“Then it couldn’t be that much of a pleasure.” I smiled at the warm-faced blonde woman at Kevin’s other elbow. “Hi, I’m Meg.”

“Brian’s lady. Right.” The woman smiled and waved. “I’m Kristin.”

“You and Kristin should have lots to talk about,” Brian said in my ear. “She’s a photographer, too. Maybe we should all play Chinese fire drill so you two can chat.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Kevin said. The dry dad was back. He looked at his watch. “We’re not in the horse barn, and anyway, we should be starting any minute.”

“Whatever you say, Mufasa.” Brian winked at me as I leaned back in my seat.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, A.J. and a middle-aged woman in a red pantsuit, carrying a small notebook, walked up to the altar. A.J. was wearing the same white tie and tails, capped off with a top hat and white gloves. Of course. I half-wondered where his monocle was. I shot a skeptical sidelong glance at Brian, who just shrugged with a little smile.

The tune of the violins changed, and I thought I recognized it as “Come What May” from Moulin Rouge! Nick walked down the aisle in his tails, with a tall blonde woman on his arm who wore a long, frilly red dress. I recognized her as Rochelle’s friend Lindie, who’d visited us on the tour. It made perfect sense for them both to be standing on the altar, but it seemed awfully convenient, given the little twitch at the corner of Nick’s lips, the snicker Brian couldn’t quite muffle. This time, Kevin and I both cleared our throats, and I thought I heard something between a squeak and a snicker come from Kristin.

And then we were all on our feet, and between the heads of other people, I saw Rochelle, walking alone, a vision in champagne-colored satin and lace, bright red streaks in her dark hair and a bright smile on her face, eyes only for A.J. I stole a glance at the altar, and I thought I saw A.J. brush a knuckle under one eye.

My own eyeballs prickled. Slippin’, Michaels, slippin’. I barely knew these people, in the grand scheme of things. Fate’s sense of humor was even more twisted than mine. My fingers found Brian’s and gave them a private little squeeze.

For all the fanfare, the ceremony didn’t last long. Lindie read from 1 Corinthians 13 in her brassy twang. The officiant pressed her notebook to her chest and declared, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” They were devoted to the theme, that was for sure.

I was waiting for A.J. to sing, but I knew the moment he opened his mouth to speak his vows that there was no way it would happen. His voice betrayed the same tears his furious blinking had suggested. Rochelle, who had made it through her vows without so much as a quaver, now gave him a watery smile of her own and appeared to squeeze his hand hard.

“For better or for worse,” the officiant prompted.

“For better or for worse,” A.J. repeated, his voice even raspier than usual.

I thought back to my own mother’s wedding, the one I’d been alive for. It had looked almost nothing like this -- half a dozen people in a park on the Mississippi River, Mom holding carnations, me wearing a poufy pink dress -- but wasn’t it all the same in the end? Wasn’t this, at its heart, universally, no matter the language or place or time, how two people agreed to go all in and share their lives?

“In sickness and in health,” A.J. said.

“Forsaking all others,” the officiant went on.

“Forsaking all others.”

I stole a sidelong glance at Brian. He was watching me, with that little smile he reserved only for me. My face warmed. I returned his smile, squeezed his knee, turned back to the front. And still I could feel his eyes on me.

“Until death do us part,” A.J. was saying.

The world tilted, just a bit. I never would have said it out loud. I never would have said it in a place like this. But as I thought again about my mom and stepdad exchanging their vows under the bridge, suddenly, unbidden, came another image: I was the one in white, and Brian was the one holding my hands, and we were the ones who had found each other. The thought, silly and far too soon as it was, took my breath away.

Under that giant, ridiculous windmill, the officiant spread her arms wide and said, “I present to you the new Mr. & Mrs. A.J. McLean.”

A.J. grabbed Rochelle and dipped her, and they mashed their faces together in a kiss that provoked a few wolf whistles in the midst of the wild applause. Over their heads, I thought I saw Nick wink at Lindie, who I could swear rolled her eyes, even as she thumbed at her own cheek.

