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Fabio wolf-whistles. “That was some PDA.”
Everyone cheers.
“Now,” Fabio continues dramatically. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for. Anyone can dance with anyone they please!”
Another cheer.
Art and I sit, and I down a glass of water to calm myself after the kiss.
Someone taps my shoulder.
Is Bella back?
I turn, but it’s not my new business partner. It’s an attractive man from one of the ballet people’s tables.
“May I have this dance?” he asks with a courtly bow.
“No,” Art growls just as I open my mouth to agree.
Startled, I look at him. “Why not?”
“Because this dance is mine,” Art says in a hard tone. “And the rest of them too.”
So now he’s acting like a possessive husband? If this were real, I think I’d like it.
“My apologies,” the guy says and slinks away.
“You can dance with one of her sisters,” Mom calls after him. “They usually dress better and wear perfume.”
Greedy much? She’s at one daughter’s wedding but is already pimping out the rest of them.
When the guy is out of sight, Art says, “Shall we have this dance?”
I shake my head. “First, I need to powder my nose.” And get my unruly heart under control. I look around. “Does anyone know where the bathroom is?”
Mom tells me where to go, and I depart swiftly.
Between that speech, that kiss, and everything else, I’m on the verge of not just having, but also expressing feelings he wouldn’t want to hear about, especially at our fake wedding reception.
The bathroom smells like chlorine. I hold my breath as much as I can as I take care of my business, and by the time I exit, I’m desperate for fresh air.
Instead, I’m hit with a cloud of weaponized perfume.
The Black Swan stands in front of me, in all her inappropriate white-tutu glory.
I take a step back. The expression on the ballerina’s face is so frightening I’m glad my bladder is empty.
With a heavy accent and in a voice that’s as sexy as it is scary, she hisses, “Your marriage. It is scam.”
