Page 50 of Something like Desire

“Not drunk, just a little tipsy,” Gia corrects, batting her eyelashes at him.

Dad sighs and steps aside. I adjust Gia’s lopsided veil and grab her bouquet from the vase near the doors, which open into the ceremony space. With its pale pink and white roses and peonies, it’s more gorgeous than the trial bouquet. I hand it to Gia. “Isn’t this beautiful?”

“Yup,” Gia answers. “It’s a pretty sexy arrangement.” Instead of holding it with both hands in front of her abdomen like we practiced at the rehearsal, she cradles it in front of her crotch. “Look at me, Lexi. I have flowers growing out of my flower. I’ve got a real out-of-control bush over here.”

I whip around in a panic, scanning for horrified grandmothers. “Soinappropriate,” I hiss. “For the love of God, get it together.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like my flower?” Gia asks and burps loudly.

I ignore her and adjust her arms until she’s holding the bouquet like a traditional bride.

Mom emerges from the ceremony room in a long emerald-green gown, and she looks like she’s stepped straight out of one of the bridal fashion magazines littering Gia’s living room floor. Mom’s eyes land on Gia and her whole face lights up. “Oh, my baby girl. You look gorgeous.”

Gia’s shoulders go rigid. “Thank you,” she says, each word clipped and polite enough to not be blatantly rude. “I’m ready to go in now.”

“So am I,” Mom replies cheerfully, looping her arm through Gia’s without hesitation, seemingly unfazed by her cool tone.

Dad approaches from the other side. “Hello, Rachel,” he says.

“Hello,” Mom replies, and graces him with a polite smile.

Gia sways as she heads for the ceremony doors, and for a moment it looks like both Mom and Dad, despite how much they may now hate each other, are united in the singular mission of keeping her upright.

Meanwhile, I’m praying to God, and every saint whose name I can recall, that she can keep her shit together.

The violinists in the front right corner kick off Canon in D, setting the mood for serious business. I join the other bridesmaids up front and glance over the crowd, almost two hundred friends and family, all standing and staring like they’re waiting for Gia to either glide in like graceful royalty or spectacularly trip on her dress. And it’s really looking like the latter is more likely at the moment.

Gia’s beams as she shuffles down the aisle, her train draped out behind her.

Mark’s face crinkles with emotion and he dabs his eyes with a handkerchief.

Gia’s stumbling as she walks, and my parents seem to be guiding her like she’s a baby who is just learning to take her first steps. Somehow, they get her to the front. Mom gives Gia a quick hug before heading to sit beside Nicholas, while Dad plants a gentle kiss on Gia’s cheek and then moves over to his seat next to my Aunt Ida.

The door to the ceremony space swings open and in steps Claire, her hair styled in a sleek, classy updo, wearing a flowing teal dress. Rather than sitting near Dad, where a few seats are open, she makes her way to the empty back row and settles in. Kind of odd, honestly. Maybe Dad really didn’t want her to come but she insisted on it since I asked her personally. There’s something really off about the whole thing that has my Spidey sense on high alert.

Gia, who’s now standing opposite Mark, sways slightly without my parents’ support and I swoop in to quickly steady her. “Please hold it together,” I whisper, and she giggles and lets out another quiet burp. Mark raises his eyes in surprise but doesn’t say anything.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Gia Callen and Mark McAlistar,” the pastor says, and we’re off to the races.

The ceremony continues, and Mark and Gia share sweet personal vows. I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe the vows were solemn enough to get her to take this seriously.

After the ceremony, we all make our way to another part of the building, which is set up for the reception. It’s a gorgeous space, something I already knew, but with all the decorations up and the lights dimmed and the music playing, it’s really next level.

Next up is food: smoked salmon, baguettes, soup, salad. Many great selections for absorbing excessive alcohol. Things might be smooth sailing from here on out. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Mom and Nicholas have toned down the PDA and now look like a somewhat respectable couple. On the other side of the room, our relatives and friends keep glancing between them and Claire and Dad, who are sitting together at one of the tables near the wedding party. Judging by Dad’s frown, it seems like he really wishes she didn’t show up. Some guests hover nearby with their drinks, wearing polite smiles and clearly wondering who it’s safer to make small talk with.

The tables are beautifully decorated with teal satin tablecloths and silver frames with photos of Gia and Mark. Soft amber uplighting glows from the base of each wall, and fairy lights are strung around the room. Arrangements similar to Gia’s bouquet, with white and blush-pink roses, peonies, and hydrangeas, spill out of tall glass vases. The guests are smiling, chatting, and snapping photos while Mark and Gia sit at the head table, looking totally smitten. They take turns gently stroking each other’s faces, like they’re seeing one another for the first time after months apart. Everything seems totally on track now. Thank God and Saint Anthony and Saint Joseph and Saint Teresa. My prayers earlier may have worked.

When the wine is served, Gia chugs hers back in one giant gulp.Shit. Maybe I spoke too soon.

“And now please welcome the bride’s sister, Lexi, to the stage,” my cousin Larry, the MC, says in a voice even more monotone than I feared.

Before all the cheating drama started, my parents insisted that since they were footing most of the wedding bill, Gia and Mark had to let Larry be the MC—and Larry’s friend the DJ. Apparently they’re trying to start a business and need the exposure. Gia reluctantly agreed, even though she once confided she thinks Larry has the charisma of a doorknob.

I read my maid-of-honor speech, recalling moments from Gia’s and my childhood and how proud I am of her today and the hall erupts in applause.

“Woot!” Gia calls out, grinning ear to ear. “That speech didn’t embarrass me nearly as much as I thought it would.” She grabs the train of her dress with both hands, kicks off her heels with a dramatic flick, and practically runs from the head table to the podium. Then, she lunges at me and wraps me in a tight hug. “That was beautiful,” she whispers, before letting out a loud hiccup right in my ear. “Okay, time for my speech now.”