The string quartet struck up “Heroes” -- I wanted to applaud all over again -- and A.J. and Rochelle practically skipped down the aisle, hand in hand, grinning like idiots.

As Nick and Lindie made their way back down the aisle, I looked at Brian, who was grinning past me. “He did it, man,” he said to Kevin.

“He sure did.” Kevin rubbed one eye unconvincingly and muttered something about an errant contact, but he was smiling fondly. Kristin half-smiled and rubbed his arm.

Brian beamed at both of us. “Our little Boner’s all grown up.”

Two people in the row in front of us turned to look at Brian. I should have been embarrassed, but I felt too many things in too few seconds. And anyway, hadn’t he said we were a team?

“Tourette’s,” I said to them, batting my eyelashes innocently. Brian pressed his knuckles to his mouth, but I caught a wink.

Without much warning, we were shepherded back into the lobby, which was full of high-top tables and scantily clad women -- Moulin Rouge dancers, I supposed -- bearing trays of champagne flutes and unidentifiable foods. The concierge desk had been transformed into a bar, flanked by red-lit ice sculptures of windmills. The string quartet was setting up in a corner.

“They watched Moulin Rouge!, right?” Kristin said as she walked up alongside me. She was several years older than me and a full head taller, even in the highest heels I’d ever worn, and she bent to be heard over the buzz that filled the lobby as guests filtered out.

“I have to assume so, with the music they picked for the ceremony.” I grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray.

Kristin pressed her lips together, but they curved upward anyway. “So…they know it’s about a whorehouse, right?”

I threw an arm outward, realizing half a second too late that champagne wasn’t a solid. “Exactly.”

“OK. I’m just glad that occurred to someone else.” She winked at me. “So Brian said you’re a photographer?”

I glanced around as subtly as I could and caught sight of Brian and Kevin talking to a guy I didn’t recognize. “Yeah. Well…as a hobby. It’s not my day job. They probably told you what that is.”

Kristin nodded, smiling. “Rolling Stone. That has to be fun.”

“It’s…” I sipped my champagne. “Not as glamorous as you think. I cover politics these days, but even music wasn’t always that exciting.”

The lie rolled off my tongue more and more easily these days. The truth was, I missed the hell out of it. Politics was more important to the world, but it didn’t quicken my heart quite the same way, didn’t run quite so deeply in my bloodstream. There were days already that I looked longingly toward my old pod of desks, or made up excuses to slow down by my old boss’ door, or clenched my teeth against the sound of my new boss’ voice, or asked myself outright if it was worth giving up a really specific part of something I loved to make it easier to be with someone I loved.

Brian caught my eye again. He was talking more animatedly to his and Kevin’s companion, a pale-haired bro in a slim-cut navy blue suit that shimmered just a little. He gestured with his highball glass in my direction, grinning from ear to ear. The bro looked, and his lips formed an acknowledging “oh, yeah” and a polite smile. Caught in the crosshairs, I waggled my fingers in greeting and winked at Brian.

Yeah. OK. It was probably worth it.

“Have you seen anyone you know?” Kristin was asking. She saw my wave at Brian and smiled. “Oh, God love him. Kev said he seems so happy. You must be pretty good for him.”

My face warmed. I felt like clapping my hands to my heart and swooning. I felt like walking over to Brian and wrapping my arms around him and showing the world that no, they weren’t mistaken, he’d picked me, of all people.

Instead, I looked up at Kristin, changing the subject. “Do they talk a lot?” I blurted out, of all the asinine questions.

Kristin shrugged, her face veiled suddenly, evasive, maybe a touch guilty. “They’ve been talking more,” she said simply.

“Hmm.” I kept my tone noncommittal. Brian had never once mentioned it. He was hardly obligated to tell me about every conversation he had, every shit he took -- that particular topic was at least half the reason he was friends with Nick, I was pretty sure -- but it did seem odd, surprised as he’d been to hear Kevin’s voice on Thanksgiving.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, you asked if I’d seen anyone I know. I don’t think I have yet, actually. I never met a lot of my music sources in person.” I’d glanced around a handful of times already for a face I recognized, a producer or an artist I’d profiled -- the guys knew a lot of people, and I’d been here before for stories -- but I came up short. Had I already been gone so long?

