Kellan
The sun beams brightly through the large glass windows of the shop I’ve rented out for the afternoon as if purposely mocking my discouraged attitude.
I grunt at my reflection. “Ugh. I look like a thin, blonde, Dean Martin in this suit.”
“What a ridiculous compliment to pay yourself.” My brother chuckles from his spot on the leather couch. When I turn to give a glare, he adds, “Almost as ridiculous as that suit you’re wearing.”
Another groan leaves me, and I turn to face the mirror once more. “It is ridiculous.”
The suit, not the comparison. I like to think of myself as charming as the icon though maybe my musical capabilities aren’t exactly the level of perfection his were. However, regardless, I do not want to get married in something that makes me look like him starring in a television special.
“We played several Dean Martin songs at our wedding,” my father surprisingly adds, grabbing my attention. “In fact our first dance was to his version of ‘Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime’. I doubt you two recall, but your mother was a surprisingly avid fan of his. Many of our at home dates were spent watching his classic films before and after you two were born. Ocean’s 11 was by far her favorite.”
Helplessly, I smile at him in the mirror.
“She knew every line. Practically climbed into the tele each time we watched it.” The mindless recalling of more memories expands his grin. “It was like she could never get enough of his singing. From the moment we met it was very clear, I would always be the ‘other man’.”
Kristopher and I share a light laugh at the comment.
Brie makes me feel that way about Michelangelo and he’s been dead for over a millennia.
“She constantly played his music for the both of you when she was pregnant…From the moment she realized you were conceived, she sang you his songs.” I turn around once more at the same time he adds, “When you were little Kristopher you actually used to sneak into Kellan’s room and sing Dean Martin songs to him. The first time it happened you sang ‘That’s A’more’.”
I chuckle again, but my older brother argues, “There’s no way that’s true.”
“It is,” our father chortles. “Your mother and I were going to check on Kellan because he had been too quiet for our liking-”
“Those were the days,” my brother mumbles and I flash him my middle finger.
“-and we saw you at his crib side serenading him. You didn’t really know the words so you just sang it to the best of your ability in this enthusiastic circle until Kellan had fallen back asleep. It turns out you couldn’t sleep either and were on your way to our room when you heard him start to wake up. You thought as the big brother it was your job to help your little brother get back to bed. You loved Kellan from the moment we told you he was coming.”
“Ironic since now you only love me the moment I’m going.”
Kris shakes his head trying to fight a smirk. “This was all before you learned to talk.”
“Yes. That was definitely the moment things changed in the Kenningston family.”
“And I’ve been encouraging change ever since.”
My father hits me with an unanticipated proud expression. “Yes. You have.”
A comfortable silence settles among us.
Nancy Therland’s article or as I’ve come to call it, declaration to Doctenn, regarding how tolerant we are as royalty and how progressive we are about change has led to more articles centered around my father’s abrupt tie severing with certain families and why it’s best for the country. Over the past couple of weeks he’s also managed to set his own path for new business and social endeavors. Two days ago he hosted a poker night, which actually ended with a contract being signed for him to invest in a startup restaurant that will be focused on using fresh ingredients from local farms and employing a Vet based staff who have previously had trouble being hired. Kris and I were both anxious to invest right alongside him, but he demanded to see how his own money does first. He refused to risk his sons’ financial security, but promises if it’s worth it he won’t hesitate to let us join him.
Kris clears his throat and reaches for the martini glass being offered to him. “Can you please remind me why we’re here again?”
I swing my attention his direction. “Seriously? Have you forgotten that quickly? Does the whole pregnancy brain seep from one parent-to-be to the other?”
His eyes twitch a glare causing me to smirk.
We can’t stay sentimental for too long. That…That’s not the Kenningston way.
After a sip he sighs, “I simply meant why are we in this tiny shop rather than the private room at the palace designated specifically for this?”
“It’s not tiny…”
My counter is met with sarcastic looks from both of them.
