Smile for the Camera & Strike up the Band

Alessandria

“Good morning, lovebirds.” I woke to Kal’s voice the morning of the wedding, and I stretched, accidentally smacking Patrick in the process. I opened one bleary eye and saw the guitarist looking down at us, amused, “What’re you sleeping on the couch for?”

Patrick yawned and wrapped an arm around my waist, rubbing his chin with his free hand. He wasn’t really awake, and I knew it. After making the mistake a few times, I’d learned that Patrick often showed signs of wakefulness when he was, indeed, still fast asleep. So I answered for him, “We fell asleep watching Law & Order reruns. We were up pretty late.”

“Oh?” She wiggled her eyebrows scandalously.

I rolled my eyes and gestured to the keyboard by the recliner, a few feet away. “Patrick and Annette were working on the father-daughter song I wrote. Sorry if that’s not sexy enough for you.” She made a face at me and crossed her arms over her chest, feigning a huff and heading off toward the kitchen. Once she was gone, I felt Patrick nuzzle his nose against the back of my neck.

“I heard something about ‘sexy,’” he told me, his voice quiet and groggy, but still playful. His arm tightened around my waist and he pressed a kiss to my neck. “Whose sexy? Me?” I giggled and squirmed at the tickle of his kisses until I was turned to face him, and his face went from teasing to sweet and sincere in a split second. “Good morning, love.” I blushed furiously, recalling the confession of the night before; he’d told me he loved me. He was in love with me. And I was pretty sure I felt the same.

I was glad to have the excuse of tiredness to cover for the way my words came out, thick and breathy. He’d never guess that I was fighting back the millions of emotions I had for him. “Good morning, Patrick.” We stayed like that for a long while, cuddled up in each others’ arms on the couch, until my son eventually found his way out of bed and to the living room, pouting and holding his hungry stomach.

After Annette and Rian teamed up to make quite possibly the most delicious breakfast I’d ever tasted, the groom-to-be excused himself for some last-minute bonding time with his groomsmen (aka, his brother and bandmates), leaving Patrick, Kal, Annette, Dacian and I alone in a house that wasn’t ours. Patrick and Annette decided to go over the song a few more times, and Kal and I--not wanting to disturb them--decided to take Dacian to a nearby park with Sebastian and Peyton (and Gizmo, whom Vicky had left at the house to avoid hotel management issues).

“So,” Kal said after a while, as Dacian ran around with the dogs, “You and Patrick are the real deal, huh?”

I shrugged, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know,” she poked me in the ribs playfully, “The way you two look at each other? No one else in the world exists.” She smiled and sighed happily, “You guys are so in love.”

I couldn’t help but smile too, blushing and looking down at my shoes. “Yeah,” I agreed softly, “I guess we are.”

Erica

I’m an idiot. A lucky idiot, but an idiot indeed. Upon making it back to my hotel room, I’d decided to engage in a vodka-shot battle with Lipshaw, desperate to drink away the heavy desires that were still coursing through my body. We hadn’t stopped until we were halfway through a bottle of Smirnoff and teetering on our feet. That’s where the ‘idiot’ part came in. The ‘lucky’ part was when I woke up the next morning with only the dullest ache in my temples and a slight stiffness to my joints. “Hey,” a voice said when I started moving around, and I looked over my shoulder to see that Lipshaw, apparently, had passed out next to me in my bed, “How do you feel?”

I rubbed the sides of my head and cleared my throat, “Not as bad as I should, thank god. You?”

“I threw up twice, ate about half a loaf of bread, and now I’m mostly okay.”

I patted his head, “Is there anything I’m not better than you at?”

He thought for a moment, then guessed, “Sex?” I whacked him on the chest and then swung my legs over the bed, standing and stretching before I headed for the main room, where I could distinctly smell warmed poptarts and coffee.

Cassadee looked up with a smile as soon as I joined the rest of the band at the table, eyes twinkling. “Hey, girl; how hungover are you today?” I pinched my fingers together to show just a little bit, then grabbed a brown sugar poptart from her plate and took a big bite. She didn’t even take notice. “So are you excited for your big wedding date? It’s only six hours away.”

