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Wedding Day, nine am
Bloody hell, it’s too early for this. I slide into the seat next to Mycroft, and take a large, scalding gulp of the coffee he’s just poured for me. “Thanks,” I say, barely able to form the words due to my burnt tongue. “Whose bright idea was it to meet the minister this early, and what the hell are you drinking?”
“Mummy’s.” Mycroft sucks down whatever it is he’s drinking (looks like green mud) through a straw. When it’s empty, he grimaces, and manages to lift an eyebrow at me at the same time. “Green power smoothie, they call it. Horrid, but needs must.”
“So green sludge is the secret to your milky, silky skin?”
“It may be too early for flirting,” he says primly, but I can see he’s blushing.
“Right, because I couldn’t even manage a kiss with these jackhammers in my head.”
“Had you not spent last night indulging your bacchanalian pursuits, you’d be over at the buffet, filing your plate with assorted fats and carbohydrates, instead of sitting here with tequila oozing from your pores.”
I gulp more coffee. “It’s definitely too early for big words, Mycroft.”
He sighs. “You’d be eating bacon and potatoes had you not done a bar crawl for your stag do.”
“Oh, look who’s jealous.” I look at him. “I invited you to come along, but you chose to sit on the terrace in the dark and plot world domination.”
“I am not jealous,” he laughs with that hollow, fake laugh I’ve come to hate. “I had a riotous time last night, eating oysters and drinking champagne with my father. Afterward, I indulged in a soothing sit in the sauna, and ate the most exquisite strawberries and cream afterward. If anything, California grows lovely fruit.”
“Mycroft.”
“Yes, well… pardon me for waxing poetic. I’m simply stating that it only seems too early because you were out until well past three this morning, doing god only knows what, and are now reaping the consequences of your actions.”
The ‘god only knows what’ part stands out, even in my hungover state. “Two things. One, you already know what I did, and how I did it, so stop with that. Two, I’m not too keen on this freezing out thing you’re doing, and three, I have a bloody headache, and you’re making it worse.”
“Your hangover has evidently affected your ability to count, since that was three things. Also, I’m not doing anything as trite as ‘freezing you out’.” He pauses as the waiter steps up with a tray. “I took the liberty of procuring food, a digestive tablet, and the hair of the dog for you.”
I roll my eyes at him (which hurts like hell), but manage a smile as the waiter sets a plate with eggy bread and bacon in front of me, along with a glass of water that has a fizzy tablet in it, and a pitcher of what I think is mimosas. Only Mycroft can manage table service at a buffet. “Yeah, ta…. erm, thanks.”
The waiter smiles, and puts a plate of toast near Mycroft’s elbow. “More tea, sir?”
“No, thank you,” Mycroft says stiffly, and shoos him away with a waggle of his fingers.
I watch the waiter go, and chuckle. “He didn’t know whether to be insulted at being dismissed, or melt at the way you did it.”
He rolls his eyes. “You should drink the seltzer before it goes flat.”
“Yeah.” I gulp down the drink in one go, ignoring the fizz that goes up my nose, and set the glass down. “You’re not having anything to eat?”
“Toast is something to eat.” And again, his tone is icy and formal.
“All right then, how about you spill whatever it is that’s got you acting like an arse, so we can try to have a good day. We are getting married later on, and I’d rather not spend my day guessing what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“There isn’t anything wrong with me, Gregory, and I don’t appreciate being called an arse. The minister will be here in approximately five minutes, and it would be a good idea if you didn’t look as though you’d spent last night drinking tequila shots off the stomach of an exotic dancer.”
“I knew it.” I shake my head and pour a bit of syrup on my eggy bread. “I’d forgotten that your default mode is ‘tosser’ when you’re out of your comfort zone. You think I had it off with someone at that club, don’t you?”
“Of course not.” He laughs again, and spreads a bit of butter on a corner of toast. “I’ve only just realised that you enjoy calling me names, Detective Inspector.”
“And you only call me by my title when you want your arse kicked.”
“You could try,” he counters coolly. “Krav Maga trained, if you recall.”
