Real Regrets (Kensingtons Book 2)

There’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I call out.

I’m expecting Crew.

Instead, my father steps inside.

My fingers freeze halfway through the buttons of my shirt.

I’m not surprised he came. Appearances matter to my father, if nothing else. Attending the wedding of his son isn’t an event he could miss without raising a lot of eyebrows. As far as most people know, my father is far more affectionate with me and Crew than he ever has been in private. Been with me, at least.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Oliver.”

Crew officially left Kensington Consolidated two months ago, right before Scarlett gave birth to their second child. He and my father had a long conversation at the hospital when he came to see the baby, while I sat in the room with Scarlett and Hannah. As far as I know, that was the first time they talked outside the office since Crew told him he was leaving the company.

This is the first time I’m talking to my father outside of the office. We discuss work and nothing else, adjusting to the new dynamic of no Crew. It’s not really better or worse. Just…different.

“You never RSVP’d.”

One dark eyebrow rises, like a slash. “You thought I wouldn’t come?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

There’s a flash of emotion across his face, something that almost looks like sadness. It disappears too quickly for me to tell for sure.

“Nice church.”

Turns out, when it’s unrelated to golf or business or expensive alcohol, my father is terrible at small talk.

I clear my throat, finishing buttoning my shirt and straightening the collar. “It’s where Hannah’s parents got married.”

He nods. “Met them outside. Nice couple. Dean has done well for himself.”

“Yes. Thank God the woman I’m marrying isn’t penniless. Her father isn’t a billionaire, but she should inherit something.” Sarcasm drips from my voice.

My father clears his throat. “She seems like a nice girl, Oliver. I hope you’re happy together.”

“Thanks.”

“I know I’ve been a shitty father.” He drops the blunt declaration on me with no warning whatsoever.

I blink rapidly, trying to decide how to respond to the candor. “I’ve been a shitty son.” No matter what, Candace will always be a regret I can’t reverse.

“I only wanted the best for you boys. I was…proud. Of the men you were becoming. The legacy I was leaving. And then…it was hard to know when to stop pushing. I always wanted you to accomplish more.” He clears his throat, the closest to uncomfortable I’ve seen in a long time. Then holds out an envelope. “A wedding gift.”

I take the envelope from him and pull out the sheets of paper. It takes a minute, to digest the legalese. “You’re stepping down next month?”

“You’ve earned it.” That’s all he says, before turning and leaving me reeling.

Typical of my father, to never linger. To hand me what matters most in the world to him like it’s a lukewarm cup of coffee and give me no chance to respond.

Eventually, I realize I’ve been standing here too long and need to finish getting ready. I’ve just finished the buttons on my shirt when there’s another knock on the door.

“Yeah?”

This time, it is Crew who walks in. His newborn son, Christopher, is strapped to his chest.

Christopher Oliver Kensington.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get choked up when I first heard his full name.

“You’re not ready?” he asks, looking at the hanging jacket I’ve yet to put on.

I hold the papers out to him. “Dad stopped by.”

Crew absorbs the contents faster than I did. He whistles, long and low. “Wow. Congratulations.”

“I wasn’t sure if he’d ever step down. Let alone in a few weeks. I’ve barely adjusted to you being gone. Now…it’s a lot.”

“Well, Dad never cared much for good timing. Business doesn’t wait, and all that.”

I nod, tucking the papers back into the envelope carefully. Now that the shock is wearing off, there are other emotions. Excitement. Anticipation.

Today, I’m gaining the two things I always thought would be discordant. I thought I’d have to choose between becoming CEO and marrying for love. Between success and happiness. Gaining both is unsettling in the best way.

Garrett and Asher walk in as I’m finishing getting ready.

“Reporting for baby duty,” Asher says, holding out his hands for Christopher.

Crew is serving as my best man, and Hannah’s sister Rachel is her maid of honor.

“Make sure that you—” Crew starts.

“I got a twenty-minute spiel from Scarlett,” Asher says. “I can handle carrying the kid from here into the church. Promise.”

Reluctantly, Crew lets his son go.

“Good luck,” Garrett tells me, punching me lightly in the arm.

As far as he knows—as far as most people attending our wedding know—Hannah and I aren’t married yet. But we halted the divorce before it was finalized, so we legally are. It’s easy to pretend this is our first wedding, though, since neither of us remember it.

“Thanks,” I reply.

“You ready to do this?” Crew asks. “Sober?”

I roll my eyes, but smile. “Yeah.”

I walk side by side with my brother, toward the church where I’m marrying Hannah Garner for a second time.\

HANNAH

My mom cries when I hug her goodbye. “My God, you look so beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Call me when you land, all right?”

I nod. “I will.”

My dad kisses my cheek. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Rachel is next, bouncing on her toes with excitement until she has the chance to throw her arms around me. “Thank you for marrying a guy with tons of hot, rich, single friends. You’re my favorite sister.”

