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It wasn’t the bride, the one who was supposed to outshine everyone. The woman I couldn't tear my eyes from could have been an angel from one of the paintings in the church narthex. Despite her high, narrow heels, she glided down the aisle. Her cheeks were flushed as if she'd been running around in the moments leading up to this event. Honey-colored hair was swept up in a loose style, almost as if it had been a last-minute thought; not sloppy, but not stuck rigidly in place by spray and pins the way the other girls' had been. A few curly tendrils hung past her ears to tickle a creamy neck, one of my favorite spots on a woman to bury my face. She held her head with confidence and her body with poise, but not in a condescending way; more of a relaxed I-could-do-this-all-day-if-I'm-needed way. She was at ease as if she was used to being watched. I wondered if she was a model or an actress. With those looks, it wasn’t out of the question.
She was stunning; possibly worth bending my no-wedding-hook-up rules. More important, was she single? A quick glance revealed a naked ring finger.
She took her place at the front of the church, her smile growing broader when the doors at the back of the aisle re-opened and the music transitioned to a wedding march.
I did the obligatory stand as the bride herself proceeded down the aisle and took her place next to Derek. As lovely as Maggie looked, and I had to admit she was radiant and had a sweet look of contentment about her, my eyes returned to the blonde by her side. As the service continued, I took my time admiring her dress that dipped just low enough to be a -tease of nice, full curves while showing off a trim waist before flaring out over toned calves. When I retraced her body back to her face, her pink lips still curved in a smile, but her eyes had narrowed the tiniest bit as if she sensed something was off.
Without warning, they laser-focused on me. I held her gaze, amused that I witnessed a slip in her composure. Wondering if she was as innocent as she looked, I gave her a test wink. Her top eyelashes hit the bottom of her eyebrow in response, and her smile quivered for a brief second. She blinked several times, and after giving me a hard stare, she refocused her attention on the pastor's words as he offered some bullshit, ahem—sage—advice to the couple before him.
Huh.
There had been no returned invitation in her eyes. No coquettish smile that hinted of wanting a closet rendezvous later. I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or relieved. It had been a few weeks since I'd found relief with a woman, but I also didn't need the hassle of more than a quick toss between the sheets right now. I had too much important business I needed to focus on.
I was puzzled by how much she intrigued me. Maybe it was her angelic look that made me want to see just how sinful she could be. I definitely didn’t feel like she was “on the prowl.” Truth be told, I liked that she didn't readily accept my flirtatious look; easy women were clingy. But despite her outward aloofness, the subtle shifting of her feet and the squeezing of her bouquet suggested she wasn't immune to me, either. Nor did I miss her efforts to sneak glances at me without the obvious turn of her head.
Everyone in the church suddenly chuckled. As I heard her throaty laughter join the congregation's, visions of her kneeling before me making that same sound for entirely different, less sacred, reasons popped into my head. I shifted in my seat, trying to control the reaction happening behind the zipper of my pants.
I did my best not to fidget as the wedding droned on until at long last Derek and his bride were pronounced husband and wife. After the traditional kiss, the nameless beauty handed the bride's bouquet back to her and straightened out the train on the wedding dress. She linked her arm with another of my cousins, and after darting a discreet glance and smile at me, she continued toward the back of the sanctuary.
I offered my mother the crook of my elbow and escorted her down the aisle after the immediate family, all but dragging her as I hoped to catch up to the bridal party. However, by the time we reached the portico outside the front doors, they were nowhere to be seen.
I sighed. There was only one thing left to do.
I offered my arm to my mom. "Shall we head on over to the reception?"
She raised surprised eyebrows. "I thought you said you couldn't go because you had to work, and the ceremony was all the time you could spare."
"I moved some things around." Like adjusting my dick in my pants, so it wasn't as noticeable.
Her face beamed, and she squeezed my arm. "I'm glad. You should spend more time with family, Jax."
Her bright smile reminded me of another time. When we’d moved here, I'd bought her a house and renovated it to include all the trimmings she'd ever mentioned wanting. Now that I was capable, I wanted to give her a life of luxury since she'd done without for much too long. I owed her that. The gift of time was a much simpler gesture, but it meant just as much to her. Probably even more. It launched another guilt-laced arrow directly to my gut. Despite living in the same town, I didn’t see her but a few times a month. Work. That was my priority. My sanctuary. My escape.
I squeezed her hand, making a new promise to myself to do better. "Come on. Aunt Julie will be happy to spend more time with you now that all the wedding planning is over."
2
Grace
I loved weddings! I watched my friend, outfitted in yards of beautiful silk and lace, through misty eyes as she walked toward the man she'd chosen to join her life to. What could be better than two soulmates who'd managed to find each other in the vast sea of life?
After kissing her share of frogs, Maggie had found her prince. Derek was a great guy – calm, witty, hard-working, and best of all he adored my friend. I'd been beyond thrilled to help her plan the day of her dreams.
Maggie and I had bonded in third grade when we were both cast as mice in the fifth-grade school production of a comical, twisted retelling of Cinderella. I had three sisters whom I loved dearly, but Maggie was the same age and had the same interests. We shared clothes, played on the same teams and applied to the same colleges. We laughed and celebrated each other's accomplishments and wiped each other's tears when needed.
Some days, I wondered if this would be the only wedding I got to help plan since there was nothing nearly as romantic on my horizon. I wasn’t in a hurry, but if something drastically different didn’t happen, my future was looking pretty solo. I wasn't ready to become the crazy cat lady, but I was considering the value of investing in Purina stock.
For now, I breathed a sigh of relief that today had gone without a hitch. I settled in to enjoy the service—until the back of my neck tickled. The bride was supposed to be the center of attention, so why couldn't I shake the feeling that someone was more focused on me? I hadn’t brought a date to the event. Not that there were any prospects to bring lately. Not many men could handle the scrutiny of my dad, and those that could, well, let’s just say they didn’t have anything to lose.
Take for example, Alton Butkus (“the third,” as he pointed out to anyone willing—or unwilling—to listen to his genealogy.) Alton had been asking me out since we were in high school. He was nice enough if you didn't mind a nerdy type who had more cling than Saran Wrap. I tried to be his friend, but he took my kindness for more than it was intended. I ended up very bluntly telling him I wasn't interested in going out with him, but I guess when you grow up with kids calling you "Alton Butt Kiss," you learn to ignore what you don't want to hear. He’d even asked me to be his date for the wedding, but I politely explained my role as the maid of honor would keep me too busy. I managed to tune out the creepy sensation for a few seconds until I remembered Alton had a last-minute meeting out of town t
his weekend.
That meant it was probably a member of the Biddy's Auxiliary Guild, or BAG, for short. It was an appropriate acronym my sisters and I had bestowed on the nosy, old women of this church who thought it was their God-given right to advise everyone on any matter. Given who my father was, we were a particular favorite to be the recipients of their wisdom, not to mention, their judgment. I guessed that it was Mrs. Wordsworth, the worst of the bunch. She was a widow with an ironic surname who would surely talk her husband to death. It was my theory that he wore hearing aids not to hear better, but to plug his ears to tune out his windbag of a wife.
I wondered what it could be this time—my hem was too short? Heels too high? Or maybe my makeup, as neutral as it was, advertised some immorality?
Or most likely, why wasn’t my dress a jumpsuit the color of prison orange? It didn't matter that I hadn't committed a crime. My part in "the unspeakable episode," as the BAGs liked to refer to it, was enough to seal my fate in their eyes and came with a lifetime sentence of disgrace.