“Yeah, yeah… I recall just fine, but since I’ve only seen you fox trot, I’ll take my chances. But I promise that after I’ve kicked your arse, I’ll help you into a nice, hot bath.”
“If you think that attempting to distract me by using that seductive, suggestive tone will work on me, you’re going to be rather disappointed throughout our relationship.”
“I’m already disappointed.” And I know as soon as I’ve said it that I’ve gone too far, but I can’t take it back now. “Shit. That came out wrong.”
“So it did.” He gives me an intense look. “But, if it’s true, then I’m unclear as to why we are still getting married.”
“You know it’s not true,” I say firmly. “It’s making me prickly that you’re angry.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what?”
“I’m…I don’t understand why… oh, bugger.” He shifts and stands up, a fake smile plastered on his face as a woman approaches our table. “Reverend Harris… good of you to come on such short notice.”
Shit, now I’ll never get to the bottom of what’s making him act like an arse. I toss my napkin aside and stand up. “Yes, thank you for coming, Reverend Harris. I’m Greg, and this is Mycroft.”
She’s a tall, willowy, dark-haired woman, with twinkling blue eyes, and an easy smile. She shakes our hands. “Nice to meet you both. Call me Kaye.” She seats herself in the chair Mycroft is holding out for her, and sets her bag in the chair next to me. “Thank you.”
“Coffee?” Mycroft sits down, and pours a cup coffee. “Cream, no sugar, correct?”
“Margaret has said that you’re quite observant,” she says, “but I’d much rather have a mimosa.” She takes up the pitcher and fills the empty glass next to my plate.
“And my mother has said that you’ve no problem marrying same sex couples,” he says, sitting back with folded arms. “But that’s not quite true, is it?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” She sips her drink and nods in appreciation. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You are, and we’re glad,” I say quickly, shooting a frown at Mycroft. “You’re here to sign the marriage license, yeah?”
“That remains to be seen. It’s not my way to marry a couple, same sex or not, without determining if it’s a good fit.”
Something about what she’s said obviously doesn’t sit well with Mycroft, because he stiffens, and his face goes all stone-like. “What makes you qualified to make that determination?” His tone is soft and silky, like he’s about to lure her into a dark basement. “You aren’t married. In fact, you’ve been married three… no four times. It would be foolish for us to believe that you can determine a good fit, even it if came in and sat on your lap. Yet, here you are, at my mother’s bidding, threatening to withhold our marriage license if we don’t conform to your notions about marriage.”
“Oi,” I say. “How about you turn the Holmes thing down, and let her talk?”
“Do you often find yourself apologising for Mycroft’s behaviour, Greg?” Kaye asks, appearing not to be affected by my soon-to-be-dead fiancé’s rudeness.
“Not really,” I shrug. “I don’t often find myself in a situation where it’s needed. I’m aware that he’s… a bit unconventional, but I love him. He can’t help that he’s mental. It’s in his blood.”
“You think he’s just unconventional?” Kaye laughs. “In just the few minutes that I’ve been here, I think ‘unconventional’ is putting it mildly.”
“True, but part of what draws me to him is just that. I don’t think I’d be satisfied with someone less… challenging.”
“Do you feel that might be a reason you’ve been married twice?” she asks.
I frown at Mycroft. “You told your mum?”
“She’s not a moron, Gregory,” Mycroft says sharply. “Your right ring finger has clear markings that a ring was there for years. And at the fitting, you said ‘my first wedding’ at least five times.”
“So I did.” I don’t remember, but as frustrating as that was, I’m not surprised. “I’m bollocks at lying, which is why I try not to do it.”
“So, you’d say that you have a strong moral compass, Greg?” Kaye smiles at me. “That you’re uncompromising in your values?”
“I’m a copper – er, police officer,” I reply with pride. “I’m not bent, and have a good reputation.”
“There are police officers with no moral code,” she replies. “And now you’re marrying a man with substantial ties to the government. There are those who might question your integrity, and assume you’re a lackey.”
