Chapter 253. Jessica's Wedding

The air was thick with an aroma that Anton found it difficult to remember smelling before: pure, simple joy. It was an aromatic meld of damp autumn leaves brought in on shoes, of the faint, sweet trail of flowers (simple, elegant, Jessica's selections), of the yeasty warmth of the pub reception that was to come. It was light years from the cold, glossy sheen of corporate rooms, from the signaled opulence of upscale weddings. It was real. It was raw, genuine, purely human.

Ten years as his executive assistant, the woman who had navigated his mood swings, protected him from the minutiae, and stayed a steadfast presence in his more tumultuous moments, was standing before the registrar. She was resplendent in a slip of a dress the same color as champagne, with her hands entwined with that of Leo, a man with a kind face and a worried, genuine smile, a museum curator.

Anton was seated in the third row, Sabatine a comforting, solid presence beside him. He'd made it clear he wanted to be a guest, not a sideshow attraction. He wore a suit, of course, but it was charcoal, not black, his tie a fraction relaxed. Sabatine wore a navy trousersuit, her bearing relaxed but attentive, glancing now and then toward the exit before focusing on the pair in front of her.

The ceremony was brief and lacked ceremony. The registrar’s words were matter-of-fact and legal-sounding, and yet there appeared to be a magnitude in them that constricted Anton’s chest. When Jessica, her voice ringed with conviction and emphasis, spoke the words “I do,” and Leo repeated them with a quaver in his voice, a stinging and exquisite pain sliced through Anton.

He saw not just a marriage, but a statement of hope. A statement that could be made in the full knowledge of the mess that the world was. Jessica had known the worst of his world: the betrayal, the paranoia, the isolation—and even then she had found a way to build this little patch of hope for herself.

A hot, unexpected pressure had built up behind his eyes. He blinked rapidly, fixing on the floral ribbon tied to the registrar’s lectern. Do not cry. Do not. You are Anton Rogers. You do not cry at weddings. But the order, legacy of his father’s voice, had no purchase here. The emotion swelled from nowhere—that vicarious joy blended with something sharper and more personal. For the simplicity they were celebrating. The open-hearted trust implicit in it. The ring, that secret waiting so patiently in his safe.

One disloyal tear slipped out, leaving a burning trail as it fell. He turned his head ever so slightly, hoping the shadow of the people in front of them would cover him.

He sensed, rather than saw, Sabatine’s gaze turn from the couple to him. A moment of silence followed. Then, a warm whisper in his ear, trembling with barely restrained laughter.

“Is the great Anton Rogers. crying?”

He stiffened, keeping his face turned away. “Dust,” he muttered thickly. “Allergy to… unbridled sentiment, apparently.”

A soft, incredulous laugh vibrated against his shoulder. Her hand found his, which was lying on his knee, and her fingers wove through it, a symbol of solidarity and at the same time a pointed rebuke. "It's all right, you know,” she breathed, her lips perilously close to his ear. "You can be a human being. I won't put it in the Financial Times.”

He threw her a look, which was completely sabotaged by the timing of the second tear making its escaping debut. Its path was traced by the wide eyes of Sabatine, who was drinking in this moment of delight. His smile was swift and lethal.

The ceremony was over. They kissed—a soft, long kiss, which was met with applause and cheering. As everyone stood up, the room erupting into a joyous, chattering crowd, Sabatine leaned into him, her arm sliding into his.

“Come on, you big softie,” she said, smiling at him fondly. “Let’s go give them our congratulations before you need a handkerchief intervention.”

He allowed himself to be guided into the scrum, Sabatine a skilled helmswoman at the tiller. By the time they reached Jessica and Leo, he was together again, the mask of the billionaire in place, albeit a tad frayed around the edges.

“Jessica, Leo,” he said, shaking Leo’s hand and then, on an impulse, hauling Jessica into a tentative hug. She was shocked and then clearly moved. “Congratulations. Wishing you every happiness.” These were routine wishes, but his voicing them carried such sincerity that Jessica's eyes shone with emotion in return.

“Thanks, Anton. That means… so much.” Then she hugged Sabatine, a fierce grip that was over almost before it began. “Thanks for showing up and for not smashing him into smithereens so he could get here.”

"My absolute pleasure," Sabatine said, her smile sincere until she gave Anton a sly look. "He was on his best behavior. Well, mostly,"

The party was in a pub that adjoined, all dark wood and shining brass, the buzz of conversation. There were no appetizers, just big bowls of food, and a keg of fine local brew. Anton, who in his normal life would have found this kind of casual gathering disturbing, felt himself easing into it.

