Something Dumb to Do
Title: Something Dumb to Do
Wordcount: ~4,500
Summary: The cardinal rule of being a wedding planner is not falling in love with the bride or groom. Arthur's never had trouble with that rule.
A/N: Written for this prompt at kinkme_merlin. Title from Bruno Mars's "Marry You," though I was listening to the Glee cover pretty much the whole time I was writing the fic. Also, everything I know about wedding planning comes second-hand, so apologies for any inaccuracy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
A Pendragon wedding is planned like a battle, strategies in place for every possible disaster. A Pendragon wedding is unique, classy, and hideously expensive, because Pendragon Wedding Planning is the best in the business, and they can prove it. They have planned weddings for foreign princesses, for peers and corporate executives and film stars and crime bosses.
Arthur Pendragon brings this up to his mates every time they start teasing him for having a girly job. Pendragon Weddings isn’t a bunch of simpering ladies sitting around in painfully pastel rooms simpering over lace samples; Uther wouldn’t stand for that. It had been Arthur’s mother’s idea in the first place, when she was a debutante and Uther had received his business degree, and after she’d died, Uther had built up the company until they had a better reputation than anyone else in the country. They can book any venue, any catering company, find any gown (or have it created), and corral recalcitrant members of the wedding party into fittings without any trouble.
Arthur is the best his father has, and when his father retires he actually regrets his inevitable promotion. For now, though, he has the weddings, like the one he planned for Sophia Moore, the waifish model, which was at a lakeside and had more fairy lights than should have reasonably existed and even had a groom dyed lightly blue from stag party antics but was still lovely. Or for Vivian King, darling of the business world, who had insisted on a perfect fairy tale wedding and received it in spades. Or for Elena O’Shea, who had tripped her way up the aisle but still looked gorgeous as she and her horse-mad husband literally rode away into a Surrey sunset.
Even if it means his mates making cracks about him being a gay wedding planner over drinks (to which he always responds by asking icily if they think his father is homosexual, which brings silence so fast it’s hard not to laugh), Arthur loves his job, and looks forward to the variation and the challenge he gets most days.
And then there are days where he is sitting across his desk from a fresh-faced woman about his age with dark curls and a wide smile, who looks as if she wandered into the wrong building, because surely she should be planning a country wedding at the family parish with her grandmother’s gown and a bouquet of daisies. Arthur wonders who the hell decided to saddle him with her case. Surely it was more at Katrina’s level, or even Owain’s. “So what can I do for you, Miss Thomas?” he asks as smoothly as he can.
“It’s Gwen, please. We’ll be working together for the next eleven months, you can at least call me by my first name.” Good. At least she is giving him nearly a year. Some brides are unreasonable and expect miracles in less than six months. The December date will make things doubly easy, since she isn’t trying for the most popular wedding season. “And Morgana recommended me to your company, when I told her I was out of my depth with my wedding.”
Arthur does his best to keep his expression neutral. Of course. Morgana goes off to design wedding gowns at Morgause Fashions but still expects Arthur to cater to all her strays. Though usually at least she makes sure the strays can afford him. “What seems to be giving you trouble about the wedding then, Gwen?”
She shrugs. “I always thought I would have a little country wedding, but the groom is … well, he’s a bit famous, and so it’s by necessity going to be a great deal fancier than I’d ever expected, because he likes to spoil me, and I don’t really know what to do.”
Some clients expect discretion, or try to work through handlers so famous people can have secret weddings still planned by the best. Arthur decides that it’s not necessary to know who the groom is at this point. “What sort of scale is this event going to be on?”
“A hundred guests, including a few members of the press,” she says, and Arthur immediately respects her more for already knowing the answer to that particular question. Guest lists usually aren’t anywhere near being finalized by the time he really needs to let the caterers know how many there will be. “We prefer that it happens in the country, and at least somewhat close to my family in Derbyshire.”
“Budget?” Gwen names a figure, looking uncomfortable, but Arthur doesn’t bat an eye. Comfortable, certainly, and quite enough to pull off a tasteful, classic wedding that won’t overwhelm the bride, but not the most lavish he’s had to work with.
“And what sort of ideas do you already have?”
Gwen pulls out a notebook and pushes it across the table. “I’ve got copies of everything in there. Not everything in it is necessary, of course, just a few brainstorms the groom and I have come up with.”
Arthur silently blesses her. She isn’t going to be like Sophia with her constant dithering, or micro-managing Vivian, or Elena who simply didn’t care as long as she ended up married. “Well then, let’s talk a bit about it, and get the wheels in motion.”
*
There are very few hard and fast rules at Pendragon Weddings, since event planning requires flexibility. Never use a gown from Nimueh Designs, no matter who the bride is. Don’t use Muirden’s catering unless you’re willing to risk food poisoning. And then there are the unspoken rules, ones for the whole profession, and the cardinal rule is this: never fall for the bride or groom. Arthur has never had trouble following these rules.
And then Gwen Thomas comes in for her second consultation, a month after the first. This time, she brings company. Tall, slender, dark-haired company, with a smile wicked and enthusiastic enough to make up for the frankly ridiculous ears. Arthur swallows and holds his hand out smoothly. “Arthur Pendragon.”
The man grins. “Merlin.” And Arthur could swear the the groom’s name started with an L or perhaps an H, but then again, “Merlin” is ridiculous enough to be a nickname. He doesn’t look familiar, either, but Arthur doesn’t pretend to know every celebrity in existence, and his adoring looks at Gwen certainly cement him as the groom. “Don’t bother with me, Mr. Pendragon, I’m really just here to tell Gwen that all of her choices are lovely.”
