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“Attention! Your attention please!” says the band leader, and Stacie looks annoyed.
“What’s he doing? He’s supposed to be singing, not being the main attraction.”
“Everyone gather round. It’s bouquet and garter time,” he continues. “Where’s the bride? Stacie? Martin? Where are you?” He holds a flat hand to his forehead, scanning the room.
Stacie’s mood changes as she squeals in delight, clapping her hands and doing a little dance as she turns my way. “Promise you’ll be festive, Reid. Try to catch the garter. I can’t wait for you to be married just like me! Think of all the babies.” She rubs her stomach and bile tickles the back of my throat.
Stacie as a mother would be far from ideal. Not until she realizes, children are the center of attention, at least most of the time, and a battle for that position between mother and child does not a nurturing relationship make.
Growing up with our mother should have taught her that.
I don’t answer, and I don’t need to. She’s already grabbed Martin and is heading for the stage, and lucky me, a slim pathway toward the bar opens, and I shoulder through.
But, I look around, no Mildred.
She should have been back by now. Fuck. Something isn’t right.
That twitch in my cheek starts, along with the sensation that somehow my scars are tightening. It’s a telltale sign my anger is starting to bubble up and my control is snapping, thread by angry thread.
I swivel my head, looking above the crowd to the right, left, center, while in the background I hear Stacie as she takes the mic. God, that girl loves a microphone.
And an audience.
God knows, we were both starved for attention as kids. While I started competing and fighting to get people to notice me, she surrounded herself with friends and threw herself at every boy that showed a little interest. I don’t blame her, I just know my family is going to be different.
My family?
Where the fuck did that come from?
Mildred.
That’s where the fuck that came from.
One kiss and I already knew. I was going to soak her with my baby-making seed. Something I never dreamed I’d want before now. Something I’ve fought against my whole life.
No one, not even my so-called closest friends, know…I’ve never fucked. Never could find the person that made me want to slide what I believe is a part of me that deserves the best, if I do say so myself, into anything second best.
I wanted the one.
First place.
The gold metal of pussies, attached to a woman that made me feel something other than the weight on my chest. The clench of my fists. I never believed she existed, so I quit looking. Quit thinking.
Until now.
Stacie’s on the band platform, holding her hand over her mouth like she’s about to weep tears of joy and appreciation.
“…it’s so lovely to be surrounded by so many friends. So many…really good friends.” She waves her hand over the crowd and I look around. Who the fuck are all of these people? “I’ve known some of you for only moments and others for a really long…few…weeks, in some cases. But I love you all and I want you to celebrate with us—”
“Where’s Milly? I don’t want her to miss this.” I hear Martin’s voice, the mic squealing again, making a hissing sound as he taps it with his fingers. “There you are! My daughter, everyone!” He laughs, holding his arm out toward the side of the crowd and I turn.
She’s like a perfect pale gemstone, set in black, shining out all the more beautiful for the stark contrast. Standing there in the middle of a sea of gray foam as other girls and women are gathering into a tense ball, jockeying for position to catch the bouquet. I see her roll her eyes at her father, but she presses a tight smile to her lips as she moves toward where Martin points, heading for the back of the crowd.
Mildred.
Milly. My new sister—or niece— in-law.
My little starling.
Dark but fierce. Small but mighty.
I head in that direction, watching her turn, her eyes lighting up as they meet mine.
Stacie’s voice sounds muffled as I start lumbering towards her. Everyone ready? Three, two, one, catch! Milly grins, her gaze locked solid on me, biting into that luscious, deep, pink-lipsticked bottom lip. A lip I want to suck into my own mouth, to taste, to feel against my own again.
There are yelps, squeals, the movement of the mass of women like a school of fish evading a predator. They are a mosh-pit of updos and desperation, but my attention is on my little starling. My dick at attention, leading the way.
And then the bouquet smacks her in the side of the face, flower petals exploding into the air in slo-mo as Milly’s eyes flutter open and shut, her hands darting out on instinct as the crowd of women groan in unison.