Mycroft laughs. “No one with any sense would ever think that about Gregory. He’s not one to be bribed, nor does he appreciate being called a lackey, as you can see in the clenching of his jaw, and the curling of his fingers. Trust me, his mettle has been tested beyond its limits, yet he remains honest."
I uncurl my fingers, and try to relax my jaw. “Ta for that.”
“Is that a litmus test for your potential mates, Mycroft? You test their honesty?”
“Heavens, no. Gregory is the first and only person I’ve ever considered marrying, and I only tested his mettle to determine if he was a threat to my brother. He is of sterling character, if one doesn’t count that unfortunate incident with the… well, let’s not mention that.”
I frown at that. “What unfortunate incident?”
He lifts an eyebrow and smiles at me. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
I give him my best ‘we’ll deal with this later’ look, and clear my throat. “You were saying, Kaye?”
“Oh, no… you two carry on,” she says with an eager smile.
“We’re good on that,” I say firmly. “One of the reasons we get on so well is that we’re both very private. Talking out of turn can get you hurt in my line of work. His, too.”
“Oh.” I think she was hoping for a row, because she actually deflates. “All right, then. So… Mycroft… how do you feel about Greg?”
“Oh, how tedious,” he sighs, and eats more toast. After a bit of silence, he clears his throat. “I’m marrying him, so I obviously care for him. And this is pointless. You don’t know anything about us. On what are you basing your determination that you’ll perform the ceremony?”
“I’m also a licensed therapist,” she says with a tight smile. “I’m pretty good at reading people.”
“Rubbish.” He pushes his toast away, and pours himself more tea. “You guess, based on a set of pre-conceived notions about men.”
“I’m also very observant. You know… like you and your brother.”
“Hardly,” he scoffs. “One deduces based on what one actually sees. Of course, there is a balance of probability, and there’s always something minute that can be missed.”
She finishes off her mimosa and sets the glass aside. “And what did your observations tell you about me, other than that I’ve been married four times?”
“Oh, hey…no… we’re not going to do this,” I cut in. “It won’t end well, Kaye. Let’s just stick to your questions, and we’ll answer them honestly. Won’t we, Mycroft?”
Of course he ignores me, the git. “You have a family member who struggled with their same-sex relationship, which led you to being sympathetic to same sex couples, correct?”
“My sister, Deenie,” Kaye replies with a sad smile. “A small southern town with so-called Christian sensibilities, and gay girls wanting to be married… not an easy life.”
“You were tied to the church, but the pastor asked you to leave when he discovered you were in favour of gay marriage, correct?”
“Well, he –”
“You should really try the bacon, love,” I cut in, nudging Mycroft’s leg with my foot. “It’s cooked quite well. Not like the streaky bacon we get back home, but pretty good. You might like it, too, Kaye… Have some. Please.”
Kaye ignores me. “My pastor was a womanizer and an ass. Best thing that ever happened to that church was when he went to jail for fraud.”
“Hm.” Mycroft presses a finger against his lips. “And where do you currently perform your ministerial duties?”
“I don’t have a church home right now,” she says. “I’m ordained in the Unitarian church, and also the International Church of the Foursquare Gospel, if that puts your mind at ease.”
“We weren’t worried,” I say with a smile.
“I am,” Mycroft refutes.
“So, enough about me,” Kaye says with a bright smile. “Do you have vows prepared? It’s important that you publically express what you mean to each other so that your family and friends support you.”
“Um…” I frown. “It… we just want to sign the papers and have done with it.”
“You need vows,” she says firmly. “Otherwise, why are you having a public ceremony?”
“There is no law in this state that says we must have ‘vows’,” Mycroft says sharply. “You’re just making it up as you go along, aren’t you? Seeing as you haven’t performed a ceremony in five years. Why is that? Could it be that your license to perform ceremonies was only recently restored after you served a one-year stint in jail for bigamy?”
Kaye’s head snaps back in surprise, and I can see the colour drain from her face. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t know; I observed. Also, I looked you up,” he smirks. “So, before we share our information with you, why don’t you share some with us?”
“All right…” I put a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Let’s calm down and be rational about this.”