Arthur could kiss him for realizing that the groom’s job, unless he has impeccable taste, is to sit back and assure his bride that everything will be perfect. (Arthur could kiss him for other reasons.) “Her choices are lovely. We’re here today about the venue, in case she hasn’t told you this yet. Gwen, there are three country houses that often host weddings in the region you mentioned which are free for the correct date, and two of them are willing to put the wedding party and a few guests up after the reception if necessary, though they’re all close enough to town with inns that it shouldn’t be an issue if you don’t want it to be.”
They spend the next hour looking through the pictures of the houses and grounds and spaces where the ceremony would actually occur. Gwen eventually decides on one of the houses that will put a few people up, deciding it would be best to put up the wedding party and probably some of the workers there. “What do you think?” Arthur asks Merlin, who has spent most of the time staring off into space, looking extremely amused.
“Do you not remember me saying I’m just here for moral support, Mr. Pendragon?” replies Merlin, but he’s grinning, so Arthur chooses not to take offense. “It looks lovely, Gwen.”
“I’ve just got to confirm that everyone likes it.”
Merlin rolls his eyes and looks at Arthur as if hoping for backup. “You’re the bride, Gwen. And I know who you mean by ‘everyone,’ and he just wants you happy. Everything he cares about is in the ceremony itself.” Arthur is willing to bet that they’re talking about the father, and takes a moment to be glad that Gwen didn’t bring him along. Grooms are much easier than fathers, in general.
“Just let me text him--you don’t mind, Arthur?” Arthur shakes his head, and she bends over her phone, snapping a quick picture of the picture of the house before he can offer to have it e-mailed. A few minutes later, her phone rings and she takes the call out to the hallway with an apologetic smile.
That, much to Arthur’s discomfort, leaves him alone with Merlin, who is staring absently out the windows. Arthur clears his throat, and he starts. “So, how did you and Gwen meet?” Arthur asks, because that sort of question is rote by now and that is safest.
“My first day at uni, I fell down the stairs outside one of my class buildings, and she was the one who patched me up, then took me to A&E when we figured out I’d broken my wrist. Which is a bit of a problem in my line of work.”
“And what sort of work do you do?”
“I’m an artist,” replies Merlin with a self-deprecating grin and a shrug, which explains why Arthur doesn’t recognize his face.
“Would I know your work?” Morgana probably would. He would ask her about it, but she would figure out that Merlin was one of his grooms and tattle on him to their father, so he would be stuck with Google after the couple left.
“Probably not,” starts Merlin, and Gwen comes back in from the hallway glowing all over. “See, I told you he just wants you happy,” he says with an apologetic glance at Arthur.
“So that’s a yes from everyone, then?” Arthur confirms, and gets a nod from Gwen. “Excellent. Now, about the catering …”
*
Merlin, to Arthur’s horror, starts coming to all of his and Gwen’s consultations. Most grooms make only a few key meetings, and Merlin looks long-suffering every time he walks through the door but Gwen brings him along nonetheless, to talk about dresses and colors and catering and the cake and a hundred other details. Arthur had hoped that repeated exposure to Merlin might lessen the attraction somewhat, especially as he was demonstrably straight and a client, but Merlin seems hell-bent on waltzing right past every one of his good intentions with huge grins and sarcastic comments and telling Gwen on cue every time that her choices are perfect. That endears him to Arthur as nothing else could, because Gwen, while she knows what she wants, also seems given to second-guessing herself at every opportunity, and she seems to spend half of every meeting on the phone with her father. Which means Arthur is stranded in his office with Merlin.
Arthur, with little other choice, retreats behind the cool mask of professionalism he hasn’t had to use in years whenever he and Merlin are alone together. Most of the time he’s discovered that despite their appreciation of his ruthless efficiency, most of his brides (and even grooms) would rather that he chat to them as if they’re friends in between items of business, and he’s never minded. However, that approach with Merlin got him smiles that suddenly went shy and an absolutely devastating blush at one point that had Arthur pretending he had an errand out of the room. After that, he’s stuck strictly to business whenever he and Merlin are alone, even if Merlin does look unaccountably hurt by it. It’s safer.
The dress fitting might be worst. Somehow, three months into planning, Arthur gets talked into going to a boutique and getting a look at Gwen’s gown, and while he’d thought that perhaps she would leave the groom behind since she seems traditional enough to not want him to see it, Merlin is sitting out front of the shop when they arrive and greets Gwen with a kiss on the cheek and Arthur with a shy wave. “I was at a gallery meeting or I would have met you at the office,” he says, apparently realizing that Arthur is staring at him in barely-disguised horror.
“Perfectly fine. Sure you want to see Gwen in the dress before the wedding, though?”
“Apparently my being an artist means that I have a good fashion sense. And none of the bridesmaids could come today.”
“You’re absolutely rotten,” Gwen accuses, and grabs Merlin’s arm to drag him into the shop while Arthur tries to figure out in what universe neckerchiefs and the same brown jacket every day are indicators of a fashion sense. “Guinevere Thomas, here for my first fitting,” she’s telling the assistant when he comes in.
“Of course, Miss Thomas, I remember you,” says the assistant smoothly, because she’s a professional, and smiles at Arthur and Merlin over Gwen’s shoulder. “And Mr. Emrys, of course. I hadn’t realized you were working this wedding, Arthur.”
Arthur gives her his brightest smile. “A pleasure as always, Enmyria.” She’s friends with Morgause and Morgana, so he figures it can’t hurt to be on her good side. “I can’t wait to see Miss Thomas’s gown. I’ve heard so much about it. Is Forridel doing the fittings today?”
“She is. Go on back.”