I shake my head and laugh before hugging Eddie. He tells me to travel safely as I hug April and kiss Ezra’s forehead.

Then, I reach Oliver’s family, which is infinitely more awkward.

Scarlett is first.

“Thank you again for the dress,” I tell her.

Much to the envy of brides everywhere, I’m wearing a rouge original. They don’t even have a bridal line.

I was stunned when Scarlett offered. And it’s everything I imagined and more, mostly since it signifies the wedge between Scarlett and me might not be permanent.

“We’ll get dinner, next time you’re in New York?”

She nods, glancing at Crew, who’s attempting to console a crying Lili with a sleeping Christopher strapped to his chest. “I’ll leave Crew at home with the kids. Oliver can help him babysit.”

“I heard that,” Crew says, pulling a fruit bar out of his pocket and handing it to his daughter. The waterworks stop immediately.

“Bribery, really?” Scarlett asks.

“Did you have a better idea?” Crew asks, straightening. He leans forward for a one-armed hug. I squeeze his arm, careful not to crush Christopher between our bodies. “I’m happy for you, Hannah,” he says.

“Thanks, Crew.”

We share a smile.

And then, I’m face to face with Arthur Kensington in person. I’ve split my time between LA and New York leading up to the wedding, but none of the time I’ve spent in Manhattan has been around Oliver’s father. I wasn’t even sure if he’d be here.

When I asked Oliver if his father was attending, his response was “Probably.”

The picture I had in my head was a villain, some gnarled monster with dead eyes and an icy heart. But I’m staring at what Oliver will look like in thirty years. The resemblance between him and his father is uncanny. Same eyes, same jawline, same proud stance.

“Hello, Hannah.”

“Hi, Mr. Kensington.”

His expression is shrewd as he studies me intently. I resist the urge to shift under his scrutiny. Undoubtedly, he’s thinking about all the ways I’m lacking. In comparison to his other daughter-in-law, I’m contributing nothing to the Kensington name.

“We’re family. You’re welcome to call me Arthur.” His smile is warm, and I can’t tell if that’s genuine or feigned. I should have guessed he’d be charming.

“I didn’t think you treated your family different from anyone else, Mr. Kensington.”

Arthur’s smile tightens. “You’re wrong. I treat them worse.”

I’m taken totally off guard by his response. In my experience, narcissists are rarely self-aware.

He reaches into the pocket of his navy suit, extracting a rectangular velvet box. “These belonged to my late wife, Elizabeth. She’d want Oliver’s bride to have something of hers.”

“Thank you,” I say automatically, flipping the lid open. A pair of diamond earrings twinkle in their settings, the jewels almost blinding in the sunshine. There’s a central diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller ones. The design matches the engagement ring Scarlett is wearing. “Wow. They’re stunning.”

“I had them custom-made to match her ring,” Arthur says. “Gave them to her on our wedding day.”

There’s a softer note to his voice, but any emotion is carefully shuttered away by the time I look up.

“You should stow those for safekeeping. They’re worth a small fortune.”

He doesn’t want anyone else to see them, I realize. Nodding, I slip the jewelry into my bag for the plane, hiding the thoughtful gesture. Wondering how much else Arthur hides behind.

After we say the rest of our goodbyes, a car takes me and Oliver straight from our reception to the airport. It’s a short drive, about twenty minutes in total.

I regret not changing out of my wedding dress after about five. I wanted to savor wearing it, since this is the only occasion where I will. But the yards of fabric take up most of the backseat, bunching around my waist and around my legs.

Oliver casts me an amused smile but doesn’t comment. He carefully helps me out of the backseat once we arrive at the tarmac. We’re taking Kensington Consolidated’s private plane, which I’ve only been on once before.

Uniformed attendants rush around, loading up the plane with our luggage and doing last-minute safety checks. I climb the four steps that lead inside the plane, surveying the luxurious surroundings.

I drop my bag on the couch and walk over to a window seat, kicking off my heels and peering outside. Oliver has refused to tell me where he’s taking me for my honeymoon, so I had to guess about what to pack. That’s reflected in the four suitcases that are being carted from the car.

Oliver climbs onto the plane a few minutes later. “We should be leaving in a couple of minutes.”

“Can you hand me my phone?” I ask, pointing to my bag. “I want to take photos of the plane.”

“Why?” Oliver asks, looking amused as he grabs my purse and starts to dig through it.

“Have you seen it?” I ask, digging my toes into the soft carpet.

“What’s this?”

I glance over to find him holding the small velvet box I slipped into my bag before leaving our reception. I bite my bottom lip, not sure how he’ll react. “Your dad gave them to me as we were leaving. They were your mom’s.”

He opens the box, then quickly shuts it. “Yeah, I recognize them.”