I glared at her, swallowing the mouthful and snapping, “Jesus, Cass, I just woke up.”

“I know, I know,” she laughed, “But you guys are just so cute together. He’s all outright and flirtatious, and you’re so guarded and shy; it’s like a Michael Cera movie, just waiting to happen.” Before I could make a snappy comeback, she’d held up both of her hands and was changing the subject, “Anyway, I hope you don’t mind, but I booked us both appointments at the hotel salon to get our nails and hair done for the wedding.”

I finished off the poptart and nodded slowly, “Yeah, sure, that’s fine.” Just as long as there was no more conversation about me, Gabe, and Michael Cera.

Three hours later, after slumming around the suite for a while, Cass and I made our way down to the salon. While she chattered excitedly to her stylist about the wedding and her dress and how happy she was for her friends getting married, I sat in mostly silence as a woman named Anna tugged my hair into clips and curls, thinking about the “date” that was quickly approaching. I knew I should be thinking more of Rian and Kara and how happy I was for them, all I could think about was Gabe, and the unspoken promise he’d made the night before. “Don’t drink too much at the reception,” he’d said, implying that something might happen between us; something my mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend right now.

“Ow!” I yelped at one point, when Anna grazed my ear with a flat iron.

She quickly pulled the device away and covered her mouth with her hand, “I’m sorry, hon!” She apologized, “I didn’t think I was that close.”

I rubbed my ear, laughing a little, “Don’t worry about it. I needed to be snapped out of my thought process anyway.”

Alessandria

“Oh, I need a break!” Patrick whined, looping his arms over my shoulders from behind and resting his chin on the top of my head. I shifted carefully in my seat so as not to disturb Kal--who was painting my toenails--and smiled at my boyfriend.

“You’re the one that agreed to it.”

“I know,” he sighed, walking around to sit in the chair next to mine. “But I was just so flattered.” On top of putting music to my lyrics for the father-daughter dance, he was also performing the song that Rian and Kara would have their first dance to; being the romantic he was, Patrick wanted it to be perfect. Catching me completely off-guard, he looked at my fingernails and my toenails and said with a smirk, “So can I assume that your dress for the wedding is gray?”

I swatted at him, “Yes, but no more guessing; you know these dresses are supposed to be fun little surprises for you.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to my temple, “No more guessing,” he agreed. “I like surprises.” He kissed me again before stretching out his arms and shaking his head, “I think I’m going to watch cartoons with DJ for a bit before Annette and I get back to the music.”

“Sounds good,” I told him, then asked, “Oh, Patrick, could you make him a snack? I’m sure he’s getting hungry.” Instead of answering, he gave me another quick kiss and pulled open the door that led inside from the back porch. A moment later, I heard him calling out to my son about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I smiled to myself.

Kal snorted and shook her head, “Yeah, you guys are like Annette’s parents; adorably, annoyingly perfect.” She put one last coat of gray paint on my pinky toe and capped the bottle, examining her own green manicure, “Okay, after that dries, we really need to disengage Net from ‘the music.’ We only have three hours to get ready.”

“Only?” I blinked; when did three hours become a short amount of time?

She rolled her bright blue eyes at me, “You and Erica, I swear; so new to Girl Land.”

Maybe I’m doing Girl Land wrong, but it only took me an hour to get ready for the wedding. I hadn’t even started until Annette and Kal had already been locked together in a bathroom for forty-five minutes, and I still managed to finish before them. My make-up was done in soft whites and grays that would compliment both my wedding and reception dresses, and my hair was down in soft curls that fell over my shoulders. All I had left to do was slip on my dress, stockings an shoes, and I was good to go.

“Sweetheart,” Patrick mumbled, walking into our guestroom and glaring down at his suit, “Something is wrong with this shirt.”

“What do you m--” I looked him over and laughing, rolling my eyes, “Patrick, you missed a button.”

“What? I did n--oh, yes, I did,” he noted with a light blush as he looked himself over.