The gown, Arthur is relieved to see, isn’t one of Morgana and Morgause’s creations. They make lovely gowns, but Gwen’s style is more classic than ethereal, and she’s sensible enough to know it. Arthur and Merlin make the appropriate admiring noises before Forridel tows Gwen behind a curtain to fuss her into the dress, leaving Arthur stranded with the dilemma of whether or not to converse with Merlin.
“Have you got a new show coming up?” he asks at last, against his own better judgment.
Merlin rewards him with a blinding smile. “The potential for one, at least. The owner likes my work, we’ve just got to work out some contract details that he’s stubborn over.”
“What sort of art do you do, anyway? I apologize, usually I make a point of knowing that sort of thing, but I haven’t got around to looking it up.”
“You--you do?” Merlin’s blush starts in his ears and disappears under his neckerchief two seconds later.
Arthur makes a point of glancing at his Blackberry while he answers. “Of course. It’s always good to know about the wedding party.”
“Oh. Urban landscapes, mostly. It’s sort of amazing what you miss in cities just because it isn’t the countryside. I’ve done a series lately inspired by a friend of mine who’s got into parkour. Gwen’s brother is in that group, actually.”
“Broke his wrist last month,” Gwen calls from behind the curtain. “But the paintings are amazing, Arthur, you ought to go see his show when it opens.”
“Don’t bother, really,” mumbles Merlin. “And we don’t even know this show will work out.”
“Freya wouldn’t have brought you up to Mr. Killian if she didn’t think you would get the show, Merlin,” says Gwen in the tones of someone who has said the same thing quite a few times recently. “And you’d better get the show, I already have my dress picked out. Arthur, he’s like magic, you have to see and I’m sure he can get you an invite to the opening.”
“That sort of night is for friends and critics, not your wedding planner,” Arthur says firmly, and looks at the curtain so he doesn’t have to interpret Merlin’s facial expression.
Thankfully, Gwen chooses that moment to push the curtain aside and come shyly out in a lovely cream gown that might have been designed for her. Arthur elbows Merlin, who instantly chimes in with similar sentiments, and Arthur follows, glad to have avoided the rest of that conversation.
*
His next few months are busy, and preparations for Gwen’s wedding are ticking along quite nicely without any need for frequent meetings. He only sees Merlin once more, at a working lunch when Gwen wants to taste catering samples, and hears that he got the show in the Dragon Gallery, which will be opening in the autumn. He gives hearty congratulations and changes the subject before they can invite him again. Merlin in a tuxedo at the wedding will be hard enough to withstand; he doesn’t need any more temptation.
One night in August, after a long day of harassing seamstresses to get to work on Gwen’s bridesmaids’ dresses, Arthur finally gives in and Googles Merlin Dulac, since that’s the last name on the file. It doesn’t bring up a single result, so Arthur looks for the Dragon Gallery instead and finds adverts for a show by Merlin Emrys, which must be his professional name. Arthur spends half an hour staring at the pictures, fascinated, then denies that he did any such thing.
In the end, it’s the tuxedo measurements that do it. He’s spent months feeling as if something wasn’t quite right with the Thomas/Dulac wedding but with Merlin’s involvement he wants to avoid looking at anything too closely. However, he figures tuxedo measurements are safe enough, so he glances at the sheet, and his eyes catch on the measurements for the groom.
Arthur worked in a tuxedo shop for a summer during university, and he can still guess most men’s sizes just by looking at them. Unless the sales assistants are complete incompetents, the size for the groom is meant for someone a great deal burlier than Merlin, and perhaps a bit shorter. His first thought is that the measurements are out of order, but when he glances through, beside the “best man” mark are the initials M.E. and a set of measurements that would fit Merlin perfectly.
He doesn’t get his hopes up. He doesn’t even allow himself to pull up the file with the names in it, which he hasn’t needed to use because the people haven’t even come into the planning yet, and he hasn’t attended any fittings besides Gwen’s first. Instead, he sifts through months of evidence--Gwen never introduced Merlin as the groom. Gwen calls someone during nearly every meeting and comes back glowing. They hardly touch. Merlin is an artist and blushes and smiles when Arthur talks to him and--
Arthur has never opened a file so fast in his life, and when he does, he’s rewarded, because there it is. Groom: Lance Dulac, a football player. Best man: Merlin Emrys.
He wants to do something completely idiotic like call Gwen and ask why he hasn’t met the groom yet, or, more horrifyingly, call Merlin instantly and ask him on a date.
Instead, Arthur reminds himself that he is a professional and a Pendragon and spends two hours catching up on all the information about the wedding that he’s been avoiding.
Despite the looks everyone who passes his office give him, Arthur completely denies whistling his way through the rest of his workday.
*
Arthur doesn’t see Merlin again until the rehearsal dinner. He spends the intervening months liking Gwen far better than before and getting to know Lance Dulac, whose training schedule allows him more time in London and thus time to get involved with the wedding (past the point where he can ruin anything, which is perfect). The wedding, now that he isn’t avoiding everything to do with the groom, who is actually the best man, is coming together beautifully, and it will likely end up behind one for his portfolio, which he certainly hadn’t expected when Gwen first walked into his office. He takes a few hours one slow Tuesday afternoon to go to the Dragon Gallery and look at Merlin’s paintings, which are even more gorgeous in person, and tries not to be disappointed when Merlin isn’t there.
He actually suspects, with no small amount of embarrassment, that Merlin is avoiding him. He can’t blame him, since if Merlin ever fostered anything like an infatuation for Arthur, Arthur’s tendency of treating him like a particularly disliked great-aunt probably killed it. However, it is putting paid to Arthur’s plans to ask Merlin to dinner and explain the whole ridiculous misunderstanding. He asks after him to Gwen a few times, and she always gives him a vaguely pitying look. The urge to confess the story to her is overwhelming, but she’s friends with Morgana, and Morgana would never let him live it down, so he keeps it to himself.
