Chapter 136: The Reluctant Ring Bearer and the Doomed Wedding
Inside the Rustbucket, chaos reigned.
"Grandpa, no!!!"
"Ugh! I can't take it anymore!"
"Ben, don't move! Just hold still! We're almost done!"
"I'm... suffocating..."
"Alright! Let's take a look. How is it? Handsome, right?"
Grandpa Max clamped both hands down heavily on Ben's shoulders, forcing the squirming ten-year-old to face the full-length mirror. Staring back at them was a thoroughly miserable boy stuffed into a violently purplish-red suit. His hair had been slicked back with an alarming amount of gel, giving him the stiff, unnatural appearance of a miniature adult.
"Ugh," Ben groaned, his face twisting in absolute disgust. "I look like a total idiot." He hooked a finger under the stiff collar, violently tugging at the suffocating bow tie.
"That's because you are an idiot, Dweeb."
Gwen sat casually at the dinette, her legs swinging. She took a slow, deliberate sip from a frosted glass containing Klein's latest custom beverage—Version 3.0 of his signature summer mix—and offered her cousin a thoroughly unsympathetic smirk.
"Oh, shut up! You're so annoying!" Ben snapped, his voice cracking with frustration. He threw his hands up in the air, pacing the narrow aisle. "The only thing worse than being dragged to a stupid, boring wedding is being forced to be the ring bearer at a stupid, boring wedding!"
He looked like he was on the verge of a genuine breakdown. Pivoting on his heel, he looked up at Grandpa Max with wide, desperately pleading eyes. "Grandpa! Please! Why can't someone else do it?"
"Alright, alright, settle down and stop complaining," Max chuckled, offering a heavy, comforting pat to the boy's rigid shoulder. "You're stuck with the job. Unless, of course, you can find someone else willing to take your place."
Ben froze. The gears in his head practically audibly clicked into place. His green eyes lit up with a dangerous, desperate gleam as he slowly turned his head toward the back of the RV.
Lounging comfortably on the rear sofa, casually shaking a cocktail mixer filled with crushed ice and fruit juice, Klein suddenly felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck. He paused his rhythmic shaking and glanced up. He met his cousin's gaze and instantly recognized the predatory, scheming look on the kid's face.
"No," Klein stated flatly, his voice carrying zero room for negotiation. "Don't even think about it. Unless you want to 'willingly' perform a very painful, very public talent show at this wedding, keep your eyes to yourself."
He shot down the unspoken request with ruthless efficiency.
But Ben was far past the point of pride. He launched himself across the RV, diving to the floor and wrapping both arms tightly around Klein's calf in a death grip.
"No! Cousin! Please! You have to save my life!" Ben wailed, burying his face against Klein's pant leg. "I'll do whatever you want! I'll listen to you forever! If you tell me to go east, I'll never look west! If you tell me to dig for bird eggs, I'll never even look at a fish! Just get me out of this suit!"
"Absolutely not! Get off me, you gremlin!" Klein stood up, violently shaking his leg in a futile attempt to dislodge the clinging ten-year-old. Ben held on like a barnacle.
"Ben! Get up off the floor!" Max hurried over, his face twisting in genuine agony as he watched the fabric stretch against the linoleum. "That suit was custom-made for me when I was your age! It's a family heirloom! You're going to ruin the knees!"
Max grabbed Ben by the collar, trying to hoist him up, but Ben simply tightened his vice-like grip on Klein's leg, refusing to yield an inch.
"I really don't understand what the big deal is," Gwen remarked from the dinette. She casually crossed her legs, looking down at the pathetic display with utter disdain. "I have to be a flower girl, and you don't see me throwing a tantrum on the floor."
She paused, blinking as a sudden thought crossed her mind. "Although... if Cousin Klein were the ring bearer..."
A faint, inexplicable flush crept up Gwen's cheeks. She quickly looked away, staring intently at her drink, her imagination clearly running away with some unspoken scenario.
The entire morning dissolved into a chaotic whirlwind of playful bickering, desperate bargaining, and physical wrestling.
Ultimately, Klein's resistance crumbled—not out of pity, but because the terms offered became too lucrative to ignore. Ben had successfully secured his freedom, but at a terrifying cost. He had signed a verbal, sky-high IOU of indentured servitude: 'I, Ben Tennyson, will act as Klein's personal entertainment scout and work like a rented mule for the next ten years without a single complaint.'
Max spent the next hour relentlessly nagging Ben over the ruined heirloom. Since Klein was a good half-head taller than his younger cousin, the violently purple vintage suit naturally didn't fit him. Tailoring a new custom suit would take nearly a month, and with the ceremony looming, their only option was to detour into town and rent something presentable.
Because of this massive wardrobe detour, the Rustbucket didn't finally roll into the wedding venue until late evening. Fortunately, the actual ceremony wasn't scheduled until the following afternoon, sparing them the embarrassment of arriving late to the main event.
The sun hung low on the horizon, bleeding brilliant streaks of crimson and burnt orange across the scattered clouds. The heavy tires of the Rustbucket crunched against a pristine gravel driveway as they pulled into a sprawling, wildly expensive Western-style manor.
The estate was massive. Beyond the imposing main mansion and several elegant guest houses, the grounds were dominated by carefully manicured gardens. Elaborate floral arrangements and exotic hedges lined the pathways. Klein swept his gaze over the vibrant blooms; he couldn't name ninety percent of the exotic flora on display, but he easily spotted the dense, sprawling thickets of deep red roses woven throughout the greenery.