I smirked, “Dork.” Without thinking, my fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them strictly with the intent of buttoning it correctly. It wasn’t until I looked up and caught sight of his pale blue-green eyes, staring at me with smoldering intensity, that the full weight of the situation settled in. There I was, alone in a room with my boyfriend, unbuttoning his shirt, fingers trailing over his chest; of course it wouldn’t necessarily be so casual for him. Nor me, I realized as soon as I found his eyes; of course I would want this to progress the logical way as well.

My hands still on his undershirt, breath caught in my throat as he slowly leaned into me. As his lips touched mine, I felt my eyes drift shut and my hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders, tangling in his hair. In turn, his arms looped around my waist, holding me tighter than usual, kissing me harder than usual, translating desire so there was nothing up for debate. I held on just as tightly and kissed back with just as much force, feeling a separation despite our closeness and striving to close it--to be as close to him as humanly possible. It was a new feeling, and I couldn’t decide what the outweighing factor was: Fear or excitement.

A moment later, however, it was ripped away as Patrick took two steps back and several deep breaths, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Alessandria.”

“Huh?” I asked stupidly, my mind scrambling to catch up.

He started buttoning his shirt and shook his head, “I don’t want you to feel rushed. I don’t want you to think that I told you I loved you just so I could…” He sighed through his nose and finished the last button before stepping back toward me and holding my head in his hands, “I’m in love with you, Alessandria. And even if it takes ten years for you to be comfortable enough to take certain steps, I will still be in love with you; I just want you to know that.”

Oh, I realized. He thought he was pressuring me; thought he was pushing me further than I was ready to go. It was an understandable fear, considering how our first anniversary had gone. But still, I hadn’t felt as scared as I had back then; as frantic. Now I was--dare I say it--comfortable with him. Maybe no necessarily ready for sex, but definitely able to consider the possibility now. Whether it was the advising of Dr. Lorne or the depth of my feelings for Patrick, I wasn’t sure, but it was a possibility no less.

“I’m going to go finish helping Dacian get ready,” he told me after a moment of silence, running a thumb over my cheek and smiling at me, “Okay? You should get your dress on; Jack just called and said Matt will be here I about half an hour to pick us up.”

I nodded, unable to speak, and watched as he shut the door behind him, leaving me alone in the room again. Hands shaking, I unzipped the second garment bag I’d brought with me, carefully slipping the dress off the hanger and stepping into it. It fit just as perfectly as it had the day I picked it out, which was a relief; I’d gained a little bit of weight since tour ended (though it was much-needed), so having the outfits fit had been a bit of a concern.

The dress was still gorgeous. It was a slate gray garment with strips of curled cloth hanging from it, giving it the effect of smoke rising. It was belted at the ribs and had a modest neckline, appropriate for a wedding. I matched it with a pair of black tights and a pair of gray pumps, with thick heels that I was less likely to fall off of.

By the time there was a knock at my door, I’d covered myself with a black cardigan and slung my purse over my shoulder, ready to go. I opened the door and Patrick paused, looking me over. I smirked and put my hand on my hip, “Am I making the whole ‘patience’ thing easy for you?”

“Not at all,” he said, laughing dryly. Then he took my hand in his and led me out to the living room, where Matt was flipping a keychain over his fingers, tapping his toe against the floor. “Hey,” Patrick told him, holding up his hands, “I told them you were here; it’s not my fault they take forever.” I snorted and scooped Dacian up, straightening his tie while we waited for the other two women.

Matt finally lost his patience and shouted, “Annette! Kal! If you two aren’t out here in the next thirty seconds, I’m telling Jocelyn that it was you guys that used her good baking chocolate for marshmallow fondue!”

There was a scream from the bathroom and some clattering as both women dashed down the hall and to the living room, frantically struggling into jackets and shoes, all while begging Matt to keep his mouth shut. He just laughed and pointed to the door, and they shot him matching death stares before walking through it.

“I’m getting married in the morning,” Patrick sang absently as we followed the women out to the car. “Ding-dong, the bells are going to chime.”