 

 Now Sabatine brought him a mug of the stuff, tapping her own glass with a smile.

“To love,” she said with dancing eyes. “And to not be afraid to express it. Even if it means … ocular leakage.”

He downed a large swallow of his beer. "You are never going to let this go, are you?"

"Not a chance," she said, sliding up against the bar beside him. She nodded towards where Jessica and Leo were laughing with a group of friends. "It’s a good thing. What you just felt. It means you get it. The point of all this." She waved her hand vaguely at the pub, the party, the world.

“The point being?”

“That it's worth it,” she said. “The risk. The vulnerability. The possibility of glorious, shattering, agony-inducing pain. All of it. Because of the opportunity that it affords—one that is so.normal. So happy.” Her taunt seemed to mellow into a more considered tone. “I saw it connect. It was beautiful.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, in the warm, mellow light of the pub. Her sharp edges were smoothed, not just by the light, but by the pint of beer in her hand, and by the obvious love in her eyes as she watched him. The image in his mind's eye overlaid itself .

     This. This moment. Amidst all this simplicity and happiness.

“It was,” he admitted quietly. “It is.” He reached out, pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb tracing her cheek. “Do you ever think about it? This? The registry office? The pub? The… the ‘I do’?”

Her breathing caught in her throat. The teasing was gone, and in its place was a vulnerable expression that echoed back to him from earlier. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure out how to get through the next day, the next twenty-four hours. Big, happy futures have been a thing for other people, not me.” But then she glanced over at the couple and smiled. “Recently, though. Yes. I do get to think about it. It doesn’t seem impossible anymore.”

The admission lingered between them, more intimate than a kiss in this crowded room.

“Their moment” was disrupted by Leo rapping a knife against his glass, indicating it was time for speeches. Jessica's sister told a humorous, touching story. Leo's best friend told a story about university days, which made everyone embarrassed. Then Jessica stood, scanning the room for Anton's table.

"I'd like to thank my boss, Anton,” she said, raising her glass. The room fell silent, confusion mingling in every face. "For the extended leave and for showing up today. Not just that. For teaching me—especially over the past few months—that it’s never too late to change my way and open my life to others and to fight for what's good.” Her voice broke as her eyes welled up. "You hired me ten years ago, but it's been instructive recently, showing me what it means to be brave. To all of us. To Anton.”

A wave of acclaim rippled through the room. Anton was completely unprepared and experienced that dangerous pressure behind his eyes again. He lifted a pint in silent acknowledgment and appreciation. His throat was tight, and he was unable to speak.

His hand caught hers underneath the table, squeezing tightly. When he finally worked up the nerve to look at her, she wasn't playing games anymore. Instead, she simply regarded him with a fierce, proud love on her face that took his breath.

Later, as they made their way back along the embankment of the Thames to the townhouse, the lights of the city dancing on the dark water, the night air had a cooling effect. The sounds of the pub gave way to a comfortable silence.

“So,” Sabatine said, swaying slightly in his grasp of her joined hands. “A crier.

"I’ve created a monster," he groaned

“You have,” she agreed cheerfully. “A monster who now knows your kryptonite is heartfelt wedding vows. This is valuable intel.”

He stopped and pulled her to a stop beside him. The moon was a thin crescent in the sky. “Sabatine.”

She smiled until her name was pronounced fully, and then her smile changed to something more somber.“Yes?”

“When it’s our turn,” he said, the words deliberate, a promise woven into a statement. “No registry office. No pub.”

She blinked, and her lips parted in surprise.

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. “We’ll have the whole damn city. Because our story isn’t small, or quiet, or just for us. It’s a declaration. And I want the world to hear it.”

There was a gradual, shining smile that spread across her face, banishing even the last vestiges of her past from her face. It was the smile of a woman who had been offered a future that she had never dared to dream of, but had found it wanting, yet wonderful.

“A city-sized declaration, huh?” she murmured, moving into him. “Well, I suppose that’s all right. As long as it’s got good security. And a decent pint of beer afterward.”

He laughed, the laughter ringing out freely in the night air, and kissed her on the embankment, the river flowing endlessly beside them, the remembered pleasure of a simple profound joy illuminating them from within. The crying had been a breakthrough. The joke is a benediction. And the promise of what was to come a shared and exhilarating truth kept as securely in their hearts as any ring ever could be.

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