Chapter 4

Tamaki kept his eyes trained on a spot just over her head as she came down the aisle, a bright smile pasted on his face. He would not look at her. He didn't want a repeat of what had happened in the Hitachin studio. He took a deep breath as she arrived at his side, watching how Haruhi's face went stony as her dad gave her a peck on the cheek. It didn't look like he was off the hook, as far as she was concerned.

It was a short ceremony—they had planned only a Western one, given his French heritage and how it just felt less binding to Haruhi to not go through the Japanese rituals. She'd save that for when she really got married. Tamaki tried to ignore the sting that he'd felt at that.

The brevity of a Western ceremony made getting through the thing less onerous. Until the one Western tradition he'd forgotten about presented itself.

"You may now kiss the bride," said the officiant. Tamaki froze for a second, then his eyes slanted down in a panic to the small woman beside him. She looked up at him a bit of a frown on her face. They stood there and in another second the onlookers would be able to tell something was wrong. Finally, her face partially hidden behind her veil and the music starting to swell, Haruhi hissed, "Just kiss me, Senpai!"

He snapped into action and leaned down to press his lips to hers. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, blood rushing in his ears. Suddenly a not completely rational or coherent thought flashed in his mind. Would this be the only time he'd ever kiss her? Without consciousness, the thought animated him and he found himself tilting her chin up and pressing his mouth to hers with more than a little emotion, moving tenderly over her soft lips as if to memorize their feel under his, lingering just a little longer than necessary to fulfill what was essentially a trite formality, his lips parting slightly before he pulled away.

As he straightened up and applause erupted in honor of the newly married couple, Tamaki worriedly looked at Haruhi's face. She was shocked for sure, but a little smile hovered around the edges of her lips and her eyes shone up at him. He smiled back—sincerely for the first time that day—and offering his arm, proudly led her back up the aisle.

The reception was over and the "married" couple along with the rest of the host club collapsed in the large bridal suite Ayame had reserved for them. Appearances had to be kept up.

They could all finally relax after the strain of the charade, especially Haruhi and Tamaki. They had mostly kept separate throughout the reception, not unusual for a bride and groom as they greeted guests. A first dance had been a bit awkward, but he had managed to keep it light by reminding her of silly anecdotes from their host club days. She laughed and laughed while they danced and Tamaki's heart swelled. At least he could make her laugh.

Now as they recounted the day over champagne, everyone was getting a bit silly. They all agreed—Ayame as well—that the event seemed most authentic. And was actually quite a lot of fun. Another epic host club cosplay for the record books.

Haruhi especially, not usually a big drinker, indulged, trying to relieve some of the stress that had been building up in her for days now. But at some point, people had to drift away—as Ayame hinted to folks that the charade was not over yet. No authentic wedding night in history had ever included five additional men.

Finally, when the last member had excused themselves—Kyoya, who, out of sight, gave Tamaki a squeeze on his arm and said, "You'll be okay,"—it was just Haruhi and Tamaki. She had already changed out of her wedding gown earlier into a white flowy knee-length dress that the twins had provided her and sat languidly, more than a little tipsy. Her arms were stretched out over the back of the couch in the suite's sitting area, her head leaning back, her eyes closed. Tamaki was out on the balcony getting some air and trying to figure out a way to diffuse the mood. Of course it was all fake—but they were all alone in a bridal suite with one large bed.

He glanced at Haruhi inside the room. "Hey," he laughed, finally, trying to inject a jovial feel. "Don't fall asleep there—that's my bed."

Haruhi opened her eyes. "Oh, is it?" She stood up a little wobbly on her feet and giggled lightly. Tamaki had never seen Haruhi drunk before—she was adorable. He watched as she meandered her way to the large bed. He stepped inside prepared to catch her if she stumbled—which seemed likely. But she made it in one piece and started rummaging in her luggage for her pajamas.

She gave out a little, breathy shriek. "What is it?" asked Tamaki, who stood uncertainly before the couch.

She quickly spun around with another giggle. "Look what the twins left me, those devils!" She was holding up against her small form a lacy black, mostly see-through nightie. "Can you believe those guys?"

Tamaki felt all the blood drain from his face—and start to pool elsewhere. God, what he would give that this was a real wedding night and she would be wearing that for him.

Haruhi got a teasing look on her face and swayed slowly toward Tamaki. "Should I put it on?" she purred seductively as she came up close to the flustered blonde.

"Haruhi…" he said, trying to laugh off how unnerved he was by her abrupt mood swing.

"Maybe we can take some photos," she laughed a low flirty laugh as she slinked closer to him, "For the immigration folks."

Tamaki had been backing away from her and the sexy lingerie as she spoke, but he now found himself up against the couch. As she made to put her arms around his neck he fell backward, sitting hard, Haruhi following him down, her knees resting on either side of his lap, the skirt of her dress riding up dangerously over her thighs.

"Haruhi, stop – you're drunk. I don't think we need to take it this far," he stammered.

"How far is that?" she asked in a sultry voice, leaning up against him and placing her arms around his neck. "That kiss you gave me earlier today—that seemed like you wanted to take it pretty far." She brought her lips to his ear. "And I liked it," she whispered.

Tamaki gulped. She had liked it? Was that why she was behaving this way, as if there was some sort of attraction between them?

"Haruhi, you should get in bed…" Tamaki said, trying to pull her arms from around his neck.

"We are in bed," she giggled. "Your bed," she said patting the sofa next to her.

It would be so easy, he thought to himself. She was drunk—he could just say he was drunk, too. Why shouldn't they "consummate" the marriage? She had liked the kiss, after all. For a moment he contemplated taking her in his arms, throwing the nightie aside, throwing all their clothing aside, and …

But no. This is not how he wanted her. God knows he wanted her—but not like this. Not when she was drunk, the strain of her disrupted life and the fake goings-on finally taking their toll on her psyche. No, it wouldn't be right in any situation, and it especially wasn't right in this one.

So after briefly closing his eyes and relishing for one more moment the feel of her small body pressing up against his, he used his superior size and strength to simply stand up and carry her bridal style to the bed.

"Oh! So we're going to use my bed!" she chuckled drowsily, the alcohol now catching up to her. Holding her up with one arm, he managed to pull down the bed clothes and lay her gently down. He pulled off her shoes and covered her. He was about to turn away as it looked like sleep was taking her when she sat up and pulled him down to her, kissing him hard. Then letting him go she sleepily said, "Good night, husband."

After a few shocked seconds, Tamaki sighed over her now slumbering form. "Good night—wife."