That means, though, that he makes a complete tit of himself at the wedding rehearsal. He gathers the wedding party together to give them their instructions, as he always does, and promptly stumbles over his well-rehearsed speech when he meets Merlin’s eyes. And then proceeds to do the exact same thing every time he looks at Merlin for the rest of the speech, which means he avoids looking at him whenever possible.
Gwen, before she sweeps away with her train attached to her sensible skirt, smiles at him like she might smile at a kitten caught in a ball of yarn and then turns to raise her eyebrows and look at Merlin, who is blushing so hard he’s nearly purple.
The rest of the rehearsal goes off without a hitch, because Arthur has never held to the idea that a bad dress rehearsal means the actual performance will go better, and he follows them to the rehearsal dinner afterwards. He is seated around the massive dining room in the country estate they’re renting, and since nobody is standing on formality or enacting a seating plan, it’s easy enough to arrange to be near Merlin.
At first, he sets himself to be as charming as possible, halfway between the easy charm he always uses with clients and the sort he uses when he’s on the pull, but Merlin just looks at him suspiciously and starts talking to one of Lance’s team members on his other side. A team member who is also flirting, damn it, and apparently more successfully.
Clearly he needs to change his tactics. When he passes around a dish, Arthur prepares himself for embarrassment and leans to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “I thought you were the groom, you know,” he says as conversationally as he is able.
Merlin shivers, and then turns to look at Arthur wide-eyed, completely throwing off whatever the idiot shaggy-haired football player was saying. “You what?”
This whole thing, Arthur decides, will be far more embarrassing if it’s overheard and shared than if he makes an amusing anecdote out of it. “Gwen,” he says a bit louder as she comes out of staring soppily at Lance ready to say something to her father, and she turns to him with a smile. “I was just telling Merlin, but you’ll think it’s funny too. I actually spent months thinking he was the groom, after you brought him into my office the first time.”
Merlin makes an interestingly strangled noise next to him, and Arthur makes a note to shock him more often if it’s always that fun, but is distracted by Gwen letting out a peal of laughter. “You did? I mean--Merlin? He’s like my brother. I mean, not that he isn’t lovely, because of course he is, but--”
Arthur decides to take control of the conversation back. “Yes, I feel a right idiot about it now. Shows how close attention I was paying, I suppose.”
Lance’s mother asks about it, and Arthur talks about the misunderstanding and how he’d let it go on, and when he looks at Merlin, Merlin’s face is thoughtful. He doesn’t push, doesn’t make a public statement, because he’s still working and because, though he’d never admit it, he doesn’t want to make Merlin uncomfortable. But Gwen and Lance are both smiling indulgently, and Lance’s football friend on Merlin’s other side has gone silent and sullen, so he counts it as a net win and lets the subject change naturally to how Gwen and Lance had fought over whether Merlin was going to be the best man or the man of honor, since Gwen met him first.
Merlin gives Arthur a little smile at the end of the night, and Arthur smiles back but doesn’t push his luck.
*
The wedding day, as all of his wedding days do, passes in a haze of last-minute catastrophes that are fixed near-instantly, and Arthur blinks around as the reception nears its end to realize that he hasn’t had a chance to ogle Merlin in his tuxedo once, which is a damn shame. He snags a glass of champagne and sidles along the dance floor, avoiding the elbows of the drunker bridesmaids and ushers, to lean casually somewhere very obvious.
Much to his satisfaction, Merlin comes up to him less than five minutes later. “Finally get to relax?”
“I’ve got to get up early and supervise the cleanup, but for now I can take a few hours off. It was a lovely wedding.”
“You only say that because you planned it.”
Arthur thinks about arguing that he has enjoyed weddings that Pendragon Wedding Planning wasn’t involved in, but suspects it wouldn’t be worth it. “Well, I’m very good at what I do.”
Merlin just hums, and there are ten seconds of silence before he bursts out with “You know, you’re sort of a complete prat. Are you that much of an arse to all of your grooms?”
“Only the ones I’m attracted to.” That, he’s pleased to see, shuts Merlin up quite handily. “I’ve been perfectly charming to Lance, haven’t I?” Merlin nods, still looking suspicious. “I simply thought it best to keep a professional distance between us. I apologize for being a … what was it? A prat?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Do let me know how I can make it up to you.”
Merlin sputters beautifully. “What makes you think that if I’m not with Gwen I must be attracted to you?”
“Just a hunch,” says Arthur, because he suspects commenting on Merlin’s frequent blushes or waxing poetic on his girlish smiles will get him pushed into the remains of the cake. Instead, he eyes the dance floor; all the families with children have gone, as has everyone over the age of about fifty. Safe enough, then. “Would you care to dance?”
Again, Merlin looks entirely wrongfooted. “Would I what?”
“Dance. You. Me. I know the whole wedding party took lessons, so I’m not afraid you’ll step on my feet.”
Merlin opens and closes his mouth a few times, then gets a mulish expression on his face that might be even better than the flabbergasted one. “I’m leading,” he says, and drags Arthur out onto the floor.
Arthur follows, since he doesn’t intend to let Merlin go for a few songs at least and they can always switch off, and nobody pays much attention to them in the slightly inebriated haze. Gwen and Lance are gazing soppily at each other (though Gwen takes a break from that to beam at them when she notices what’s going on), Morgana raises her eyebrows at him from where she’s dancing with one of Lance’s teammates, and the DJ is queueing up a slow song, apparently worried that someone is going to get injured at this point in the night if they keep on bouncing about. It’s a perfect wedding, one of his best, and if some of that feeling comes from Merlin catching Arthur’s hand in his and finally giving him an unfettered grin, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
Wordcount: ~4,500
Summary: The cardinal rule of being a wedding planner is not falling in love with the bride or groom. Arthur's never had trouble with that rule.
