A/N: A little M section at the end. After this, the wedding day!
Unless someone gives me another idea…
April 2016
"I can't begin to tell you how much I've enjoyed the evening," Dickie said, shaking Charles's hand with enthusiasm. "And I do appreciate that you've invited me to the big event next week. I know you and Elsie wanted it to be more intimate."
"Of course you were always going to be invited," Charles responded, "We've known each other since law school." He leaned back against the red-cushioned chair.
He had had no thought of a stag night. So when Robert and John whisked him away after work on a Thursday evening, he had been very worried about what they had planned. In retrospect, he had no need to worry. If Robert alone had planned it, there would have been cause for it; but John had a better handle on what he liked, and what was appropriate. An evening at a four-star Italian restaurant with old friends suited him.
He was also deeply grateful to John for leaving his last Friday before marriage open. The following Friday would be the night before the wedding, thus rendering the weekly ritual at Pedro's impossible. Not seeing Elsie until the wedding was one of the few details he had insisted on.
He smiled as Dickie leaned over, arguing about gambling websites with Carter Phelps. Robert roared with laughter with Judge Garrett and Frank Julian at the end of the table. John moved over to sit in the chair on Charles's other side.
"You all right?" he asked. "Would you like more wine?"
"Since you're the designated driver, certainly," Charles pushed his glass toward him. "Is it normal to be thinking about the bride tonight? I know these types of evenings are used for the purpose of letting the groom have a last "boys' night out", as it were, but I can't stop thinking about her." He sipped his wine, feeling embarrassed. "You probably think I'm an old fool."
"Not an old fool," John said, a wide smile on his face. "Just a man in love. I'd be worried if you had forgotten about the bride this evening."
"Never," Charles declared firmly. John held up his water glass.
"To the women we love," he said. Charles clinked it with his wine.
"To the women we love," he repeated. Nine days to go…
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"Really, Charles, you don't have to hold my hand. I'm perfectly capable of handling the Palmer deposition while you're gone. I may be an old lady, but I've been an attorney since you were a schoolboy." Violet looked over her glasses at him from the other side of his desk. He had to concentrate to maintain eye contact. When she looked at him like that, he felt like a schoolboy. He put his hands on his desk.
"I just wanted to go over the details-"
"Which you did. Admirably." She removed her glasses and set the file in her briefcase. "Promise me while you're away on your honeymoon you won't think about work. I spoke with Miss Baxter, and she informed me that she plans on monitoring your email. And she will know if you check. So try to spare her, and refrain from doing so. I should hope you'd be able to keep away from work on such a momentous occasion."
With Elsie? Work will be the last thing on my mind, is what he wanted to say. Instead, he folded his hands.
"I promise, I won't even check my email."
"Good," she said, her eyes soft. "Charles, I've known you for over forty years. You're positively effervescent with joy. I can't tell you how pleased I am about your marriage."
"Thank you," he said, feeling a lump in his throat. "Elsie and I are both thrilled." There was a soft knock on the open door.
"Ah," said Violet, getting to her feet. "The lady herself. Good evening, Mrs. Hughes."
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Elsie said, looking between them. "It's five o'clock, Mr. Carson, are you ready to leave?"
"Oh heavens, call him Charles. Or better yet, Charlie," Violet said, sweeping past Elsie into the hall. "No one here will think you unprofessional." Elsie looked back at the managing partner. From the look on his face, he disagreed.
"Perhaps she's right. I should start calling you Charlie," Elsie teased, leaning against a bookcase. He harrumphed, gathering his bag.
"It's not that I mind at home. Just what if everyone else here started calling me that?" he asked as they went down the stairs behind Robert and Violet.
"No one else will," she said confidently. "Can you imagine Phyllis Baxter calling you Charlie? Because I cannot." They exited into the main lobby. Charles bumped into Robert's back.
"Excuse me-" he looked up to see why both his partner and his mother were stopped. Instantly, a sound very like a growl came out of his mouth. Elsie clamped a hand on his arm.
Richard Carlisle, looking like a deer in headlights, had just come from the elevator. He shifted his weight, obviously wanting to leave the building, but he seemed unable to.
Violet broke the awkward silence. "Well, Mr. Carlisle, we haven't seen much of you lately. I heard Steven Russell threw you out of Haxby. Is it true?"
"No, Mrs. Crawley, he didn't throw me out," the tall man said, his eyes darting from her to Elsie. He then focused on a spot somewhere on the opposite wall. "Not physically. But it is true, my time at Haxby is ended. I doubt we'll meet again."
"Do you promise?" Violet asked. Robert coughed, and Elsie looked down, biting her lip in amusement. Richard simply nodded at Charles, whose fists were still clenched, and walked out.
"Well," Robert said, turning to the couple behind him, "It seems that is the end to that business. Cora and I spoke with Pete Halton yesterday, and he told us that Steven sacked Richard earlier this week. It seems he had received information that Carlisle, with the help of a staff member, was bilking several of their clients. It would not surprise me that anyone involved will be charged at the very least, and will probably have a lawsuit brought against them. Who gave Pete the information, though, I haven't the slightest idea. It seemed to come as a surprise to him and Steven."
