“To beat all the men away with,” she adds on.
The first genuine smile of the day morphs onto my face.
* * *
“Are you ready?”I ask Jorgie.
From the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, anyone would swear it is me about to get married, not Jorgie. I’ve never been more nervous.
“More ready than I’ve ever been,” she replies, smiling broadly.
After ensuring the tulle on her dress has been ruffled and her veil is sitting right, I accept my boutique of irises and white roses from Kerri and take my spot in front of Jorgie. When “Everything” by Lighthouse filters through the air, Kirsty paces down the church aisle. Because we are hidden by a curved alcove of the church, I can’t see any of the guests. A smile curves on my shaking lips when I hear Mrs. Marshall shushing them, demanding quiet as the wedding ceremony begins.
Once Kerri, bridesmaid number two, is halfway down the aisle, the wedding organizer gestures for me to go. I run my shaking hand down the purple satin material of my dress, roll my shoulders, and pace around the corner. When my eyes lift from the ground, the first person they lock onto is Hugo. My breath hitches, my strides faltering when I absorb how incredibly handsome he looks in a full black tuxedo with tails. His hair has been cut into a shorter, sexed-up style. His face is freshly shaven, and he fills out every inch of his suit perfectly. The visual of him standing at the end of a church aisle is so stimulating, the throbbing of my pussy overtakes the beating of my heart.
Hugo’s lips part as his eyes vigorously assess the bridesmaid dress Jorgie selected for me to wear. Thankfully, Jorgie has remarkable style and selected a dress more suitable for a cocktail party than a wedding. It is gorgeous and more daring than anything I’ve ever worn before. There is a side split that is seductive but not trashy, and the back of the dress curves into a dovetail point. The silk material continues into a small train that fans out behind me as I glide across the white carpeted aisle. When Hugo’s eyes return to my face, an inhibited smile carves on his mouth. It isn’t his normal cheeky grin; it is reserved and surprisingly shy. I return his smile before taking my spot at the side of the altar.
My eyes shift to the congregation of wedding attendees in enough time to witness Mrs. Marshall dabbing her eyes with a tissue. My heart squeezes, pleased that she’s so proud. When the music switches to “Marry Me” by Train, Mrs. Marshall returns her tissues to her clutch purse and stands. Tears well in my eyes when Jorgie and Mr. Marshall step into the alcove at the end of the aisle. The crowd gasps at how beautiful Jorgie looks. I agree with their assessment. Jorgie looks exquisite in her wedding gown. But it is the joy invisibly radiating from her that makes her even more stunning. She is the happiest I've ever seen her.
Turning my head to the side, I discreetly dab my eyes with a tissue inconspicuously wrapped around my floral bouquet stem. Pierre would curse my head if all his hard work was ruined before the professional photos were taken. When I shift my gaze back to Jorgie, a flurry of blonde hair catches my eye. The veins in my neck thrum when my eyes lock in on the Queen of Bitches herself, Victoria Avenke, sitting in the second row. She is wearing a killer body-hugging teal blue dress, a seductive smirk, and a rampant spark of lust is firing her eyes. The grinding of my teeth overtakes my pulse thumping in my ears when I discover who her lust-riddled eyes are drinking in.Hugo. He must have invited her. It is the only logical reason as to why she would be here. I sure as hell know Jorgie wouldneverinvite Victoria to her wedding. She hates her even more than I do.
Anger overwhelms me when Hugo smiles at Victoria. Unlike the smile he issued me, hers isn’t laced with unease and apprehension. I shift my eyes back to Jorgie, refusing to allow childish jealousy to ruin my happiness at watching my best friend marry the love of her life. The anger boiling my blood simmers when I see the love projecting out of Hawke’s eyes as he looks down at Jorgie. Nothing but admiration spills from his eyes when he looks at her.
There is barely a dry eye in the house by the time the wedding ceremony is over. Placing a quick peck on Jorgie’s cheek, I hand back her floral bouquet before gathering her train. Rose petals and rice float through the air as the newly wedded couple make their way outside the church. The anger hampering me evaporates when I see the happiness in Jorgie’s love-sparked eyes. I stand to her side, proud as punch to be her Maid of Honor, as she greets her wedding guests.
* * *
By the timethe wedding photographer finishes capturing the bridal party in a range of professional shots, my heart is hurting more than my blistered feet. I thought enduring Victoria’s seductive gawking of Hugo the entire thirty minutes of the wedding ceremony was bad. She beat that tenfold when she had the audacity to follow the wedding party around the church grounds as we had professional photos taken.
God forbid she was required to leave herdate’sside for forty minutes.
Not only did she obviously ogle Hugo the entire time, she also openly flirted with him as well. I hope the wedding photographer has good Photoshop skills, as it’s going to take him a lot of work to turn my rueful frown into a smile.
* * *
I plopinto an empty chair at the side of the ballroom Jorgie’s wedding reception is being held in, desperately needing a few minutes to gather my composure. Even though I’ve spent the past three hours in Jorgie’s loved-filled bubble, nothing has doused the fury blackening my veins. I know my Maid of Honor title necessitates that I ensure Jorgie’s every whim is taken care of, but I’ve been using it more as an avoidance tactic against Hugo. The closer I stand to Jorgie, the more Hugo stays away.
I jab a fork into the piece of fruit cake I’m holding, pretending the damage being inflicted is being done to certain parts of Hugo’s body and not the poor, defenseless cake. Mrs. Mable, Jorgie’s neighbor, sits in the spare seat next to me. After roaming her eyes over my face, she pats the top of my hand. “Too drunk to remember? Or regretting a drunk decision?”
My eyes rocket to hers. “I beg your pardon?” I ask, my loud voice gaining me the attention of a handful of ladies seated across from us.
She rolls her rheumy eyes. “Young kids these days. Anyone would think you invented moonshine from the way you’re acting.” She leans in close to my side. “These crinkles you see on my face, they aren’t wrinkles you’re seeing.”
“No, of course not,” I confirm, shaking my head gently. Mrs. Mable would be easily in her eighties. Her face is well beyond wrinkled.
Her penciled brows hit her tight ringlets of silver hair. “They’re life lines. My life map, showing I’ve lived my life to the fullest. Years of smiling, laughing, and crying. You won’t see me prancing into a surgeon’s office to get my face pumped with god-knows-what chemicals just so I can walk around looking like a sourpuss too scared to crack a smile for the fear of getting a new wrinkle.”
Even in my woeful mood, I can’t help but laugh at her statement.
“Life lines or not, that doesn’t explain how you reached your conclusion,” I say, placing the mutilated cake onto the table in front of me.
“Sheesh, I’m getting there,” she says, waving her hand into the air like she is swatting a fly. “Keep your panties on. You’re not the one with your foot halfway in the grave.”
Grinning, she places her teacup on the table. The floral china cup rattles in the saucer from her shaky movements. After dabbing her lips with a napkin to ensure she has no spilled tea on her mouth, she turns her eyes to me. I'd be lying if I said my insides weren’t flipping like an Olympic gymnast. Other than Mrs. Marshall and Jorgie, I don’t have any female companions I can talk to. Even though I know neither of the aforementioned would judge me, I can’t discuss the particulars of this situation with them. That would be too awkward.
“Even with your pretty little mouth sagging downwards for a majority of the night , it can’t hide the glimmer in your eyes. A glimmer that only happens after,” Mrs. Mable coughs, clearing her throat. “Certain events.”
I shyly smile and nod my head, acknowledging I understand her metaphor, while also confirming her suspicion.