A/N: Written for this prompt at kinkme_merlin. Title from Bruno Mars's "Marry You," though I was listening to the Glee cover pretty much the whole time I was writing the fic. Also, everything I know about wedding planning comes second-hand, so apologies for any inaccuracy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
A Pendragon wedding is planned like a battle, strategies in place for every possible disaster. A Pendragon wedding is unique, classy, and hideously expensive, because Pendragon Wedding Planning is the best in the business, and they can prove it. They have planned weddings for foreign princesses, for peers and corporate executives and film stars and crime bosses.
Arthur Pendragon brings this up to his mates every time they start teasing him for having a girly job. Pendragon Weddings isn’t a bunch of simpering ladies sitting around in painfully pastel rooms simpering over lace samples; Uther wouldn’t stand for that. It had been Arthur’s mother’s idea in the first place, when she was a debutante and Uther had received his business degree, and after she’d died, Uther had built up the company until they had a better reputation than anyone else in the country. They can book any venue, any catering company, find any gown (or have it created), and corral recalcitrant members of the wedding party into fittings without any trouble.
Arthur is the best his father has, and when his father retires he actually regrets his inevitable promotion. For now, though, he has the weddings, like the one he planned for Sophia Moore, the waifish model, which was at a lakeside and had more fairy lights than should have reasonably existed and even had a groom dyed lightly blue from stag party antics but was still lovely. Or for Vivian King, darling of the business world, who had insisted on a perfect fairy tale wedding and received it in spades. Or for Elena O’Shea, who had tripped her way up the aisle but still looked gorgeous as she and her horse-mad husband literally rode away into a Surrey sunset.
Even if it means his mates making cracks about him being a gay wedding planner over drinks (to which he always responds by asking icily if they think his father is homosexual, which brings silence so fast it’s hard not to laugh), Arthur loves his job, and looks forward to the variation and the challenge he gets most days.
And then there are days where he is sitting across his desk from a fresh-faced woman about his age with dark curls and a wide smile, who looks as if she wandered into the wrong building, because surely she should be planning a country wedding at the family parish with her grandmother’s gown and a bouquet of daisies. Arthur wonders who the hell decided to saddle him with her case. Surely it was more at Katrina’s level, or even Owain’s. “So what can I do for you, Miss Thomas?” he asks as smoothly as he can.
“It’s Gwen, please. We’ll be working together for the next eleven months, you can at least call me by my first name.” Good. At least she is giving him nearly a year. Some brides are unreasonable and expect miracles in less than six months. The December date will make things doubly easy, since she isn’t trying for the most popular wedding season. “And Morgana recommended me to your company, when I told her I was out of my depth with my wedding.”
Arthur does his best to keep his expression neutral. Of course. Morgana goes off to design wedding gowns at Morgause Fashions but still expects Arthur to cater to all her strays. Though usually at least she makes sure the strays can afford him. “What seems to be giving you trouble about the wedding then, Gwen?”
She shrugs. “I always thought I would have a little country wedding, but the groom is … well, he’s a bit famous, and so it’s by necessity going to be a great deal fancier than I’d ever expected, because he likes to spoil me, and I don’t really know what to do.”
Some clients expect discretion, or try to work through handlers so famous people can have secret weddings still planned by the best. Arthur decides that it’s not necessary to know who the groom is at this point. “What sort of scale is this event going to be on?”
“A hundred guests, including a few members of the press,” she says, and Arthur immediately respects her more for already knowing the answer to that particular question. Guest lists usually aren’t anywhere near being finalized by the time he really needs to let the caterers know how many there will be. “We prefer that it happens in the country, and at least somewhat close to my family in Derbyshire.”
“Budget?” Gwen names a figure, looking uncomfortable, but Arthur doesn’t bat an eye. Comfortable, certainly, and quite enough to pull off a tasteful, classic wedding that won’t overwhelm the bride, but not the most lavish he’s had to work with.
“And what sort of ideas do you already have?”
Gwen pulls out a notebook and pushes it across the table. “I’ve got copies of everything in there. Not everything in it is necessary, of course, just a few brainstorms the groom and I have come up with.”
Arthur silently blesses her. She isn’t going to be like Sophia with her constant dithering, or micro-managing Vivian, or Elena who simply didn’t care as long as she ended up married. “Well then, let’s talk a bit about it, and get the wheels in motion.”
*
There are very few hard and fast rules at Pendragon Weddings, since event planning requires flexibility. Never use a gown from Nimueh Designs, no matter who the bride is. Don’t use Muirden’s catering unless you’re willing to risk food poisoning. And then there are the unspoken rules, ones for the whole profession, and the cardinal rule is this: never fall for the bride or groom. Arthur has never had trouble following these rules.
And then Gwen Thomas comes in for her second consultation, a month after the first. This time, she brings company. Tall, slender, dark-haired company, with a smile wicked and enthusiastic enough to make up for the frankly ridiculous ears. Arthur swallows and holds his hand out smoothly. “Arthur Pendragon.”
The man grins. “Merlin.” And Arthur could swear the the groom’s name started with an L or perhaps an H, but then again, “Merlin” is ridiculous enough to be a nickname. He doesn’t look familiar, either, but Arthur doesn’t pretend to know every celebrity in existence, and his adoring looks at Gwen certainly cement him as the groom. “Don’t bother with me, Mr. Pendragon, I’m really just here to tell Gwen that all of her choices are lovely.”