Mycroft shrugs my hand off his shoulder. “I am perfectly calm. If we’re to be interrogated, I insist on doing the same. I have no desire to have our wedding officiated by a charlatan.”
“Mycroft!” I look at Kaye, who is now as white as a sheet. “You’re being an arse. Let her do her job.”
“I’m not a charlatan,” she says quietly. “I graduated from an accredited seminary. The trouble I had with my last husband wasn’t my fault, but I was unfairly convicted of a crime I had no knowledge of. I told your mother all of this.”
“My mother is very trusting, and is prone to accepting things as they are given to her.”
“Your mother and I have been friends for years,” she sniffs. “She’s been very supportive.”
“Oh, I’m sure she has.”
“I don’t understand why you’re being so combative. Part of marrying someone is getting a feel for their character. I’m a minister, and it’s my responsibility to make sure that both parties are of the same mind when it comes to marriage. The only way to do that is to ask a few questions prior to performing the ceremony. Nothing too personal, but your answers will set my conscience at ease.”
He sits back, arms folded across his chest, looking at her intently. “Please, continue.”
“Great.” She turns to me. “Do you love Mycroft, Greg?”
“Yes,” I say with a sideways glance at him. “He drives me batty, but I do.”
“And you’ve only been dating for six weeks?”
“I’ve known him for years. And I wouldn’t say dating…”
“What would you call it?”
“A chase? Or maybe a dance?” I say with a laugh. “He’s not… he doesn’t act like a normal person would, and I don’t expect him to. Well, I’m learning not to expect it.”
“Do you feel the relationship is one-sided?”
“Not at all. He’s used to people doing his bidding, and I’m used to giving orders. We’re working on a happy medium.”
“And you, Mr. Holmes…” Her tone, which was bright and easy with me, is now formal and clipped. “How would you describe your relationship with Greg?”
“Surprisingly pleasant,” he says with a fake smile.
“And this is your first marriage?”
“We can’t all be as fortunate to find love five times, Reverend Harris.”
“Touché.”
“Mycroft,” I sigh as I pour myself another mimosa, “can you not?”
“Oh, I thought we were playing ‘quid pro quo’.” He drains his teacup, and sets it aside. “And so, your last husband… why was he not convicted?”
“He left the country before they could prosecute him.” She gulps a bit of her mimosa. “Do you love Greg?”
“Oh, god…” I love that she’s brave enough to stand up to Mycroft’s snide questioning, but god knows, this won’t end well.
“I don’t think I’m quite capable of love,” he answers, with a tiny smile in my direction. “At least not in the traditional sense. But to satisfy your irrational need to know if we’re fit to marry, I am rather fond of him. He has made me question my sanity on many occasions, but I am becoming accustomed to the sensation.”
“More mimosas, anyone?” I ask desperately. I hope Kaye is good at funerals, because I’m going to kill him.
“Please.” Kaye pushes her glass toward me, and I fill it. “Thank you.”
“Do you often drink this early, Reverend Harris?”
“Greg does,” she says serenely, sipping her drink. “That’s not an issue, is it? His drinking, I mean.”
“Oi,” I say. “I don’t drink a lot.”
“It’s not an issue.” Mycroft narrows his eyes at her. “You grew up in a home where drinking, regardless of the time of day, was the norm, did you not? That must have been horrid for you, a young, beautiful woman in home full of drunken men. Is that why you married the first young man who showed an interest in you?”
“I… this isn’t about me, Mr. Holmes,” she huffs, “and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my personal life out of this.”
“I’m vetting you.” Again with the evil villain smile.
“Being a bastard, more like,” she counters. “I came here because Margaret asked me to do her a favour. However, if helping her means I have to sit here and have my personal life dragged across the table, and be called names, I’m going to leave.”
To my surprise (and horror), Mycroft stands. “We won’t keep you then. Don’t forget your parking validation.”
My mouth falls open at how rude he’s being. “Mycroft...!”
Kaye looks at me with watery eyes. “I have no fucking idea what you see in him, Greg. Good luck. You’re going to need it.” And with that, she stands up, gathers her bag, and leaves.