Matt grinned and joined in, “Pull out the stopper--let’s have a whopper--but get me to the church on time.”

Erica

“Woke up today around six in the morning
Violently shaking, remembering what she once saw
She bared it alone, so she carried o--”

I picked up my phone, never once glancing away from the mirror, and immediately put it on speaker. “Hi, Gabe,” I sighed, lining my left eye with a black oil pencil that was still foreign to me.

“You sound so excited,” his voice came through the speaker sarcastically.

“What? Oh,” I groaned and capped the pencil, “No, I’m just attempting to do my make up; keyword being ‘attempting.’ I suck at this girly stuff.”

He made a indistinguishable noise of amusement and said, “You don’t have to get all dolled up just for me, Erica.”

“It’s more for Rian.”

“Do I have competition?”

“Are you competing at all?” I laughed, spreading a champagne colored shadow over my eyelids.

He clicked his tongue and told me, “Only for the past four months or so. Anyway,” he said abruptly, before I had the chance to comment, “I’m on my way up to your suite, so I hope you’re almost ready.”

“Uh,” I looked over my reflection and told him, “Some lipgloss and some dry-heaving and I’m good to go.”

“Lovely.” His line dropped then, which I could only take to mean he was nearby, so I smudged some pink gloss over my lips and straightened the imaginary flyaway hairs back to my bun. A minute later, I heard a knock at the main door, and a moment after that, Cass opened my door and walked in. Wordlessly, she handed me the pink flats she was lending me and nodded toward the front room, which I took to mean that Gabe had indeed arrived.

I slipped on the shoes and looked myself over once more. The dress my friend had chosen for me was pale pink, with shutter pleating and tucked shoulders, and didn’t quite reach my knees. It was cute, sure, but still not quite me. “This is going to be good,” Cass whispered with a giggle as she grabbed my hand and led me to where Gabe was, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. I was sure she’d been more interested in his reaction to my ensemble, but in truth, I think I had a stronger reaction to his. Fitted black suit with a pale pink button-down shirt (I wondered if Cass had somehow orchestrated our matching colors) and a black tie; he was gorgeous.

“Wow,” he said, smiling as he looked me over, “You look beautiful.” He held his hand out to me and Cass gave a proud little smirk before handing me a purse and pushing me forward.

I shot her a look before taking Gabe’s hand, “Thanks.” We said our goodbyes to the other occupants of the suite before walking to the elevator. Once the doors were shut, Gabe dropped my hand and looked me over again, “Okay, so I meant what I said--you do look beautiful. But…that dress is so not you.”

“I know!” I blurted immediately, throwing my hands up in the air, “Cass insisted.”

“Does she know you at all?”

“Apparently not!” I groaned and tugged at the dress with a frown. “The only one she let me help pick was the reception dress; it’s the only one I don’t feel like an Easter ornament in.”

He laughed and patted my back, “Well, I can’t wait to see that one, then.”

I glanced at my cell phone, checking the time, and sighed. “Two long hours until you get to.”

“Damn,” he cursed quietly, snapping his fingers, “The one time I forget to bring my time machine with me.” I couldn’t help but laugh, and he smiled at me as the elevator doors dinged open again. He put one hand against the small of my back and gestured with the other, leading me across the lobby and outside, into the black compact car he’d rented for the week-end.

Once he was fastened in behind the wheel, he turned over the ignition, but made no move to put the car in drive. I glanced over at him to find him staring straight ahead, eyes clouded and looking deep in thought, brow furrowed and fingers tightened around the wheel. “Gabe, are you oka--” He cut me off before I could think, leaning across his seat to mine and holding my face with one hand, pressing a hard kiss to my lips that took my breath away.

It was a quick, two-second kiss--like one you’d give someone before they left for work in the morning--but it was enough to leave me gasping and shaking, eyes wide and surprised. “Sorry,” he said with an equally breathless laugh, putting the car in gear and applying a little pressure to the gas, “I guess I’m just not as patient as I thought I was.”

