Hawaiian Wedding Page 2

  Remy hated leaving anything to the last minute.

  Most of the websites he visited suggested hiring a planner to help with the big day. Someone local who knew the venues and vendors, who could get reasonable rates and book everything to make sure things went off without a hitch when the happy couple actually arrived on the island for the wedding itself. But Remy didn’t want to hire a wedding planner; he wanted to do it all himself. In this day and age, with the whole world at his fingertips and everything just a Google search away, why couldn’t he do it all?

  Because I have a business to run here, he reminded himself, glancing at his already overflowing inbox. Two weeks in the mountains was a nice vacation, but JDM Planners hadn’t shut down for the whole time he was gone, and they’d be gearing up for their grant season soon. Federal funding for housing projects provided much of their livelihood, and Remy and his staff would be working overtime for the next several months to submit grant applications for local communities to ensure there was enough money to see them through for the years ahead. Lane’s architect firm would partner with them for many of the grants, which meant long hours spent writing and designing to make their applications stand out among the rest. Where would either of them find time to plan a wedding?

  They hadn’t even really settled on a date…

  Lane’s only request was he didn’t want to wait too long. Remy didn’t either, but he knew any time during grant season was out, which meant they’d have to wait until after April, at least. But he didn’t want to go to Hawaii in the summer—too commercial, too touristy. He wanted to have the place alone to themselves, or as alone as he could get it. So maybe at the end of the year, then, when most people were staying home with family instead of jetting off to tropical locales?

  When he talked it over with Lane, they decided a December wedding would actually be really nice. Lane’s birthday was in March, and Remy turned forty in August. Celebrating their anniversary at a different time of the year would spread things out a bit. Plus, if Remy were lucky, no one would want to give up their holiday to go to their wedding.

  Of course, he couldn’t count on that. Lane didn’t want a Christmas wedding, so Remy settled for December 28th. That way anyone who did want to come to the wedding could celebrate Christmas at home, then fight the holiday traffic at the airport, while he and Lane were already lounging on the beach and enjoying each other. And if someone decided it was cutting it too close to the holiday, well, like Kate said, they could always send a gift or money.

  To be honest, as much as Remy liked his ex-wife, he sort of hoped she would be one of those who decided not to make the trip. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her coming—he enjoyed her company, and she’d be a lot of fun after a few boat drinks, he knew—but if she came, that meant Braden would come, too. As much as he loved his son, Remy wanted to make sure this trip was all about he and Lane, period.

  Still, Remy tried to sound apologetic when he called Kate up to tell her, “We’ve talked it over and decided to get married on December 28th. I know it’s late—”

  “Late?” Kate almost shrieked in his ear. “Any later and it’ll be next year. Why wait so long?”

  “We’ve got grants,” Remy told her, “then our birthdays, and we don’t want to do it over the summer because I’m sure Hawaii’s packed.”

  “It’s busy year round, I’m sure,” Kate muttered. “Jeez, Rem. December 28th. No one’s going to want to go out there then. That’s still practically Christmas.”

  That’s the point, he thought, but out loud he didn’t say anything.

  After a moment, Kate sighed. “Actually, you know what? That might work.”

  Remy frowned at his computer screen and shifted the phone into a better position on his shoulder. “What? Why?”

  “Mike has off at Christmas,” Kate said.

  Mike was her boyfriend, the one who took her on the couples’ cruise—so she wasn’t planning on going alone, Remy noticed. And they’re serious enough that she’s already planning something with him a whole year away, Remy thought. “He’s coming, too?”

  “Well, I need a plus-one.”

  “You have Braden,” Remy pointed out.

  Kate laughed. “Who is talking nonstop about this trip already, do you know that? But yeah, Mike’s already off that time of year, and he was thinking of doing another cruise, but Hawaii will be much better. And we can take turns watching Brae so we both get some privacy.”

  With a groan, Remy said, “I’ll be on my honeymoon!”