I stand up, and face him, hands on my hips. “What the fuck is wrong with you today? Why would you do that?”
He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug, and picks up his mobile. “I’ll have Andrea find a minister with better credentials. Should have known my mother would come up with someone with a shady past.”
“Oh, no… you’re not doing any of that,” I say, and I’m surprised at how angry I sound. “You’re going to find Reverend Harris and apologise.”
“I most certainly am not.” His tone is frosty. “We’ll find someone else.”
“We won’t.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And I’m not telling your mum that you’ve run the minister off by acting like a tosser.”
“You don’t have to.” Margaret’s icy tone almost makes me giggle. “Mycroft Archimedes Edmund Holmes, what have you done to Kaye?”
“Mummy,” he says, and I watch in fascination as he turns into a schoolboy right before my eyes. “I –”
“Don’t you say another word,” she cuts in. “Shameful behaviour, ‘vetting’ someone after I vouched for her. You know I wouldn’t have sent her otherwise. And you’ve made her cry! I can’t believe you, Mycroft.”
“I am rather out of sorts,” he says sheepishly. “Has she gone?”
“Lucky for you, no. She’s sat in the lobby, crying her poor eyes out.”
“It wasn’t my intention to cause her distress.” He grimaces as Margaret blows out a breath of disbelief at that. “Well, I didn’t expect her to break so easily.”
“Why would you ask her such personal questions?” I demand. “She’s a minister, for god’s sake, and your mum’s mate. I swear to god, I don’t understand you.”
He ducks his head and looks up at me through his lashes. “I am not generally so… combative, Gregory. I apologise to you for my untoward behaviour.”
“If you think you batting those gorgeous lashes at me makes everything better, you’ve got another think coming. And it’s not me you need to apologise to. What’s got you lashing out like that?”
“I…” He looks at his mother. “If you would give us a moment…?”
“I most certainly shall not.”
“Mummy…”
She gives him a hard look. “I want to hear you explain to your fiancé why you’re acting like an arse.”
“I’d prefer to do this without… very well,” he continues at Margaret’s low growl. “I… well, I am not certain why you’re marrying me, Gregory.”
“Son-of-a… sea cook, Mycroft!” I hiss, mindful of his mum gaping at me. “I love you. I thought you were a bloody genius, but no… you’re really just an idiot in smart clothes. Now, tell me what’s got into your mushy pea brain that’s making you doubt my feelings for you, so we can get on with it.”
“It’s… in retrospect, it’s foolish, really.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that… well, when you failed to return to our suite last night – this morning – and in light of what Andrea told me about your stag do –”
“Nothing happened, you arse!” Ah, shit. The room has gone quiet at my outburst. I wave a hand. “Sorry about that.”
“Perhaps this isn’t the place,” Mycroft says quietly.
“Bollocks, Mycroft,” I say through clenched teeth. “Go on.”
“Andrea says you were all the rage at the club last night. Men, women, gay, straight… she said you had your pick of the lot. There was even a celebrity who offered to take you to Aruba.”
“He was drunk, and I don’t like men who are too fit because they make me look bad.”
“Andrea says he was smitten, and made a legitimate offer.”
“Not interested. I’m in love with you, remember?”
“You could have anyone,” he continues, and he sounds like someone kicked his puppy. “I’m… it doesn’t make sense to me. I’ve turned it over and over in my mind, but can’t understand what you see in me. Are you desperate?”
“Oh, yes, that’s me, desperate. Desperate to have you, to be with you. And sometimes love has no rhyme or reason, love,” I say gently. “It just is. And that’s the way I feel about you. I don’t know why myself, but I do. God help me.”
“It vexes me, Gregory. I don’t like when things don’t make sense, when things don’t fit into the niche I’ve carved for them.” He sighs, and flops back into his chair. “My apologies for losing my composure. I’ll see to Reverend Harris, and repair whatever damage I’ve done.”
“And?” Margaret presses.
“Don’t press me, Mother,” he says petulantly. “I’ll apologise, and allow her to perform the ceremony.”
“I’ll go get her.” I volunteer, needing some air, and a bit of space.