Put yours away! It’s not…tiny. It’s small. But perfect nonetheless. I’ve been coming here since I was sixteen. While we have stylists at the palace, there’s no one I trust more with my wardrobe than Lou. He’s helped me have suits custom designed, hand tailored, and even spent hours sharing pints with me while discussing where he believes the next trend in men’s fashion is going to be. It’s been fourteen years and he’s never been wrong. He’s like some fashion fortune telling supernatural being.
“Look, I’ve always trusted Lou. He’s never let me down. Why would I go anywhere else to get fitted for my wedding? For the most important day of my entire life?”
My brother grunts his agreement from behind his glass.
He no longer has to hide his coffee…Now it’s alcohol. Soph has completely abandoned the notion to keep him from his favorite morning beverage and bullied him into not drinking around her. Hm? No! This wasn’t my fault. She came up with this whim all on her own. But… I of course rub it in his face during family dinners. You didn’t honestly expect anything less, did you?
“Speaking of your wedding,” our father begins at the same time I shrug out of the jacket. “We need to have a brief talk.”
I hand the jacket back to the man assisting Lou in his efforts to find something suitable for me.
Pun intended.
“About?”
“Your pre-nuptials.”
My actions completely cease. “Pardon me?”
He adjusts himself on the couch before he repeats. “Your pre-nuptials, Kellan. Alongside your wedding certificate and validations for your marriage to be legal here, the two of you also need to sign the pre-nuptial agreement drafted by the legal team.”
I fold my arms firmly against my chest. “No.”
His expression hardens. “This isn’t a debate, Kellan. This is what’s happening.”
He’s said that a time or two recently and been wrong. Let’s add one more to the bill.
“Father-”
“No.” He lifts a hand to stop me from continuing. “This isn’t some sort of power play for you to prove anything. This is about meeting two very important expectations. The first being that the Kenningston fortune remains intact for future generations.”
I mockingly tilt my head. “Really?”
“Really,” he reiterates, tone firmer than before. “There have been women in the past who…have tried to…take more than their fair share. There have been women who…have attempted to bleed the man they married for all he was worth to regain the power they feel was lost when the relationship ended. This actually leads me to the second point. She is to sign the paperwork to also provide proof that she is indeed marrying you because she loves you and not the possibility of financial gain for herself or her family.”
Consternation chokes me instantly. “Are you actually sitting here and implying Brie is after our money?”
His head quickly shakes. “Of course I’m not. I’ve met her. I know better. Spotting the money hungry ones isn’t as difficult as people like to believe. But nevertheless this is a requirement for any woman who marries into the family. It has been for quite some time.”
I turn my disbelief to Kris. “Did Soph sign this ridiculous document?”
He immediately nods. “Without hesitation along with several non-disclosure agreements including the one that prevents them from talking about our marriages in depth without the approval of our publicity team.”
My jaw cracks open in bafflement.
They’re joking…They have to be. This is absolutely ludicrous.
“The non-disclosures, which you both have to sign, basically prevent either party from being able to publically voice their grievances during troubled times. Those were added after your great uncle Kelvin’s wife wrongfully assumed he had a mistress, but rather ended up being a gambling problem.”
Seeing his point with that paperwork, I reluctantly nod.
That…That makes sense I suppose. Brie’s not the type to find a reporter or blogger to divulge our dirty little secrets, but I understand not everyone is as private as her, especially in a fit of anger. Can you imagine the horrible rumors she could start if she wasn’t? Not sure I would enjoy reading about my non-existent bestiality fetish or whatever cruel idea she came up with. Hm. Yes. Non-disclosures are probably for the best.
I slide on the white jacket being offered to me as I sigh, “I don’t feel comfortable forcing Brie to sign a pre-nup.”
Kristopher questions, “Why not?”