“I was just curious.” Kristin nabbed two little bacon-wrapped concoctions off a passing tray and proffered one to me. I popped it into my mouth; it was a huge, stuffed green olive.

Brian and Kevin walked back over to us. Brian slipped an arm around my waist and pecked me on the lips. I caught a hint of whiskey. He licked his lips and grinned.

“Mmmmmm, bacon,” he said, doing his best Homer Simpson.

I sighed. “I cannot take you anywhere. And I’m supposed to be the crass New Yorker.”

“You’re good enough for the both of us.” He squeezed me around the waist. “I’m definitely with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

I smiled into his eyes, which did not seem to be bullshitting me. “You’re sweet. I wouldn’t say that while the bride’s in the room. She’ll black your eye.” I glanced around. I didn’t see A.J. and Rochelle, come to think of it. Probably taking pictures or consummating their marriage upstairs or whatever newlyweds did during their guests’ cocktail hour.

“So, Meg, how you liking La-La Land?” Kevin had slipped his hand into Kristin’s and was surveying the crowd.

“I think the air tastes different here. And I don’t think that’s all smog,” I said. A woman walked past, her hair dyed lavender to match her dress. I was pretty sure she was not Lady Gaga. Maybe one of her ladies-in-waiting. Maybe she went to the same hair salon as Rochelle. Either one of those would probably get you a mention on TMZ.

Kevin chuckled. “It’s definitely not. Still feels a little weird to be out on the beat.”

“Out on the beat? Stealing my reporter talk?” His lingering good-ol'-boy drawl and easy smile put me at ease. I was certain it ran in the family, blood and band alike. The last Backstreet Boy I had to win over. The thought was fully formed before I could stop it, and I dared not speak it out loud.

Across the room, I finally spotted a familiar face. “Speaking of which,” I said, “I think I need to go say hi to one of the Neptunes.” I made the words as casual as possible. NBD. Just one of the biggest names in hip-hop and one of the few people out here who had always, always given me the time of day. I could not imagine what they were doing here, and then, in my next breath, I realized friendship was a funny thing in this place, another thing that tasted different.

Brian followed my gaze. “Oh, yeah. I haven’t seen that guy in years. They did a remix for us on Black and Blue. I’ll go with you.” He pinched my waist and winked. “I need to show you off, sweet girl.”

I mock-glared at him. “You need to show me off? Like I’m a new car?”

He kissed my cheek. “You’re better than a car. If only just.”

Kevin made a disgusted noise, and Kristin laughed. “Enjoy that while it lasts, Meg. It’ll wear off faster than cheap gold plating.”

We wove our way through the room, Brian’s fingers laced through mine. He paused a few times to say hello to a face he recognized, always touching the small of my back as he added, “Hey, I’d like you to meet my lady friend, Meg.”

Finally, we reached Pharrell from the Neptunes, who was wearing, so help me God, a shorts tuxedo with Vans sneakers. He looked like James Bond from the waist up and a Less Than Jake roadie from the waist down.

“What’s up, bro?” Brian exchanged a complicated handshake with Pharrell that ended in a bro-hug.

“Hey, man, just enjoyin’ the blessed occasion.” Pharrell’s eyes landed on me, and he squinted as if trying to place me. “Now, don’t tell me. I should remember that hair.”

I smiled. I’d tamed my hair with a clip tonight, but it was a nice excuse. “Meg Michaels, Rolling Stone. It’s been a while, dude. I wanted to come over and say hi in person for once.”

“It has.” Pharrell hugged me. “You ain’t rung my cell lately. They keepin’ you busy?”

“I cover politics now. Run for Congress, and I’ll give you a call.” I winked.

“Aw, man. You think music’s bad?” He turned to Brian. “We gotta do another remix. I think I got A.J. almost halfway convinced to do another solo album.”

