I watched him adjust the cufflinks on his tux for what seemed the tenth time as he paced in the small garden area outside of the church.
“Why are you so nervous?” I finally snapped, “Aren’t you two already married?”
“I’m not,” he lied.
“Yes, you are,” I argued. “Do you think she’s going to say ‘no’ and what? Go back to that house you guys just closed on? Get a divorce? Because you guys are already married.”
“It’s not the damn wedding,” Yulian bit out. “Today just marks the start of me taking over. I’ve got to grease up a lot of assholes that I don’t care about all night long. All I want to do is go home and fuck my wife.”
Hector snorts, “You’ll grease them because if you mess up, that’s the only thing you’ll get to fuck tonight.”
“God, don’t fucking remind me.”
“Trouble in paradise already, boss?” I tease lightly.
“Em was seasick the entire way here and when we finally got in town, she’s been too tired to do anything. I haven’t gotten laid in almost a week.”
“Poor baby,” Hector croons dramatically.
“Yep, get married and she stops putting out, that’s the way it goes,” Lobito grouses. The sharp sound of a top being taken off a bottle makes all of our heads swivel to where he’s sitting. “What? It’s true.”
“Where’d you get the beer, man?” I ask suddenly thirsty. I figured it wasn’t going to be a dry wedding, but I hadn’t found the bar, though they probably hadn’t set up yet.
“I asked The Shepard and She provided,” Lobito answers with mock piety. “Through her-“
“Shut up, Lobito. Where?”
“The bar in the reception hall. They wouldn’t give me any liquor but I saw Em’s skinny little brother run off with some. The fucking jerks.” He takes a swig, “I brought up a case. Want one?”
“Pass that shit over!” I made to hand the first one to Yulian but he shook his head.
“My Nonna caught me drinking out here one night. She dragged me by the ear all the way to the confessional. She’s buried somewhere in the church’s crypt. Her ghost would rise up against me if I did it again.”
“But the reception hall here is a-okay?”
“My Nonna’s whims do not have to make sense to you. You just obey and pray to god she’s not carrying a spoon.”
“You want one, Hector? Or are you afraid of your spoon wielding grandma, too?”
“Different Grandmother,” Hector says, taking the top off with his teeth. “Mine was Chief of Police in Newcrest, she’s already spinning in her grave. A beer won’t make it worse.”