Alessandria

I don’t think the ushers (Jeff and Evan) knew what the hell they were doing. Instead of prioritizing who sat where, they were just filing everyone in like a high school assembly: Fill the front rows first, and work toward the back. First come, first serve. Luckily, that put us (due to Matt’s anal punctuality) in the fourth row, where we would have a clear view of the bride and groom exchanging nuptials.

I don’t know what I had been expecting, but based off of the rehearsal dinner, this wasn’t it. If I’d had to guess, it would have been something big and flashy, with lots of decorations, but it appeared that the bride and groom had chosen a much simpler décor for the wedding itself. It was outside, in a botanical garden near Inner Harbor, with rows and rows of white chairs in front of a white gazebo, all covered in tangles of purple and yellow flowers, and a white strip of rug leading from the gazebo to the end of the seating, where a twelve-piece orchestra had set up; it was, in a word, perfect.

“There’s Erica,” Patrick whispered a while after we’d been seated, and I looked over my shoulder to see my best friend walk in, hand-in-hand, with Gabe. She looked a little rattled, which was alarming, but there was this crinkle to her eyes that made me suspect it was a good kind of rattled, as opposed to the usual bad. I gave her a little wave, which she returned before followed Evan to her seat, a few rows back from ours.

Dacian shifted in his seat and tugged at his bowtie, “Mommy, do I has to wear this?”

I swatted his hand away lightly, “Just until the reception, baby; after that, you can take it off, I promise. Just be good, okay?” He continued to pout and went back to tugging at the tie, huffing.

“Dacian James,” Patrick said sternly, raising an eyebrow, “What did your mom just say?”

My son frowned and mumbled, “She said ‘be good.’”

“And do you think you’re being very good right now?”

“No.”

“How do you think that makes your mom feel?”

Dacian stared at him for a moment before his hand dropped from his bowtie and he looked at me, “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“It’s okay, DJ,” I told him, patting his hand, “This won’t take long, so just be good.” He nodded and straightened in his chair, facing the front as music started to play and the preacher walked to the gazebo with Rian, who looked like he was on the fence between passing out and doing a football victory dance. As the wedding party began filing out, two by two, I just watched Patrick, thinking about the event that had just occurred. It was small, I realized, but it was also something that happened often. Little fatherly pieces of conversation, light berating when necessary. He wasn’t just spoiling Dacian, trying to get in good with him; he was parenting. He loved me, and my son. He’d done so much for us.

“Stop staring at me,” he whispered with a grin, eyes never leaving the gazebo.

“I love you.” The words spilled out before I could completely think them over, but as soon as I said them, I knew they were true. I loved him, and I needed him in my life. He was someone I trusted, whole-heartedly, not just with me, but with my child as well.

His eyes widened a little and he looked away from the focus of the afternoon, searching my expression, as if trying to detect whether I was lying or not. I bit my lip and shrugged, “I didn’t need as much time as I thought I did to think it over. I love you.”

Slowly, cautiously, he smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. “Thank god.” He brushed my hair away from my face and kissed my temple, lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away, “I love you too.”

Erica

“Well, they’re awful cozy,” Gabe noted, gesturing a few rows up, where Patrick was kissing Alessandria affectionately.

I shrugged, “They’re entitled to it.” I’d been a little punchy since the kiss in the car--all nerves and impulses--and most of my sentences were coming out snappy. I found myself apologizing after every few words, “Sorry.”

He laughed and slung an arm over the back of my chair, “When do we get to be cozy?”

“When we’re entitled,” I muttered, trying desperately to keep from blushing. At that moment, the orchestra music swelled and everyone began to stand, signifying that the bride was about to make her walk down the aisle. As I stood and turned inward, I felt Gabe’s connect sharply with my backside, and I let out a loud yelp, quickly passing it off as a sneeze when people turned to look at me. Now dark red and humiliated, I turned around to glare at my date.

“It was an accident,” he insisted with a laugh that said he was being anything but honest. “Tsk tsk, Erica; if looks could kill.”

I continued to stare him down, “I hate you.”

He shrugged this off, “Ah, no, you don’t.”

Damn. He had me there.