Arthur could kiss him for realizing that the groom’s job, unless he has impeccable taste, is to sit back and assure his bride that everything will be perfect. (Arthur could kiss him for other reasons.) “Her choices are lovely. We’re here today about the venue, in case she hasn’t told you this yet. Gwen, there are three country houses that often host weddings in the region you mentioned which are free for the correct date, and two of them are willing to put the wedding party and a few guests up after the reception if necessary, though they’re all close enough to town with inns that it shouldn’t be an issue if you don’t want it to be.”
They spend the next hour looking through the pictures of the houses and grounds and spaces where the ceremony would actually occur. Gwen eventually decides on one of the houses that will put a few people up, deciding it would be best to put up the wedding party and probably some of the workers there. “What do you think?” Arthur asks Merlin, who has spent most of the time staring off into space, looking extremely amused.
“Do you not remember me saying I’m just here for moral support, Mr. Pendragon?” replies Merlin, but he’s grinning, so Arthur chooses not to take offense. “It looks lovely, Gwen.”
“I’ve just got to confirm that everyone likes it.”
Merlin rolls his eyes and looks at Arthur as if hoping for backup. “You’re the bride, Gwen. And I know who you mean by ‘everyone,’ and he just wants you happy. Everything he cares about is in the ceremony itself.” Arthur is willing to bet that they’re talking about the father, and takes a moment to be glad that Gwen didn’t bring him along. Grooms are much easier than fathers, in general.
“Just let me text him--you don’t mind, Arthur?” Arthur shakes his head, and she bends over her phone, snapping a quick picture of the picture of the house before he can offer to have it e-mailed. A few minutes later, her phone rings and she takes the call out to the hallway with an apologetic smile.
That, much to Arthur’s discomfort, leaves him alone with Merlin, who is staring absently out the windows. Arthur clears his throat, and he starts. “So, how did you and Gwen meet?” Arthur asks, because that sort of question is rote by now and that is safest.
“My first day at uni, I fell down the stairs outside one of my class buildings, and she was the one who patched me up, then took me to A&E when we figured out I’d broken my wrist. Which is a bit of a problem in my line of work.”
“And what sort of work do you do?”
“I’m an artist,” replies Merlin with a self-deprecating grin and a shrug, which explains why Arthur doesn’t recognize his face.
“Would I know your work?” Morgana probably would. He would ask her about it, but she would figure out that Merlin was one of his grooms and tattle on him to their father, so he would be stuck with Google after the couple left.
“Probably not,” starts Merlin, and Gwen comes back in from the hallway glowing all over. “See, I told you he just wants you happy,” he says with an apologetic glance at Arthur.
“So that’s a yes from everyone, then?” Arthur confirms, and gets a nod from Gwen. “Excellent. Now, about the catering …”
*
Merlin, to Arthur’s horror, starts coming to all of his and Gwen’s consultations. Most grooms make only a few key meetings, and Merlin looks long-suffering every time he walks through the door but Gwen brings him along nonetheless, to talk about dresses and colors and catering and the cake and a hundred other details. Arthur had hoped that repeated exposure to Merlin might lessen the attraction somewhat, especially as he was demonstrably straight and a client, but Merlin seems hell-bent on waltzing right past every one of his good intentions with huge grins and sarcastic comments and telling Gwen on cue every time that her choices are perfect. That endears him to Arthur as nothing else could, because Gwen, while she knows what she wants, also seems given to second-guessing herself at every opportunity, and she seems to spend half of every meeting on the phone with her father. Which means Arthur is stranded in his office with Merlin.
Arthur, with little other choice, retreats behind the cool mask of professionalism he hasn’t had to use in years whenever he and Merlin are alone together. Most of the time he’s discovered that despite their appreciation of his ruthless efficiency, most of his brides (and even grooms) would rather that he chat to them as if they’re friends in between items of business, and he’s never minded. However, that approach with Merlin got him smiles that suddenly went shy and an absolutely devastating blush at one point that had Arthur pretending he had an errand out of the room. After that, he’s stuck strictly to business whenever he and Merlin are alone, even if Merlin does look unaccountably hurt by it. It’s safer.
The dress fitting might be worst. Somehow, three months into planning, Arthur gets talked into going to a boutique and getting a look at Gwen’s gown, and while he’d thought that perhaps she would leave the groom behind since she seems traditional enough to not want him to see it, Merlin is sitting out front of the shop when they arrive and greets Gwen with a kiss on the cheek and Arthur with a shy wave. “I was at a gallery meeting or I would have met you at the office,” he says, apparently realizing that Arthur is staring at him in barely-disguised horror.
“Perfectly fine. Sure you want to see Gwen in the dress before the wedding, though?”
“Apparently my being an artist means that I have a good fashion sense. And none of the bridesmaids could come today.”
“You’re absolutely rotten,” Gwen accuses, and grabs Merlin’s arm to drag him into the shop while Arthur tries to figure out in what universe neckerchiefs and the same brown jacket every day are indicators of a fashion sense. “Guinevere Thomas, here for my first fitting,” she’s telling the assistant when he comes in.
“Of course, Miss Thomas, I remember you,” says the assistant smoothly, because she’s a professional, and smiles at Arthur and Merlin over Gwen’s shoulder. “And Mr. Emrys, of course. I hadn’t realized you were working this wedding, Arthur.”
Arthur gives her his brightest smile. “A pleasure as always, Enmyria.” She’s friends with Morgause and Morgana, so he figures it can’t hurt to be on her good side. “I can’t wait to see Miss Thomas’s gown. I’ve heard so much about it. Is Forridel doing the fittings today?”
“She is. Go on back.”