Brian clapped him on the shoulder. “Man, good luck with that. I think he’s gonna be a little preoccupied for a while.”

I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and glanced over to see a black-clad photographer with an industrial bar through one ear. He flashed his teeth in a cheesy grin.

“Aw, crap,” Brian muttered as Pharrell wandered away. “Now you’ll be on TMZ.”

“Oh, I think they’ll just call me ‘a guest,’” I muttered back. “Unless we do something to make them pay attention.” I saw another flash out of the corner of my eye as Brian took my hand again, playing with my fingers. “That might qualify.”

“Hate to break it to you, girl,” Brian said through his teeth, “but if it’s a slow news day tomorrow, you’re gonna have a few new Google hits no matter what.”

“So you’re just being sweet because you can?”

He grinned. “I can’t help it. I’m the sweetest person you know.”

I kissed him. Screw the photographers. “You’re a pain in the ass is what you are,” I said against his lips.

“God, break it up.” Howie was at my elbow. “You’re like a couple of teenagers. If I look over on the dance floor and Rok’s trying to cop a feel, I’m gonna blow a dart at you.”

“Do you often bring blow darts to formal events?” I deadpanned.

“Oh, no, he totally does,” Brian said. “He blew a tranquilizer dart at Kevin at his wedding when he thought he was getting too nervous. It was like watching a friggin’ sequoia fall.”

The gorgeous, purple lace-clad, dark-haired woman next to Howie rolled her eyes, but played along. “We won’t even talk about our wedding. I had to send one of my bridesmaids to confiscate it. We could have had a lot of fun with that during Mass.”

“Very funny, girls.” Howie placed a hand on the woman’s back. “Meg, I’d like you to meet my wife, Leigh.”

Leigh squeezed my hand in both of hers. “It’s wonderful to meet you finally. These guys were just ecstatic when you and Brian became a couple, so I figured you had to be great. What did you give them on that tour?”

I grinned. “Special brownies?”

Howie cleared his throat. “We had a deal, Miz Michaels,” he mock-grumbled. “Anyway, I’m supposed to tell you to go back in the ballroom. We’re gonna have dinner soon. I think they stuck us all at one table.”

“Good. More time to…” Brian exchanged a speaking glance with Howie, who nodded.

Leigh smiled at me, a little wearily. “The original psychic friends. Better get used to it.”

In the ballroom, the red velvet chairs had been rearranged around red-draped tables. Nick was already sitting at our table near the front, staring at a tray of artful little rolls and crackers.

“Y’know, you should probably buy that bread a drink if you’re going to undress it with your eyes like that,” Brian cracked as he plopped into the seat next to Nick.

Nick rubbed his stomach. “That sandwich was a long goddamn time ago, Rok.” His eyes landed on me, and he wolf-whistled. “Meg, you’re a laaaaaaaaady! What is up?”

Brian glared at Nick, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “I’m the only one who gets to whistle at her. Get your own. You could probably get some bridesmaid booty tonight.”

“You ain’t wrong. Giggity.” Nick waggled his eyebrows at Brian as he got up to hug me.

I side-hugged Nick around the waist. “Carter, you say giggity again while you’re touching me, and I’m within rights to punch you.”

“Nick, don’t scare off Brian’s nice girlfriend,” Kevin said wearily, as if Nick were a toddler pulling the cat’s tail, as he sat down across the table.

“If you’d been on that bus, you’d know it’s a little late for that,” I said, doing my valiant best to ignore the look that passed among them as soon as that first part was out of my mouth.

No sooner had we all settled into our seats than someone near the front of the room played a trumpet and we were on our feet again, cheering wildly for A.J. and Rochelle as they entered the ballroom, holding their joined hands triumphantly in the air and grinning incandescently. Brian squeezed my hand hard, and I could see in his eyes how close he was to bursting with joy for his friend.

Waiters brought out course after course, a colorful salad, a velvety orange soup, steak, new glasses of wine to go with them all. I sat up as straight as I could, tried to use the proper forks, swallowed before I spoke. I was a long way removed from the country, but this wasn’t quite my element. I was pretty sure Brian and I both were far too domestic for this, and I didn’t quite think it counted as the wining and dining he’d tried to promise me in the beginning.