"We're simply happy to be able to move on," Charles said, relaxing slightly. They exited the building and said their goodbyes. Charles and Elsie walked across the street into Pedro's. Tara had their seats saved at the bar.
"Hello, you two lovebirds!" she said as they sat down. "What can I get for you? The drinks are on the house tonight, since you won't be in next week – or the week after, Alfred told me."
"That's kind of you, thank you!" Elsie said. "I'll have a Goose Island pale ale."
"What did Alfred tell you?" Charles asked. "Just an O'Doul's for me, please."
"A non-alcoholic beer? What's wrong, Mr. Carson?" Tara asked, setting Elsie's drink down.
"Nothing," he said defensively. "I just don't feel like something strong tonight."
"Robert and John took him out last night with friends," Elsie explained cheerily. "I think he had a wee bit too much wine." Charles winced as she took a drink and set the glass down with a thump. Tara laughed.
"Oh well, at least they were smart and celebrated with you this week instead of next," she said. "I can't tell you how many guys I know who party the night before their weddings, then can barely function on the big day." She set down Charles's drink. "Alfred told me you're getting married a week from tomorrow, and going on your honeymoon right after."
"That's right," Elsie said. They chatted for a few minutes about the wedding details, then about Tara's daughter, who was in remission from leukemia. After fifteen minutes, though, the place filled up and the young bartender was busy with other customers. Charles was glad, even though he liked Tara.
"Here's to Mr. Gregson," he said in an undertone. He and Elsie drank a toast to Edith's husband. Elsie choked back a laugh.
"I must remember to thank him at our reception," she said, laughing. "I wasn't worried about Edna, but I could never be sure Richard wouldn't try to make mischief again in the future."
Charles squeezed her hand. "We can look forward to our life together, without hindrances."
"Oh?" Elsie asked, leaning her elbow on the bar. "You speak as though we'll never have problems."
"You know that's not what I mean," he said. He shifted slightly to let someone lean in and order a drink. "Any challenges we'll face, we'll face them head on. But it's nice to know there won't be some nefarious outside influence trying to spoil our happiness."
She smiled. "True. I love thinking that the next time we come here on a Friday, we'll be married." His stomach flipped at her expression. "What say we drink to that, eh?"
"I say, what a wonderful idea." She is so lovely, and she is going to be my wife.
For all he cared, Pedro's may well have been empty.
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She hummed as she drained the sink. As she hung the towel up, he wrapped an arm around her waist from behind. With his other hand, he lightly tugged at the top of her blouse, along her collarbone.
"Elsie," he whispered as his soft lips found the spot behind her ear. He trailed a line down her neck to her shoulder. "My darling, come to bed."
She caressed the back of his neck as he continued his attention. "I'm not in a hurry," she managed to gasp. "After tonight, there's none of this until next Saturday." Why did I agree to that? I don't think I can last that long.
"Maybe we can leave the reception earlier," he murmured, his hands gently massaging her breasts. She moaned. "Maybe no one will notice."
Turning in his arms, she wound her fingers over his broad shoulders. "You know we can't do that." They kissed, their breathing becoming ever more ragged.
"Bed," he finally huffed into her hair.
A distressingly short time later, she lay against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He rubbed her bare back.
"What was that about not being in a hurry?" he asked, a wry grin curving his lips. "You were in more of a hurry than I was, love."
"Mmmmmm," she kissed his chest, open-mouthed. "You started it at dinner, running your foot along my leg. Then after, you backed against me when I was washing up."
He let out a long breath and put his hands behind his head. "Are you saying I was deliberately turning you on?"
"Charlie," she whispered, emphasizing the r, "When you do it on purpose, do you have any idea how hard it is to resist you? Sometimes you turn me on just when you speak."
Likewise. He took a shallow breath, regretting the decision they'd made. "I don't mean to," he swallowed. He shifted on the bed, trying to move her off of him. She refused to let him do so, instead pinning his hands against the pillow and straddling him, sitting up. She gasped as she felt his manhood against her behind.
"Love," he protested. "We decided after tonight, no-"
She clamped a hand over his mouth, slipping her index finger through his lips. He bit it gently, making her gasp. "It's-" she squinted at the clock, "-11:38. We have until midnight, and I am going to enjoy every-" Kiss. "single-" Kiss. "minute until then." As she spoke, she moved slowly over him. He moaned aloud. Her fingers found his hot skin, and she sank onto him, relishing the feel of him inside her. He grabbed her hips and moved her back and forth, gradually faster until they found their rhythm.
She rocked against him, feeling the delicious sensation of chasing perfection. "Faster, love," she panted. "F-faster-y-yes, yes, don't stop-"
He bellowed his release, and she reached hers moments later. She keened, her body moving of its own accord, as the vibrations pulsed through them. Gradually, like waves growing ever smaller, they decreased and she lay against him again, breathing hard.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you." He raised her hand from his chest and kissed her ring finger. "The next time we are like this," he gasped, "You will have another ring on this finger. And that ring will find its mate, here."
He extended his fingers so that they were palm to palm. She leaned on her elbow, a tender expression on her face.
"The only mate I have ever wanted, or could ever want."