The gown, Arthur is relieved to see, isn’t one of Morgana and Morgause’s creations. They make lovely gowns, but Gwen’s style is more classic than ethereal, and she’s sensible enough to know it. Arthur and Merlin make the appropriate admiring noises before Forridel tows Gwen behind a curtain to fuss her into the dress, leaving Arthur stranded with the dilemma of whether or not to converse with Merlin.
“Have you got a new show coming up?” he asks at last, against his own better judgment.
Merlin rewards him with a blinding smile. “The potential for one, at least. The owner likes my work, we’ve just got to work out some contract details that he’s stubborn over.”
“What sort of art do you do, anyway? I apologize, usually I make a point of knowing that sort of thing, but I haven’t got around to looking it up.”
“You--you do?” Merlin’s blush starts in his ears and disappears under his neckerchief two seconds later.
Arthur makes a point of glancing at his Blackberry while he answers. “Of course. It’s always good to know about the wedding party.”
“Oh. Urban landscapes, mostly. It’s sort of amazing what you miss in cities just because it isn’t the countryside. I’ve done a series lately inspired by a friend of mine who’s got into parkour. Gwen’s brother is in that group, actually.”
“Broke his wrist last month,” Gwen calls from behind the curtain. “But the paintings are amazing, Arthur, you ought to go see his show when it opens.”
“Don’t bother, really,” mumbles Merlin. “And we don’t even know this show will work out.”
“Freya wouldn’t have brought you up to Mr. Killian if she didn’t think you would get the show, Merlin,” says Gwen in the tones of someone who has said the same thing quite a few times recently. “And you’d better get the show, I already have my dress picked out. Arthur, he’s like magic, you have to see and I’m sure he can get you an invite to the opening.”
“That sort of night is for friends and critics, not your wedding planner,” Arthur says firmly, and looks at the curtain so he doesn’t have to interpret Merlin’s facial expression.
Thankfully, Gwen chooses that moment to push the curtain aside and come shyly out in a lovely cream gown that might have been designed for her. Arthur elbows Merlin, who instantly chimes in with similar sentiments, and Arthur follows, glad to have avoided the rest of that conversation.
*
His next few months are busy, and preparations for Gwen’s wedding are ticking along quite nicely without any need for frequent meetings. He only sees Merlin once more, at a working lunch when Gwen wants to taste catering samples, and hears that he got the show in the Dragon Gallery, which will be opening in the autumn. He gives hearty congratulations and changes the subject before they can invite him again. Merlin in a tuxedo at the wedding will be hard enough to withstand; he doesn’t need any more temptation.
One night in August, after a long day of harassing seamstresses to get to work on Gwen’s bridesmaids’ dresses, Arthur finally gives in and Googles Merlin Dulac, since that’s the last name on the file. It doesn’t bring up a single result, so Arthur looks for the Dragon Gallery instead and finds adverts for a show by Merlin Emrys, which must be his professional name. Arthur spends half an hour staring at the pictures, fascinated, then denies that he did any such thing.
In the end, it’s the tuxedo measurements that do it. He’s spent months feeling as if something wasn’t quite right with the Thomas/Dulac wedding but with Merlin’s involvement he wants to avoid looking at anything too closely. However, he figures tuxedo measurements are safe enough, so he glances at the sheet, and his eyes catch on the measurements for the groom.
Arthur worked in a tuxedo shop for a summer during university, and he can still guess most men’s sizes just by looking at them. Unless the sales assistants are complete incompetents, the size for the groom is meant for someone a great deal burlier than Merlin, and perhaps a bit shorter. His first thought is that the measurements are out of order, but when he glances through, beside the “best man” mark are the initials M.E. and a set of measurements that would fit Merlin perfectly.
He doesn’t get his hopes up. He doesn’t even allow himself to pull up the file with the names in it, which he hasn’t needed to use because the people haven’t even come into the planning yet, and he hasn’t attended any fittings besides Gwen’s first. Instead, he sifts through months of evidence--Gwen never introduced Merlin as the groom. Gwen calls someone during nearly every meeting and comes back glowing. They hardly touch. Merlin is an artist and blushes and smiles when Arthur talks to him and--
Arthur has never opened a file so fast in his life, and when he does, he’s rewarded, because there it is. Groom: Lance Dulac, a football player. Best man: Merlin Emrys.
He wants to do something completely idiotic like call Gwen and ask why he hasn’t met the groom yet, or, more horrifyingly, call Merlin instantly and ask him on a date.
Instead, Arthur reminds himself that he is a professional and a Pendragon and spends two hours catching up on all the information about the wedding that he’s been avoiding.
Despite the looks everyone who passes his office give him, Arthur completely denies whistling his way through the rest of his workday.
*
Arthur doesn’t see Merlin again until the rehearsal dinner. He spends the intervening months liking Gwen far better than before and getting to know Lance Dulac, whose training schedule allows him more time in London and thus time to get involved with the wedding (past the point where he can ruin anything, which is perfect). The wedding, now that he isn’t avoiding everything to do with the groom, who is actually the best man, is coming together beautifully, and it will likely end up behind one for his portfolio, which he certainly hadn’t expected when Gwen first walked into his office. He takes a few hours one slow Tuesday afternoon to go to the Dragon Gallery and look at Merlin’s paintings, which are even more gorgeous in person, and tries not to be disappointed when Merlin isn’t there.
He actually suspects, with no small amount of embarrassment, that Merlin is avoiding him. He can’t blame him, since if Merlin ever fostered anything like an infatuation for Arthur, Arthur’s tendency of treating him like a particularly disliked great-aunt probably killed it. However, it is putting paid to Arthur’s plans to ask Merlin to dinner and explain the whole ridiculous misunderstanding. He asks after him to Gwen a few times, and she always gives him a vaguely pitying look. The urge to confess the story to her is overwhelming, but she’s friends with Morgana, and Morgana would never let him live it down, so he keeps it to himself.