The two wives were ridiculously nice, and we fell into an easy conversation about photography and music and the guys, rearranging ourselves to sit together. It was only when the talk turned to kids that I glanced across the table and noticed all five guys engrossed in conversation, their chairs pulled together, A.J. squatting on his haunches beside them as Rochelle drifted to the next table.

“What do you suppose they’re so serious about?” Leigh took a sip of her wine. Kristin took a long drink of her wine as well, gazing at the front of the room, her expression unreadable. Leigh scowled at her. “Well, you’re real useful.”

“They’re probably talking about fantasy football,” I said helpfully. Both women looked at me like I’d grown another head, for the first time in the conversation, and it was my turn to hide in my wine.

As we were finishing our cake -- which, unsurprisingly, was about seven tiers tall and topped with what looked like an elaborate sugar Eiffel Tower -- A.J. and Rochelle walked onto the huge dance floor, hand in hand. A 10-piece band had encamped near the dance floor, but they sat idle. Instead, something pre-recorded spilled forth from their speakers as they embraced and began to waltz. Something familiar and very, very ridiculous.

Brian’s voice filled the room from 12 years in the past: “You are my fire…”

“No,” the wives and I said out loud. All four guys at the table, including Kevin, gave us shitty grins. I could feel everyone in the room looking at our table.

“You knew about this,” I said to Brian as I sat down next to him again. It clearly wasn’t a question.

He was practically cackling. “’Course I did. A.J.’s horrible at surprises.”

I patted his knee. “Remind me to tell you a story about my birthday.” This song, after all, would never not remind me of going for a punishing run that morning, fighting a losing battle against my emotions when I was sure all was lost with Brian.

“Oh, yeah. When was that?” He laid an arm across the back of my chair.

I cleared my throat delicately. “About three weeks after I left the tour.”

Brian looked at his lap and mumbled something about shitting the bed. I couldn’t be sure in this light, but I thought I saw his face reddening.

“Yes, you did.” I couldn’t quite keep the smile out of my voice.

He winked at me. “Will you let me make it up to you next year?”

I pressed my lips together against a smile, a wave of warmth. “Depends if you’re sick of me yet.”

He pulled me closer. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, sweet girl.”

The band struck up “Dynamite” as soon as “I Want It That Way” ended, and Rochelle turned to the rest of the room, beckoning us to the dance floor with both arms. Kristin grabbed my hand and pulled me up before I could object.

The room seemed to explode in color and light and music as the band played song after song, their range impressive, never slowing down for a moment. I never wanted for a drink in my hand or a dance partner. Brian seemed to be in the mood to dance, and our late night in Nashville proved to have been no fluke; we made a good pair on the dance floor. There was no confusion now, just pure joy. And knowing what else he could do with his body gave me a whole new appreciation for his dancing. More than once, his eyes teased me with the promise of later. The I am going to sleep with you look didn’t scare me anymore. Far from it.

At one point, Rochelle grabbed my hand and twirled me around and pulled me into a circle with the wives. I remembered how kind she was, but being included with the wives was a whole different level. Somehow, it didn’t scare me, either, and I gamely sang with them, “I wanna be the one to walk in the sun, oh, girls, they wanna have fu-un...”

Maybe this could be my element after all. I was about as interested in moving to L.A. as Brian seemed to be in moving back, but this was my first time seeing the guys as his girlfriend, my first time seeing their wives at all, and it felt seamless, easy, natural. I’d never been the kind of person who’d had tons of friends, but yes, perhaps these could be my friends. This was the last piece I’d had to worry about.

Eventually, the music stopped. I looked around. The guys had disappeared to a corner of the floor. A.J. beckoned Rochelle over as someone brought out a chair for her to sit in. Leigh tugged my elbow as we all backed away, giving them some room. Kristin pulled her phone out of her bra, and I saw her open the video app.

