Just wish my dad saw it the same way.
CHAPTER 6
Jackson
Lifestyles of the rich and famous.
This wedding is over-the-top ridiculous. The ceremony itself was in a massive, old cathedral with over five hundred people in attendance, and my understanding is they had to cap that amount for lack of space. The reception, however, is expecting seven hundred and fifty. That extra two hundred and fifty people are the second tier of the bride’s and groom’s friends who weren’t quite close enough to witness the religious nuptials but were in high enough regard to be given access to the decadent food and expensive liquor.
The wedding cake is seven tiers high and tops me by about four inches. The hotel opened two massive ballrooms which are side by side and separated by a retractable wall to make an enormously vast room. Tables that seat eight have been positioned strategically around the perimeter and set with translucent fine bone china, Waterford Crystal, and luxury linens to serve a seven-course meal over two hours. A full orchestra plays mood music throughout the meal, only to be replaced by a live band—one I learned is a chart-topper in the UK, but I’ve never heard of them—for continued partying. The alcohol flows more freely, changing from the finest champagne to an open bar stocked with top-shelf booze. The swell of the crowd doesn’t diminish, and at 1:00 a.m., the party is still going strong.
Dmitri gave me strict orders, by way of King Thomas, to allow Camille to “let her hair down” and party her ass off, if that’s what she wanted. Dmitri explained that the princess has had a rather reclusive life, given she’s lived on a closed-off island on a royal compound surrounded by a wall. Though the social scene in Bretaria is apparently quite good, given her duties and responsibilities, Camille has had little time to hang out with friends.
It was during that conversation that I learned the man who was with her at the amphitheater gala was truly just a friend. Her best, actually, although everyone who was anyone were holding out for the two to marry. Dmitri was convinced that was never happening as over the years, he’d watched the two grow up as more brother and sister.
Knowing that Camille has to meet high royal expectations and has heavy responsibilities, it’s no wonder she sometimes takes chances that perhaps she shouldn’t. Dmitri told me about finding Camille and Marius outside the wall, about to jump off a cliff into the sea below. Part of me was horrified she would break rules designed for her protection, but part of me admired her desire to fly free.
And yes, that means I feel a bit sorry for her. The one thing I am starting to understand is that Princess Camille’s tiara seems a lot heavier than I previously thought.
So yeah… Dmitri is right. Let her have fun and party hard at this reception. I don’t mind watching her like this, hanging with her girlfriends while laughing hysterically and dancing her ass off to wild punk music that grates on my ears.
Admittedly, Camille hasn’t had as much alcohol as she has the leeway to drink. During the long dinner, she sipped on two glasses of wine. When the band struck up, she switched to martinis and has had two of those. Although I haven’t spoken with her, I’ve been monitoring her carefully, and I can’t quite determine how much of her joyful abandon is from the alcohol or sheer happiness at being out with her college friends.
Maybe both.
She’s not showing the classic signs of inebriation. She’s able to dance in her four-inch heels without a bobble, and she’s definitely not doing any drunken lurching. In fact, the woman knows how to move her body. I haven’t been able to hear her speech to see if it’s affected, but I’ve seen her engage in conversations with young and old alike, and nobody is laughing at something preposterous she’s said. Rather, she seems genuinely engaged in her conversations and isn’t flighty or distracted. If I had to say anything, I would say she’s got a good buzz going on, and honestly… it’s not so bad to watch.
Tonight has been quite the easy babysitting job.
My stomach tightens slightly as I think about the phone call I had with my mom just after lunch today, before we left for the wedding. It was 7:00 a.m. their time, and my parents were already up, showered, and had breakfast. They’re natural early risers. My mother checks in on me a few times a week, minus times I was in deep deployment with no access to a phone. While many grown men might be annoyed by such a concerned mother, I’ve never begrudged her the worry nor the nosiness into my life. It’s what moms do.