That means, though, that he makes a complete tit of himself at the wedding rehearsal. He gathers the wedding party together to give them their instructions, as he always does, and promptly stumbles over his well-rehearsed speech when he meets Merlin’s eyes. And then proceeds to do the exact same thing every time he looks at Merlin for the rest of the speech, which means he avoids looking at him whenever possible.
Gwen, before she sweeps away with her train attached to her sensible skirt, smiles at him like she might smile at a kitten caught in a ball of yarn and then turns to raise her eyebrows and look at Merlin, who is blushing so hard he’s nearly purple.
The rest of the rehearsal goes off without a hitch, because Arthur has never held to the idea that a bad dress rehearsal means the actual performance will go better, and he follows them to the rehearsal dinner afterwards. He is seated around the massive dining room in the country estate they’re renting, and since nobody is standing on formality or enacting a seating plan, it’s easy enough to arrange to be near Merlin.
At first, he sets himself to be as charming as possible, halfway between the easy charm he always uses with clients and the sort he uses when he’s on the pull, but Merlin just looks at him suspiciously and starts talking to one of Lance’s team members on his other side. A team member who is also flirting, damn it, and apparently more successfully.
Clearly he needs to change his tactics. When he passes around a dish, Arthur prepares himself for embarrassment and leans to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “I thought you were the groom, you know,” he says as conversationally as he is able.
Merlin shivers, and then turns to look at Arthur wide-eyed, completely throwing off whatever the idiot shaggy-haired football player was saying. “You what?”
This whole thing, Arthur decides, will be far more embarrassing if it’s overheard and shared than if he makes an amusing anecdote out of it. “Gwen,” he says a bit louder as she comes out of staring soppily at Lance ready to say something to her father, and she turns to him with a smile. “I was just telling Merlin, but you’ll think it’s funny too. I actually spent months thinking he was the groom, after you brought him into my office the first time.”
Merlin makes an interestingly strangled noise next to him, and Arthur makes a note to shock him more often if it’s always that fun, but is distracted by Gwen letting out a peal of laughter. “You did? I mean--Merlin? He’s like my brother. I mean, not that he isn’t lovely, because of course he is, but--”
Arthur decides to take control of the conversation back. “Yes, I feel a right idiot about it now. Shows how close attention I was paying, I suppose.”
Lance’s mother asks about it, and Arthur talks about the misunderstanding and how he’d let it go on, and when he looks at Merlin, Merlin’s face is thoughtful. He doesn’t push, doesn’t make a public statement, because he’s still working and because, though he’d never admit it, he doesn’t want to make Merlin uncomfortable. But Gwen and Lance are both smiling indulgently, and Lance’s football friend on Merlin’s other side has gone silent and sullen, so he counts it as a net win and lets the subject change naturally to how Gwen and Lance had fought over whether Merlin was going to be the best man or the man of honor, since Gwen met him first.
Merlin gives Arthur a little smile at the end of the night, and Arthur smiles back but doesn’t push his luck.
*
The wedding day, as all of his wedding days do, passes in a haze of last-minute catastrophes that are fixed near-instantly, and Arthur blinks around as the reception nears its end to realize that he hasn’t had a chance to ogle Merlin in his tuxedo once, which is a damn shame. He snags a glass of champagne and sidles along the dance floor, avoiding the elbows of the drunker bridesmaids and ushers, to lean casually somewhere very obvious.
Much to his satisfaction, Merlin comes up to him less than five minutes later. “Finally get to relax?”
“I’ve got to get up early and supervise the cleanup, but for now I can take a few hours off. It was a lovely wedding.”
“You only say that because you planned it.”
Arthur thinks about arguing that he has enjoyed weddings that Pendragon Wedding Planning wasn’t involved in, but suspects it wouldn’t be worth it. “Well, I’m very good at what I do.”
Merlin just hums, and there are ten seconds of silence before he bursts out with “You know, you’re sort of a complete prat. Are you that much of an arse to all of your grooms?”
“Only the ones I’m attracted to.” That, he’s pleased to see, shuts Merlin up quite handily. “I’ve been perfectly charming to Lance, haven’t I?” Merlin nods, still looking suspicious. “I simply thought it best to keep a professional distance between us. I apologize for being a … what was it? A prat?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Do let me know how I can make it up to you.”
Merlin sputters beautifully. “What makes you think that if I’m not with Gwen I must be attracted to you?”
“Just a hunch,” says Arthur, because he suspects commenting on Merlin’s frequent blushes or waxing poetic on his girlish smiles will get him pushed into the remains of the cake. Instead, he eyes the dance floor; all the families with children have gone, as has everyone over the age of about fifty. Safe enough, then. “Would you care to dance?”
Again, Merlin looks entirely wrongfooted. “Would I what?”
“Dance. You. Me. I know the whole wedding party took lessons, so I’m not afraid you’ll step on my feet.”
Merlin opens and closes his mouth a few times, then gets a mulish expression on his face that might be even better than the flabbergasted one. “I’m leading,” he says, and drags Arthur out onto the floor.
Arthur follows, since he doesn’t intend to let Merlin go for a few songs at least and they can always switch off, and nobody pays much attention to them in the slightly inebriated haze. Gwen and Lance are gazing soppily at each other (though Gwen takes a break from that to beam at them when she notices what’s going on), Morgana raises her eyebrows at him from where she’s dancing with one of Lance’s teammates, and the DJ is queueing up a slow song, apparently worried that someone is going to get injured at this point in the night if they keep on bouncing about. It’s a perfect wedding, one of his best, and if some of that feeling comes from Merlin catching Arthur’s hand in his and finally giving him an unfettered grin, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.