Margaret stops me with a hand on my arm. “She’s coming back now.”
Sure enough, Kaye is back at our table, papers in hand. “I’ve signed the license, so if Margaret won’t mind witnessing it, we’ll be done. I’m sure you can Google a minister who doesn’t require advance notice.”
“I’d prefer you.” Mycroft clears his throat. “That is, if you’re still amenable.”
She looks at him. “Are you done insulting me?”
“Vetting,” he corrects with a small smile.
“Interrogating, really,” I add. “Get on with it, Mycroft.”
“I apologise for my ill-mannered behaviour, Reverend Harris. If you’ll have a seat, we’ll answer the remainder of your questions.” He motions for the waiter, who comes over straightaway. “Another pitcher of mimosas, and perhaps some… waffles for the good Reverend, if you please.”
“Right away, sir.” The young man hurries off.
Kaye chuckles and sits down. “How did you know I liked waffles?”
“I saw the wistful look on your face when the woman in blue walked past with her plate piled high with them.” Mycroft shrugs. “Simple deduction.”
“That’s some trick,” she says. “You must be a riot at parties.”
“It’s not a trick, and I do not go to parties,” he replies stiffly. “If we could just get on with our business...?”
“Don’t be rude,” Margaret chides, and takes a seat next to Kaye. “And so, where would you like me to sign, love?”
“Well, first… do you know of any reason why these two shouldn’t be married?”
“Other than my son being a tosser?” Margaret laughs. “No.”
“I meant legally,” Kaye clarifies with a laugh of her own.
“Oh.” Margaret taps a finger against her lips as she considers the question. “No… nothing that I can think of.”
“Great.” Kaye hands her a pen. “Sign on the line by the yellow sticky arrow, please.”
Margaret signs with a flourish, and hands the pen back to Kaye. “There now. Almost official.”
“Yes.” Kaye slides the papers over to me. “Will you have vows tomorrow, Greg?”
“Erm… I hadn’t thought about it. But, I could… well, I suppose I could come up with something by wedding time. That’s if I have to.”
“You do. And you, Mr. Holmes?”
Mycroft looks like he’s swallowed something off, but manages a quick smile at his mother. “I will prepare a short declaration to express my, ah… feelings, as it were, on the subject.”
Kaye opens her mouth to balk, but Margaret cuts in. “That’s the best you’re going to get, love.”
“All right, then. Since this is a private marriage, I need to see your driver’s licenses to verify that you two live together.”
“We call them driving licenses,” Mycroft says in his best haughty tone (that is such a turn on), and sets down his driving license, and mine.
“Oi,” I say, “How did you –”
“Yes, Gregory,” he says lifting an eyebrow at me, “it is a hideous photo, but it will have to do for now.”
I clamp down on my reply, and look at the license. It’s got an awful photo of me, and has an address I’ve never seen before. Smith Square? Hell, if that’s where Mycroft lives, there’s not going to be much me giving thirty percent of my salary is going to do. But I’ll deal with that later. I look at his license, and laugh at the sparse details on it.
“Needs must,” is all he says.
“Perfect,” Kaye says. “If you’ll both sign where indicated, we’ll be done.”
I swallow hard as I take the pen. “You’re certain?” I ask without looking up.
“Of course.” Mycroft’s lips are right by my ear, and his voice is quiet, but firm. “Go on.”
“Right. I do love you, and no one can tempt me away from you, all right?” I sign my name and push the paper and pen toward him. “Your turn.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am. I’m mad for you, and want to be with you. Look… I know I’ve been married before and you have every reason to doubt that we’ll work, but if you’ll just trust me, I think we can do it. So, go on and sign it. ”
“I do trust you, Gregory.” he says solemnly, and signs his name.
Kaye takes the papers back, and puts her seal and stamp on them. “You are now officially husbands,” she says brightly. “Congratulations, gentlemen.”
I lean over and press a quick kiss to Mycroft’s lips. “Congratulations, you tosser.”
He shakes his head. “Most amusing. But, congratulations to you as well, Gregory.”