“Because it makes me feel like I’m basically telling her, I trust you with everything except my finances.” Between adjusting the cuffs and the collar I continue, “And I do trust her with everything including the state of my finances. If for some reason things…were to…” the words helplessly get caught in my throat, “end on a permanent basis, I would want her to have what’s rightfully hers. What she’s entitled to. What she’s helped build and grow.”
To my surprise, my father firmly states, “And she would. The pre-nup is not setup to leave her penniless, Kellan. It’s setup to ensure you are not left that way.”
My hesitation remains.
“Your concern is with protecting her. My concern is with protecting you.”
It’s taken some time, but I’ve begun to see just how very true that is.
“Your mother signed it. Soph signed it. Brie will sign it,” he guarantees.
“Followed promptly by a swift kick in the bullocks,” I mumble to myself and turn around to face my reflection.
Am I overreacting? Am I just being paranoid? Okay. Fine. But do you blame me at this point? Every time we turn around it seems like something else is just waiting to slap us in the face and make this marriage impossible. I just…I don’t want any more bumps trying to prevent us from walking down the aisle.
“Changing topics, but keeping in the theme of signed papers,” Kris announces between gulps. “Did you finalize everything for Hannah’s Hope?”
My eye catches our father’s brief discomfort that always comes when her name is mentioned out loud.
I do hope someday it hurts him less.
“Yes. The last signature was added yesterday. We break ground when I get back from our honeymoon.”
“Wait, don’t you need to purchase the property first?” My brother asks.
“I purchased that land years ago.”
His voice squeaks, “What?!”
While trying to straighten the bow tie, I inform, “The moment I saw it, I knew that’s where I wanted to build the orphanage. The fact I did not have the funds to get it off the ground was irrelevant. I loathed the idea of someone purchasing it and turning it into condos or a mini mall or something horrendous, so I bought it as soon as possible.”
My eyes meet my father’s in the mirror just as he smirks.
Playfully, I add, “I really don’t like to share.”
“Learned that early in life,” Kris pokes, swapping his empty glass for a full one.
I give my adjusted appearance a long stare. After a small beat, I sigh, “I look like a bloody Bond villain.”
“Now see…that’s more accurate than your Dean Martin comparison.”
Spinning around on my heels, I prepare to snap when our father interrupts, “Why are you shopping for a tux? You hate tuxes.”
I do. I absolutely do. The bow ties. The coat tails. The vest. The lack of depth the white undershirt rarely provides. All of it feels like suit prison to me.
“Because it’s my wedding. I’m supposed to wear a tuxedo. It’s the whole reason I abandoned the idea of wearing this custom designed St. Valmonte suit. It was absolutely gorgeous. Easily the most amazing suit I’ve ever seen or would’ve ever worn.”
My father slowly nods. “And you gave up on the notion because you’re expected to wear a tux?”
“Correct.”
“The same way you are expected to get married on palace grounds?” He lifts his eyebrows. “The same way you are expected to have the traditional waltz in front of Counts and Countesses?”
His point causes me to glower.
When did my father become snarky? I thought that was my role.
“Wear the suit,” he casually commands, grabbing the whiskey being offered to him.
“But the cost to have it custom made with the wedding just a few weeks away-”
“Is something I am more than willing to pay.”
My jaw slips open.
“If it’s going to make you happy and end this obnoxious parade of ridiculous attire than by all means, please make the call.”
I grin widely.
“After all…you only get married once.”
“What father means is he’s only paying for you to get married once,” Kristopher jokes while smacking on an olive. “The next one is on you.”
“And for that comment you’re going to wear a dark purple velvet suit to my wedding.”
His eyes immediately widen.
“You’re going to look like a plum not quite ready to become a prune.”
He pinches his eyebrows together. “Are you implying I’ve put on weight?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m just saying Soph isn’t the only one with a baby bump.”
My brother almost drops his glass as I erupt into laughter, ignoring our father’s groans of irritation.
And for the record I am only getting married once. Brie is more than just the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with. She is the rest of my life.