  “Not at first you won’t,” Kate said. “He’s your son, too.”

  As he hung up the phone, Remy wondered if it were too late to look into a D.C. wedding after all.

  Chapter 2

  It was an unseasonably warm evening in late February when Remy confided to Lane the problems he was running into with planning their wedding. Well, problems wasn’t the right word for it…more like snags, really, as they were little things here and there, but Lane knew Remy well enough to recognize when something was bothering him. They sat on the balcony of Lane’s condo downtown, looking out over the dark rapids of the James River and sharing a bottle of wine as they snuggled together beneath a large stadium blanket on a wicker loveseat. From the contemplative look on his lover’s face, Lane knew Remy was thinking about the wedding again. Even with grant proposals taking up the bulk of his time, his mind drifted to their impending nuptials whenever there was a quiet moment.

  Resting his head on Remy’s shoulder, Lane sipped at his wine. “Let me guess,” he murmured into his glass. “You’re a million miles away right now, somewhere on the sandy shores of Maui.”

  With a soft laugh, Remy stirred and draped an arm around Lane’s shoulders to hold him close. “It’s only about four thousand and seven hundred miles away. I checked.”

  “That’s as the crow flies,” Lane pointed out. “What about Delta?”

  “American Airlines is cheaper.” Remy’s voice was distant, distracted. Lane sat up and looked at him, amused. When he saw the expression on Lane’s face, he smiled. “What? I looked it up already. This better last forever because that’s about how long we’re going to be paying for it.”

  Lane leaned forward and kissed the tip of Remy’s nose. “It will last forever. I love you—”

  “And I love you,” Remy said, leaning in to claim a real kiss.

  Lane grinned against his mouth. “And soon we’ll have the credit card bills to prove just how much. Now, tell me, what’s on your mind?”

  Remy sighed. “So much of this is out of my hands, and I hate it. I don’t know squat about the location—I can’t check out caterers, or hotels, or anything, without making a trip out there and I can’t afford that.”

  “You can look online,” Lane suggested.

  But Remy shook his head. “It’s not the same. How do I know I’m getting the right price? How do I know the place looks like what it says it looks like? The website might make it seem like the Ritz Carlton and then when we show up, we find out we’re staying at the Econolodge. I’m not spending a thousand dollars for a travel package just to land in a dive hotel. I want only the best for us, damn it. Is that asking too much?”

  Lane cuddled up against Remy again and looked out at the lights of the city across the river from his condo. “Well, I know you’ve been looking around online. What do all the sites suggest?”

  “They say to hire a wedding planner in the area.” Remy scoffed and downed the last of his wine, throwing his head back to finish off the glass. “How am I supposed to pick someone I don’t know to manage and plan the single most important day of my entire life?”

  Hugging him tight, Lane grinned into his shoulder. “You really have a lot riding on this wedding for someone who’s already been married once.”

  “I want this one to stick.” Remy rubbed Lane’s shoulder, then brought his hand up to run it through Lane’s thick dark hair. His touch was soothing and warm, and Lane melted beneath it. As Remy’s fingers stroked his temple, L
ane almost felt as if he might begin to purr. Softly, Remy murmured, “If only I knew someone who lived out there…”

  Suddenly Lane sat up. “I do.”

  Remy frowned at him. “You do? In Hawaii? Who?”

  But Lane was scrambling for the phone in his pocket. “Michelle Banks. Shelly. A girl I knew back in high school.” Quickly he keyed in the code to unlock his iPhone and tapped the Facebook app. As he waited for it to load, he told Remy, “Her locker was right next to mine and we sort of hung out with the same crowd, though I always thought she was a little weird. Dressed in black all the time, wore a lot of makeup, teased her hair out to here—you know the type.”

  Remy laughed. “Gotta love the eighties. Let me guess, she was a drama geek, too, right?”

