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Baby LeBlanc and I haven’t had much time for each other between Thursday and Sunday. I passed her in the hall a few times, and every time I did, our fingers laced, or our shoulders brushed, or she would give me that smile. The one that she invented especially for me and didn’t give anyone else.
She was busy. Running back and forth with her sister to salons, spas, and final fittings was time-consuming. She looked so tired all the time, but held her head up. I tried to sneak into her room the night she came back to Todos Santos, on Thursday, but found Millie sleeping next to her.
Fucking Millie. Denying me from Rosie, even eleven years later.
I dutifully played my part at the wedding. Stood in a symmetric line with Trent, Jaime, Vicious, and my dad, Eli, who was a huge part of Vicious’s support system, to welcome the guests. The air was humid and the sun as angry as a PMSing teenage girl who’d just caught her boyfriend jerking off to a Demi Lovato photo. I sweated inside my five-grand, tailor-made tux and itched to grab a glass of champagne and toss it down my throat, but I wanted to keep my promise to Rosie. No more booze, at least until I conquered the need to drink to forget. I still smoked weed, but no more than one blunt a day.
For cold turkey was the number two reason why addicts fall off the wagon.
First reason? Heartbreak. I was trying to dodge that one, too.
With toothy smiles plastered across our shiny faces, we greeted fancy-looking ladies and rich old men. Trent looked a little better today, and Vicious beamed like he had just won the lottery. A needle of envy prickled my heart, not because of who he was going to marry, but for the fact that Emilia had agreed to settle down with him. Her sister, I had a feeling, was a more difficult creature to domesticate.
“Welcome.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“It’s been so long since we’ve met. How’re the kids?”
Blah-blah-fucking-blah. The stream of people didn’t dwindle. All I wanted was to get a glimpse of Rosie. I texted her earlier that day and wished her good luck, which was a stupid thing to say, because she wasn’t the one who was getting married. She said she had something to tell me, but that it had to wait until later.
And that was pretty much all I thought about until the ceremony took place on a hill overlooking the ocean.
I was standing by Vicious when the happy couple said their vows—along with Jaime and Trent, and watched Rosie from across the aisle beaming at Emilia with the kind of raw happiness you only see in kids. Glaring at her without any interruptions was my painkiller. She looked like a fucking angel in her elegant, Greek-goddess, pearl-white dress. A swan with ruffled feathers for hair, tied back into a messy French twist. She grinned at Millie and took the cherry blossom bouquet from her hands when it was time to exchange the rings. After the ceremony was over, I sauntered in the opposite direction to resist the urge to pick her up and kiss the shit out of her until her lips were raw and swollen. Instead, I plucked my phone out and started texting her, knowing that she wasn’t going to see those messages anytime soon. And let’s just say that I was feeling particularly blabby, because there was no other way to explain the shit my fingers came up with.
Dean
You’re fucking gorgeous to a fault, you know that?
Dean
Move in with me.
Dean
Seriously. Fuck everyone and everything. Let’s do it.
Dean
Dear Ms. LeBlanc, it’s your landlord. Regarding the rent reevaluation - I’m raising it by a trillion percent. Take it or leave it.
Dean
But seriously, Baby LeBlanc. Let’s fucking do this.
So much for making sure she knew I was staying sober. I sounded like a drunk fool.
After the ceremony came dinner. The seating arrangement meant that Rosie and I were sitting on the opposite ends of the table—fuck this and fuck my life—and even though she probably had already checked her phone, she didn’t answer me yet. That was fine. I had patience. She had time.
Actually, neither was true.
I didn’t have patience and she, predominantly, didn’t have time.
Trent got up from his seat to change Luna’s diaper and my dad slipped into his place in a second and clasped my shoulder.
“Beautiful ceremony,” he commented. I shrugged.
“Sure.”
“Are you enjoying yourself, son?”
Enjoying was a strong word. I was tolerating this event until it was time to go home and feast on my dessert. My girlfriend’s pussy.
Tucking my hands into my pockets, I leaned back. “Food’s good.”
“And I noticed you’re not touching the alcohol. Nice.”
“That’d be Rosie’s terrific idea. Seems to be working so far. Mostly, anyway.” I thought back to the time I accidentally answered Nina. “It’s for the best. The novelty of excessive drinking wears off just around the thirty mark.”