All five guys started to harmonize, a chorus of “ooooohs,” then “Just to be close to ya…”

“Awww.” Leigh sighed in my ear. “They did this at our wedding.”

I could hear a murmur in the crowd. I looked at her. “All of them?” The glance she gave the floor answered my question.

I wrapped my arms around myself and listened. If there was such a thing as a deep cut with the Backstreet Boys, this was it. I’d only heard this song once, years ago. Their voices sounded so different now that it was no wonder they didn’t seem to perform it much anymore.

A.J. was down on one knee as his part in the song arrived. “There will never be no one else for me,” he sang, his heart in every word. ”You are like a dream that became reality.”

Rochelle had her back to me, but her hands went to her face. I smiled. What a nice treat for her.

Was this what I had to look forward to?

Michaels, you idiot! Quit putting the cart before the horse!

I glanced over my shoulder. At least half a dozen other people were taking video on their phones. It was suddenly as clear as day. My heart turned over with the realization. Of course. If there wasn’t something on TMZ tomorrow, I’d be stunned. That was their scheme, their serious conversation.

I looked back at the front of the room, at Kevin, at the clear enjoyment on his face. This wasn’t just a treat for the bride. It was a teaser for the rest of us.

Now Nick was singing: “So lonely is the night without you to hold meeeee tight…”

That was an awkward thing to sing when you were the best man. I caught his eye and shook my head at him. I could have sworn he mouthed “Bite me” before he started harmonizing with the others again.

Brian stole a glance at me as he jumped in. “My life would mean nothing without the jooooooy you bring to meeeee.” He winked at me.

Leigh elbowed me gently. “God love him,” she whispered. “And God love you.”

I didn’t look at her, but kept watching the guys. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the wedding, but maybe the cart wasn’t too far in front of the horse.

When the song ended, Brian walked up to me and kissed my cheek. “Let’s get some air,” he said, before I could say anything.

Outside, the night air had grown chilly, and I shivered. Brian shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and draped it over my shoulders. I slipped my arms into it and pulled it around me, and he took my hands and pulled me close, kissing me back by my ear. It was a pretense.

“Kevin’s coming back,” he said into my ear. The smile in his voice was unmistakable.

There it was. The three words seemed to explode in the air. I feigned surprise. “You’re shitting me.”

“I am serious as sin. We need to talk to Jenn and stuff, we can’t say anything for a while, but I think we’re gonna make this happen.” He was grinning from ear to ear as I pulled back to look at him. “I don’t know how yet. But…” He squeezed my hand. “Stay tuned.”

Hearing him say it, I was suddenly flooded with the implications. There would be press, there would be performances. Maybe a tour. Maybe an album. Their 20th anniversary wasn’t far away. Holy shit. This was bigger than Kevin. It was bigger than us. I opened and closed my mouth several times, like a dying fish.

Finally, I threw my arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “Y’all crazy, but you said we’re a team, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

“It’s gonna be a big year, girl.” He squeezed me around the waist. Hope filled his voice. “You gonna be there?”

I pulled back. His eyes were shining with anticipation and, yes, prompting me to answer. I bit my lip. “You gonna let me?” I parried.

He pulled his jacket a little closer around me, tugging me closer by the lapels. “I think we can make something work.”

Our lips met in a sweet kiss that quickly deepened. I slipped my arms around his waist, and he ran restless hands up and down my back through the jacket.

“I’m gonna order a car,” he whispered against my lips, one hand leaving my back, no doubt going for his phone. “We need to go in and tell them bye.”

“So soon?”

He pulled back. The naughty look in his eyes brooked no argument.

In the car, with Brian’s jacket still tucked around me, I laid my head on his shoulder. My feet were throbbing, my eyelids heavy. The Uber would surely turn back into a pumpkin at any moment. My ears rang and my brain swirled with too much music and joy, too many drinks hitting me at once.

“That might have been the happiest I’ve ever seen two people,” I said.