  Lane grinned without looking up from his phone. “How’d you know? Definitely wasn’t a cheerleader. Into art and all that. Some of the rich bitches called her Smelly Shelly in PE class in ninth grade, or at least they did until she punched Jenny Davies in the nose after school and that was the end of that. Shelly got suspension and the clique steered clear of her once they knew she wasn’t above fighting back. Here we go.”

  He held out the phone so Remy could see it. On the screen was a Facebook profile page for someone called Chell B. The profile picture was a palm tree silhouetted in the sunset, and the image behind it was of rolling surf. Cautiously, Remy said, “Okay…”

  Lane explained, “Last year I got a friend request from Shelly. Calling herself Chell now—I think she pronounces it shell, like seashell, but she spells it with the c. Anyway, she’s apparently connecting with old friends and looked me up. After graduation she moved to Virginia Beach, where she fell in love with the ocean, and somehow or other she ended up in California, where she got into surfing. Twenty years later, she’s in Hawaii and surfs professionally, but she posted something on her wall a while back about starting her own business…”

  He scrolled down the screen until he found the post. Aloha! Let me be your Guide 2 the Islands! Experienced kama’aina will give YOU the time of YOUR life! I’ll plan your vacation or wedding so you can relax and ENJOY your stay. Once you visit us, you’ll never want to leave!

  Remy squinted at the screen. “Experienced what?”

  “Some Hawaiian word,” Lane said. “But see? I know someone out there. You need a planner, she obviously does this—”

  “Does she have references?” Remy asked.

  Lane sighed as he turned off the phone. “Hon, I know you, and I know you want to do everything yourself if you can. But you can’t, not this. You said it yourself, it’s like what, four thousand miles away?”

  “Four thousand seven hundred and some,” Remy admitted.

  “You need help.” Lane tucked the phone back into his pocket, then resumed his position beside his lover, wriggling in next to Remy to get comfortable again. “Let Shelly help you. I’ll contact her through Facebook and give her your email, and you two can hash things out. That way she’ll get everything together on her end and all we’ll have to do—” he pulled Remy close to him, snuggling tight against his lover’s chest—”is show up and get hitched.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  Remy’s words rumbled through Lane, who leaned back to plant a kiss on the underside of his lover’s chin. “Stop trying to make it so hard.”

  * * * *

  When Lane passed Remy’s email address onto Chell, who he kept thinking of as Shelly, he hoped that would be the end of it. Remy could pass off the wedding details onto her and relax…or, at least, relax as much as he could during grant season. But Lane was working late one evening on the sketches for a planned sidewalk mall as part of a downtown revitalization project his firm was teaming with Remy’s on, when he got an angry email from his lover that simply read, WTF??? Three exclamation points to underscore Remy’s indignation. Lane smirked as he scrolled down to read the attached message.

  It was from Chell.

  Aloha, it read. No refs needed, brah. Ask Lane to vouch for me. We’re tight. Send me your wishlist and I’ll make it happen. Mahalo!

  Though Lane didn’t really know what half the message meant, he got the gist of it. Apparently Remy had asked Shelly for references. Bad move. A moment after he read the email, the phone on his desk rang. He didn’t have to look at the display to know it was his lover. When he answered, he barely managed to say hello before Remy started. “You’re tight?” Remy snapped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Does she think I don’t need to know who else she’s worked for in the past because she knows you from back in the day?”

  “Hello to you, too,” Lane said.

  Remy sighed in disgust. “I have half a mind to fly out there and set this whole damn thing up myself.”

  “Right now?” Lane glanced at his desk calendar—grants were due in less than a month’s time. “How are you going to explain it to your employees when you have to let them go because there’s no money in the company after you failed to secure federal funding for future projects when you ran off to Hawaii to elope during grant season?”

  “Shit,” Remy muttered.

  Lane let him simmer. Sometimes with Remy, the best thing to do was let his anger peter out. Anything Lane said to try to calm him down would only stir the pot more.

  After a long moment, he asked, “Do you vouch for her?”

