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“So, are you two together?” Raquel the Revolting, as I’d dubbed her, asked in a supremely bitchy way.
Most of the girls I knew in Ireland had gotten that tone smacked out of them by their mothers before they got their first training bra.
I could see my seatmate’s leg shaking, and I decided to help her out by gently laying my hand on her thigh. This show of affection clearly answered Raquel’s question, and hopefully it would get her and her fiancé to bugger off. My gesture had the added benefit of covering up Maggie’s clearly nervous tick.
“See, Maggie, I knew you’d get over me and move on just fine,” the scumbag guy said, with a scowl on his face.
He was trying to sound mad, but he was clearly pining after her.
And who wouldn’t be?
I couldn’t blame the guy myself.
“Now, honey, please,” Raquel snapped at him. “While it’s clear that you are better off with me, let’s not assume she’s so quickly moved on to someone else. Someone as handsome as this guy couldn’t possibly be with someone like Maggie.”
She sneered in my sweet girl’s direction.
“Is he like your cousin or something?” she asked. “A distant relative on your dad’s side? We all know he’s not really your boyfriend.”
I hated the way she talked to Maggie. But despite the hoity-toity airs she was trying to put on, she looked like she was just a kid, so I tried to cut her some slack, but I had to wonder about how she had been raised to have turned out so mean.
“Yes,” I quickly answered before Maggie could say anything. “We are together.”
“Told you,” the guy said to the girl, shrugging.
“We’re engaged, actually,” I added. “We’re here for couples counseling, too. Our church has the same rule.”
The color drained from Raquel’s face, and her eyes widened.
“What? How?”
Maggie placed her hand on top of mine and squeezed.
“What do you mean ‘how’? We wanted it to happen, so we’re making it happen. Why not now, right? Some would say it’s too fast, but we say it’s just right and that’s all that matters. Plus, you should know about fast-moving relationships, sister dear.”
“Hmmm. Well, we’re having a very big, fancy wedding. And we’re having an engagement party at my Dad’s Santa Monica mansion a week from Saturday. You’re invited, of course, being like family and all,” Raquel said with a sniff.
I didn’t buy her fake generous act.
She clearly wanted to rub the extravagance in Maggie’s face.
“We’ll be a bit busy planning our own luxury wedding, but we’ll see if we can fit it in,” I immediately shot back.
The girl’s eyes narrowed. She clearly wasn’t exactly buying our act just yet, either.
“When is the wedding?” the bastard asked, looking sadder now. “I don’t see a ring on your finger, Maggie.”
Raquel wiggled her taloned fingers in our direction, and a tawdry-looking diamond glinted in the light.
“I proposed with my granny’s antique, emerald, and diamond ring,” I explained. “It’s being sized as we speak. As for the wedding, it’s booked for three months from now.”
“Oh yeah? Where?” he asked, getting haughty.
“Big Sur. At a historic, coastal hotel,” I said, making things up as I went along and hoping that all those acting classes were making me sound convincing. “We’ll say ‘I do’ on a cliff that overlooks the coastline. There will be a gazebo for the ceremony, white folding chairs, individual menus for each guest, a cocktail hour, doves. The whole nine yards. You name it, we’re doing it.”
“She doesn’t like any of that,” the guy said, as though in victory. “Maggie’s a simple girl.”
“Boring, actually,” Raquel butted in, being just as mean as she could be.
“Simple? Coulda fooled me. She planned most of it,” I said, with a sly wink to Maggie.
“But she doesn’t even go to church,” Raquel protested.
“Does now. I’m a good Irish Catholic boy. My dad insisted. He wouldn’t be letting me marry a heathen.”
“Hot, Irish, and engaged to Maggie,” Raquel muttered. “This doesn’t add up.”
I could nearly see the bastard ex turn green, and Raquel the Revolting didn’t look much better off. I was quite happy my plan was working out so well.
I was always quick with a believable lie in a pinch and was blessed with the gift of the gab. Those were two of the many reasons I had decided to go into acting.
“My morals have improved a lot since we broke up,” the raven-haired beauty beside me said. “Knowing what a cheater you are, Kenny, helped with that, and I wanted to do anything not to end up like you two. My good, Irish Catholic boy has helped with that.”
Maggie put her arm around me and squeezed me tight as a way of punctuation. One of her glorious tits pressed softly against my bicep, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I had to force my dick to stay flaccid.