He laced his fingers through mine. “If couples could always remember how they felt tonight, I think they’d stay happy a lot longer.” His thoughtful voice was leavened with a little too much whiskey that seemed to be hitting him all at once, too. “I mean… Yeah. You know what I mean.”

I smiled. There was something bittersweet in the thought, knowing what he’d been through, but I dared not bring it up. “I think you’re on to something.”

Brian squeezed my hand. “You really were the most beautiful woman there. Don’t tell them I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” I snuggled closer to him.

He tilted my face up to his, fingers under my chin. “You’re safe with me.”

It could have been the drinks at work on my brain, but it didn’t feel like a silly comeback at all. His eyes, so blue even in the dark, implied otherwise. I leaned in and kissed him, a kiss I meant as much as I’d ever meant anything, and the world seemed to narrow to our lips and spin around us.

The driver cleared his throat what felt like 15 seconds later. I broke the kiss and looked out the window to see Brian’s little tile-roofed hiding-in-plain-sight bungalow, glowing softly with expensive uplighting. Time flies when you’re sucking face. Brian tore himself away to fumble with his credit card, and then he was grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the car so abruptly that I almost tripped over my heels.

It was dark inside the house, but moonlight patterned the floor through the back sliding door. I leaned against the wall, pulled the clip out of my hair and shook it loose. “Wonderful Tonight” popped into my head, and I hummed a few bars, watching Brian in the dark as he locked the door. He took his jacket off me and hung it on a hook by the door, and then he was sliding one arm around my waist and bracing the other against the wall as he pulled me close, surrounding me with his warmth and his scent.

“My darlin’, you were wonderful tonight,” he half-whispered, half-sang as he nuzzled my hair aside and nibbled the junction of my neck and shoulder. I didn’t bother trying to muffle a moan, but he covered my lips with his before I could make another sound.

The world was spinning and tilting again. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep from slithering down the wall, dizzy with desire. His hands slid down, splaying over my ass and giving it a healthy squeeze, before lifting me off the floor so I could wrap my legs around his waist, my skirt bunching around mine. I could feel him hard against me, and I moaned again into his mouth.

After what could have been seconds or hours, I felt Brian work one hand between me and the wall, ease down the zipper on my dress. His other hand was on my ass under my dress. He broke the kiss, and his eyes were startlingly intense and so very, very blue. It was hardly the first time we’d had sex, not even the first time this visit, but something about this felt more serious, more passionate.

“I meant it, sweet girl.” His eyes dropped to where his hand was tugging at the neck of my dress, easing it down along with my arm so he could kiss my collarbone.

“Mmmmeant what?” I tangled my fingers in his hair to hold him to the spot, but he lifted his head again.

“Look at me,” he whispered, so uncharacteristically serious that I looked. There was a hope and a passion in his eyes I’d never seen. Never.

“I wanna share all these…these things with you.” His soft voice roared in the silent house. “I wanna share my life with you. I want that to be us.”

The world narrowed to his eyes, which felt very far away, even though our faces were inches apart. I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the moment engraving itself on my heart and mind. I hadn’t been so stupid to think of other weddings tonight. Some couples saw their turning point only in the rearview mirror. I saw ours right here, against this wall, which was not lost on me.

“Are you asking?” My voice came out very small and shaky.

“I’m saying I’m all in.” He ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek, a tender, feather-light touch that made me shiver. His eyes crinkled a little in the corners. “I really…really love you, Meg. Really.”

My throat constricted around any words I possibly could have offered him. Instead, I pressed my hands to his cheeks, so he couldn’t get away, and I hoped my kiss could get the point across. I’m all in. Ask me. I’ll say yes. I want this. I want you. I’ll never stop.

Finally, my throat stopped burning, and I broke away just long enough to whisper, “I love you, Brian. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands were under my ass again as he pulled me tighter against him. “Yes, you are,” he whispered against my lips. I still couldn’t quite tell if he was joking as he went on, “You’re gonna come to my bed and let me love on you, and I’m never gonna let you leave.”

He finally stepped back from the wall, still holding me close, and we stumbled toward the bedroom, our promises hanging in the wake of every step.