  Rubbing his eyes, Lane admitted, “What do you want me to say? I haven’t seen her since high school, so I don’t know what she’s like now. Hell, we weren’t even really friends then, it’s just her locker was next to mine so she sort of knew me. I think she thought I was cute or something. And…” He laughed at the sudden memory that came to mind.

  “What?” Remy asked, suspicious. “And what?”

  “One year my sister had a party,” Lane explained. “Shelly snuck in a bottle of Mad Dog, or whatever it’s called. We didn’t know until she was shit-faced. My parents were out for the evening but they’d said no alcohol, and Angie was terrified they’d find out, so she confiscated the bottle and told me to take Shelly upstairs to her bedroom and try to keep her out of sight until she sobered up. At some point Shelly started coming onto me and I…I had to tell her I wasn’t interested.”

  Through the phone, Remy laughed. “I bet you weren’t.”

  Lane grinned. “She was insistent. When I said no, she started to cry. Said it was because I thought she was ugly, that all the other kids thought she was weird, stuff like that. Finally I told her I liked guys just to shut her up. She passed out shortly after that and didn’t even remember any of it the next day, but I was a nervous wreck for weeks because I was so sure she’d tell the whole school I was gay. No one else knew but my sister. I was so sure my secret was out.”

  “Wait,” Remy said, “she knows now, though, right? I mean, she knows you’re marrying me, right?”

  “The whole world knows,” Lane assured him. “Hell, it’s on Facebook.”

  * * * *

  As an architectural firm, Anders and Associates didn’t take the lead on grant-funded government housing projects, but they worked with urban planners like Remy’s group to bring a cohesive and attractive package to the table. Remy and his staff wrote the actual grants, but Lane spent many long hours drafting sketches of future designs, providing visual renderings of potential cityscapes that would let the funding committees see Remy’s ideas come to life long before the money was allocated and the first ground even broken on the new project. Though Lane’s wasn’t the only firm JDM Planners partnered with for grants, it had become their first choice for architectural work once the two men began dating. So there were a number of projects Anders and Associates were included in on during the new grant season, which meant that, while Remy and Lane both had to work a lot of overtime to see that the grants were finished in order to submit on time, at least they could spend that overtime together.

  When grants were finally handed in, both offices planned a celebration of sorts. They wouldn’t know what projects would
be funded for months—and, given the number of submissions, chances were good that several of their projects would be shelved in favor of others deemed more necessary or in immediate need. But the hard work was done, the long hours were over, and both Remy’s planners and Lane’s architects could go back to some semblance of normal, returning to work on projects already under development, funded from grants awarded in years past.

  They decided to hold their celebration at a local bar called O’Malley’s, which was a favorite for both of them because it had been the site of their first date. Or, rather, a drink after they first met, ending in a soft kiss in Lane’s car, nothing more, but which led to a lifetime of love.

  Or so Lane hoped.

  The idea of getting married was a little nerve-wracking for him, if he were being honest. Years ago when his sister Angie got married, he’d come to terms with the fact that he’d probably never walk down the aisle himself because he was gay. But suddenly gay marriage was the “in thing” and every out celebrity was doing it from Elton John to Ellen DeGeneres. Seventeen states allowed same-sex marriage already. Though Virginia was in the news for rattling the cage a few months after Lane and Remy exchanged rings. A judge had found the state’s ban unconstitutional, but of course, there were appeals ongoing. If things worked out, maybe they could get married right in Richmond and forget all about a Hawaii wedding.

  Glancing at his lover beside him in the booth at O’Malley’s, Lane wondered if calling off the trip wouldn’t be a good idea after all.

  He nudged Remy with his elbow and raised his voice over the din of their co-workers, who were raising beers and clapping each other on the backs as they shared bar snacks and watched the game on TV. “Hey, you. Come here often?”

  Remy grinned and nudged Lane back. “If that’s your best pickup line, you’re going home alone, my friend.”