The waiter comes back with a plate of hot waffles for Kaye, and a round of champagne for the table. “With our compliments, sirs.” He winks at Margaret. “Thank you for allowing us to share in your joy, ma’am.”
“You put a lot of faith in us, Margaret,” I say, taking the glass of champagne she’s holding out.
“Oh, bosh,” she laughs. “You two are mad for each other. Wild horses couldn’t keep you apart.”
“Why would they want to?” Mycroft sighs, but at Margaret’s admonishing look, he takes the offered glass with a smile. “Thank you, Mummy.”
Margaret holds up her glass. “To Greg and Mikey.”
“To love,” Kaye chimes in, raising her glass.
“To us,” I say, clinking my glass against Mycroft’s.
“To Greg and Mycroft,” he corrects primly, and takes a sip of the champagne. “Excellent choice, Mummy.”
“Oh, how lovely to get the Mikey, er, Mycroft seal of approval.”
“Thank you, Reverend Harris,” Mycroft says, clinking his glass against hers. “I apologise for antagonizing you, and wonder if you would accept a gift as part of that apology?”
“Well…” she frowns, “I’m not sure if I could.”
“You’ll still get paid for your services,” I say with a reassuring smile. I have no idea what Mycroft has in mind, and the cost for this simple do is skyrocketing, but I figure a united front will go a long way toward making this right. “This is just a token of our appreciation. You know, for putting up with, ah… all this, and coming round on such short notice.”
“I suppose it’s all right,” she finally says. “You’re still an ass, Mycroft, but I think deep down, you really care for Greg, and you two will work out just fine.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Mycroft’s tone is dry. “Have you ever been to Hawaii?”
“No, never.”
“Then allow me to send you to Maui,” he continues. “I have access to a lovely flat with all the amenities of home, if that interests you…?”
“Oh, Mikey,” Margaret gushes.
“Mycroft.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Kaye says smiling broadly. “It’s too much.”
“It isn’t,” Mycroft insists. “I could bore you to death by mentioning tax write-offs, and timeshares, but I’m certain you don’t want to hear that. Please accept.”
“All right. Is there a specific time that I have to go?”
“At your leisure.” He picks up his mobile and sends what I assume is a text. “All set. Just call the number I’ve sent to your phone when you’re ready to go. All the expenses will be paid, including transportation to and from the airports.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Kaye says with a blush staining her cheeks.
“Please,” he says with a smile. “If you don’t accept, my mother will continue to voice her displeasure at the way I handled our meeting, and it will put a strain on our relationship. If I recall correctly, the bible frowns on such things, does it not?”
“Not in so many words,” Kaye says, “but all right. I’ll go.”
“Huzzah.” Mycroft takes my freshly poured mimosa, and downs it in one go. He stands, and tugs his waistcoat down. “And now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Yeah, and I need a nap,” I say through a yawn. I hold out a hand. “Help me up, you tosser. I drank a pitcher of mimosas on my own.”
“So you did,” he smirks, and tugs me up so that I fall forward against his chest. “If we weren’t in public, I’d ravish you right here.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes. There’s something about the combination of being legally bound to you, and you being slightly tipsy and hungover that is rather arousing.”
Margaret giggles at that. “Dear me, I had no idea that my taciturn son had such a passionate nature.”
“Apples don’t fall far from trees, Margaret,” Kaye says with her own giggle. “Ed is crazy about you.”
“The Holmes men are a force of nature, once they get revved up,” Margaret says with a far off look in her eyes. “Why just the other night –”
“Mother, please. Gregory, we should go before she starts describing the events in full, embarrassing detail.”
“Yes, dear,” I say, with a wink at Margaret. “We’ll talk later, Margaret. Or should I call you Mummy?”
“You most certainly should not,” Mycroft says before Margaret can answer. “How utterly ghastly a notion that is.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Kaye says with a teasing smile.
“I can see the sharp answer forming on your tongue,” I say to Mycroft. “So, let’s go before you undo all the good feelings, and we end up having our marriage annulled.” I nudge him toward the exit. “Besides, we need to practice kissing. Don’t want to muck it up at the altar…”
Fin