Anchoring the entire property was a classic, opulent mansion with towering white columns and sweeping balconies. Two massive, perfectly symmetrical flowerbeds flanked the front entrance. Stretching out beyond the mansion's front lawn was a gently flowing, circular river that had been artificially routed through the estate.
The clear water formed a natural moat around a small, picturesque island in the center. Standing proudly on that island was a pristine white gazebo, heavily draped in cascading flowers and sheer silk ribbons. Rows of elegant wooden folding chairs, each draped in crisp white fabric, were arranged neatly on the grass facing the gazebo. It was a picture-perfect setting for tomorrow's vows.
Following the river's path, Klein noticed it emptied into a massive private lake glittering under the twilight sky. The sheer scale of the property was staggering.
Parking the RV near the guest quarters, the group stepped out and made their way toward the front of the mansion to find the stars of the weekend.
"Uncle Max!"
A sturdy, broad-shouldered young man jogged over to meet them. He wore a casual dark green button-down shirt and grey-blue jeans. His thick black hair was styled in a familiar, slightly messy cut that looked remarkably like a younger version of Max's own hair.
Walking closely beside him was a slender young woman dressed in a stylish pink sleeveless top and cream-colored capri pants. She offered a warm, polite smile as they approached.
These were the soon-to-be newlyweds: Joel, the son of Max's younger brother Gordon, and his beautiful fiancée, Camille.
"You must be Camille," Max said warmly. Bypassing his nephew entirely—knowing Joel well enough to skip the stiff formalities—Max extended a large, welcoming hand to the bride. "Congratulations to you both. Truly, congratulations."
"I'm just so glad you made it, Uncle Max," Joel sighed, dragging a hand down his face. His shoulders slumped, and the heavy bags under his eyes made him look incredibly drained. "Maybe... maybe you can help persuade my parents."
Max blinked, his thick eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Persuade them? Persuade them to do what? Did something happen?"
Off to the side, Klein's ears twitched. A slow, highly entertained smirk crept onto his face. 'Oh, excellent,'he thought, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.'Family drama. Now this is going to be fun.'
Before Joel could explain his exhaustion, a sharp, familiar voice rang out across the gravel driveway.
"Max!"
The group turned in unison. Approaching them at a brisk, stiff pace were two older figures.
Both appeared to be around Max's age. The man was dressed in rugged, old-school cowboy attire, complete with a bolo tie and a stern scowl. The woman beside him wore sharp, wire-rimmed glasses and a conservative dress, giving off the strict, no-nonsense aura of a veteran school headmistress.
"Betty Jean! Gordon!" Max called out, his face breaking into a wide smile.
Despite his surprise at their sudden appearance, Max's expression was filled with genuine joy. The newcomers were none other than his younger brother and sister-in-law.
"Max. I'm glad you came," Gordon said, his voice gruff. He reached out and shook his older brother's hand firmly. But the greeting was short-lived. Gordon's weathered face instantly hardened into a severe scowl, echoing the exact same bizarre sentiment as his son. "Perhaps now that you're here, you can find a way to talk some sense into these children."
Max looked between his brother and his nephew, thoroughly bewildered. "Talk some sense into them? What exactly is going on here?"
Gordon stepped forward, throwing a heavy arm over Max's shoulder. He leaned in, his voice dropping into a low, deeply displeased grumble. "They are completely naive, Max. They refuse to realize that this entire wedding is a terrible, terrible mistake."
"The entire wedding is a mistake?" Max repeated, his voice rising in shock. He stared at his brother, trying to process the sheer audacity of saying that in front of the bride.
A few steps away, Klein, Ben, and Gwen exchanged highly amused, wide-eyed glances. Ben shrugged dramatically, while Klein just leaned back against the RV, thoroughly enjoying the front-row seat to the unfolding chaos.
"Excuse me, Gordon!" a new, sharply polite voice interrupted. "The children are fully grown adults. Why must you insist on interfering with their lives?"
Another elderly couple stepped out from the shadow of the mansion's portico, walking purposefully toward the group.
The man wore a tailored suit and wire-frame glasses. He carried a gentle, almost perfectly practiced smile that made him look like a mild-mannered university professor. The woman beside him was impeccably dressed in high-end fashion, appearing slightly younger than the rest of the elders. However, beneath her polished exterior, her eyes were cold, sharp, and undeniably dangerous.
Camille immediately stepped forward, her posture rigid with anxiety as she tried to bridge the gap. "Everyone, please... these are my parents. Mr. and Mrs. Mann."
Mrs. Mann didn't even glance at Max. She locked her eyes directly onto Gordon and Betty Jean. The polite smile on her face didn't reach her eyes; instead, her gaze was absolutely murderous.
"It is truly regrettable," Mrs. Mann said, her voice dripping with venom masked as civility, "that we are forced to meet under such... awkward circumstances."
"A pity, indeed," Gordon shot back, his jaw clenching. Betty Jean crossed her arms, glaring daggers at the bride's parents. The hostility radiating between the four adults was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Without another word, the two couples turned on their heels and marched away in completely opposite directions, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.
Klein remained perfectly still, his dark eyes tracking the retreating figures of the in-laws. His casual, trollish amusement slowly faded, replaced by a sharp, calculating thoughtfulness.
'The parents on both sides just don't get along?' he mused inwardly, analyzing the micro-expressions, the stiff postures, the sheer intensity of the glares they had exchanged.
His eyes narrowed slightly. 'No... it's not just a simple disagreement over a wedding. That look in their eyes... that was pure, unadulterated hatred.'
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