“I don’t have to wear them…”

“No, you should. She would want you to.”

I don’t tell Oliver that’s exactly what his father said. I watch the emotions war on his face as he turns the box over and over in his hands before carefully setting it back inside my purse.

“Maybe he has regrets too,” I whisper.

Oliver shrugs, but the motion is stiff. He walks over and hands my phone to me, then takes the opposite seat and looks out the window. We’re beginning to move, turning toward the airstrip.

I don’t bother unlocking my phone or snapping any photos. There’s a melancholy surrounding Oliver that I’m guessing has everything to do with his parents. I’ve never appreciated my own mom and dad more than I do right now. They were both at my wedding. Both supportive, even knowing how our relationship began. Oliver didn’t have that today. Hasn’t had it for a long time, if ever.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

I’m relieved to see him smile, before glancing toward me. “It has impressive architecture,” he tells me.

I roll my eyes, then watch out the window as the plane takes off. Once we’ve leveled out, I stand. “I’m going to change.”

The only other time I’ve been on the jet was to accompany Oliver on a work trip to Chicago. Asher and another Kensington Consolidated employee, Scott, were with us, and it was a short flight. I looked in the back bedroom but didn’t spend any time in here.

The rear of the plane contains a king-sized bed, centered with windows on either side and decorated with cream and gold accents. If not for the occasional swoop in my stomach and the cloud cover through the windows, I’d have no idea this bedroom is airborne.

I struggle with the back of my wedding dress for about thirty seconds before calling Oliver in for help. He’ll probably grumble about it, but I don’t want to risk ripping the fabric.

A few seconds later, I hear him walk in the bedroom.

“What do you have against dresses with zippers?” he asks, his hands finding the buttons holding the back of my dress together.

“I didn’t design the dress. Ask Scarlett.”

I don’t tell him, but it took Rosie, Rachel, and April a half hour to get me into this dress. I should have had them help me out of it too, but I liked the idea of leaving in my wedding dress. I wasn’t opposed to having sex in it either, but that’s looking unlikely.

Oliver’s silent, as my dress loosens bit by bit.

“Are you happy?” I ask.

His hands stop moving, and then a few seconds later I’m spun around to face him. He looks torn between bewilderment and incredulity. “Of course I am. It’s our wedding day.”

“You’ve barely said anything since we left the reception.”

He exhales. “I’m sorry, Han. My dad decided to hand me the company today. He’s retiring next month, and it caught me off guard.”

I gape at him, stunned. “You’re going to be CEO next month?”

Oliver nods. “Yeah. I knew it was coming. But I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

“Wow. Congratulations. That’s…wow.”

I knew it was coming too. But it’s still a big moment. A big moment Oliver has spent years—decades—working toward.

He smiles, then pulls me closer. “I’m happy, Hannah. So fucking happy. Seeing my dad just… I wish my mom could have been there today. Wish things were different with him. It’s just harder, some days.”

I slide a hand beneath his tuxedo jacket, until I find the steady thump of his heart. “You have me,” I whisper. “You’ll always have me.”

He kisses me, and it’s so intense, so consuming, that I don’t even realize he’s moving me toward the bed until I’m falling onto the mattress.

Awareness crackles between us like electricity as we continue kissing. I grew accustomed to the idea of being married to Oliver a while ago. But this feels different—me in a wedding dress and him in a tux. It feels real and permanent and lasting, all of those forever ideals marriage is meant to represent.

I wriggle against the comforter, the fabric of my dress forming its own blanket around me. “Can you please get me out of this?”

Oliver grins. “I only made it through ten buttons.”

“Out of…”

“A hundred?”

I sigh. “Can you keep going? There’s no way I can sleep in this tonight.”

“Who said you’ll be sleeping?” His smile turns wicked. “Wife.”

I can’t see his hands. But I feel them, lifting and shifting the fabric of the dress until my legs are exposed. White silk blocks my view from his shoulders down, but I have an idea what he’s intending when the thong I’m wearing gets pulled down my legs.

My hips jerk when I feel his tongue trace my slit, the sudden sensation electrifying. He licks me until I’m shuddering and gasping, then replaces his tongue with his dick.

“This what you want?”

I’m too busy moaning to form actual words. There’s no worry. No second-guessing. I can just sink into the pleasure, knowing he’ll be there to keep me from drowning.

No one but Oliver has been able to push me so far, so quickly. I can feel a second orgasm cresting, even though I just came. The addiction only he can feed racing to the surface. He rubs my clit and I tighten around him, holding him, even though we’re permanently fused in other ways.

His strokes are deeper. Harder. Like he knows exactly what I need. And then he’s kissing me, possessing my mouth the same way he’s controlling the rest of my body. I come in a shuddering wave, feeling his release fill me with warmth.

“It will never be enough,” he whispers. “But it’ll be a hell of a lot of times.”