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Only I don’t follow suit… even when the bride appears. Even when she walks down the aisle in her ornate dress on her uncle’s arm. Even when she joins her future husband in front of the altar.
For it’s all I can do to unlock my gaze from the impertinent little bridesmaid who doesn’t seem able to stop herself from glancing in my direction.
I haven’t had to teach a woman a lesson in manners in a very, very long time.
I’m looking forward to this one.
19
Indigo
Nisha and I lean into each other as we sit, chairs facing the dancefloor, readying ourselves for the auction.
The ceremony was beautiful with Carrie most possibly the most stunning bride I've ever seen. Despite her nerves, the whole thing went off perfectly, and the kiss and dance she shared with Tom on the dancefloor once it was done almost made me cry.
Nisha and I would have danced ourselves, but Ms. Stick-up-her-ass Wedding Planner has given us instructions to remain sober and useful for the next hour until the charity auction which the happy couple decided to put on instead of asking for gifts.
About fifty people have donated stuff—bottles of whiskey, a luxury boat trip, a massage at the local spa, a photoshoot, just to name a few. Seeing as none of her bridesmaids are rolling in dough, during a champagne-fueled dress fitting, we decided to donate three slow dances instead of anything material.
What seemed like a stupidly fun idea at the time, now feels like sheer torture, especially as my body is still a spinning livewire of nervous energy.
Frankly, at this point, I’m half-tempted to back out, and I would if I didn’t think Anne would stalk me with her clipboard and batter me around the face with it if I “let the team down”, an expression she’s bandied around since we first met her six long months ago.
As the MC they hired for the event calls out the next item to be auctioned, a painting in oil of the coast off Calvert Cliffs State Park, about an hour’s drive south of DC, my traitorous eyes can’t help but float from the painting being held up by Anne to the hot mood standing on the other side of the dancefloor who hasn’t stopped staring at me all night.
I honestly don’t know who he thinks he is. He only gets away with his overbearing manners because he was basically put on this earth to incinerate panties. I bet he’s so used to women just dropping to their knees for him that he thinks the usual social decorum doesn’t apply to him… not that I’m much better.
As if on cue, I spot a sequin-swathed guest looking slightly worse for wear wobbling her way through the guests sitting and standing over on that side of the floor, as they bid on stuff they’d never buy themselves in a million years. She manages to take up position in the tiny gap between him and an elderly couple a few feet to his right.
“Oh God, who’s the whore?” I mutter as Nisha, aware of my annoying crush, snorts loudly.
I’ve been watching her hover around him for the last half hour, and after the morning I’ve had, I’m running on empty emotionally and certainly not feeling magnanimous enough to describe her with more grace.
“Maybe it’s Kennedy she’s into,” Nisha suggests, about his friend standing next to him. “Or Gideon.”
“Yeah, right,” I groan. I glance at her to find her lips curving naughtily. “What?” I ask with an internal groan.
“You know what,” she replies.
“I don’t like him,” I snap and she snorts again, even louder than before, causing me to scan the people sat all around us watching the auction. “I don’t. He just gets under my skin. And of course, because he’s a certified asshole, women are flocking to him like idiots.”
“If it helps, he seems unable to take his eyes off a certain somebody.”
I shoot my gaze over the empty dancefloor, only to find him glaring in my direction despite Miss Slutty Sequins seeming to attempt conversation.
The way he’s looking is wholly and utterly uncivilized, and certainly not fit conduct for a wedding like this one.
“I can’t believe he thinks it’s socially acceptable to stare like that,” I mutter.
“Come on, girl,” Nisha scoffs. “Let’s not pretend you’re not ovulating at the very sight of him. Do you know how many women would dance butt ass naked on that dance floor just to get him to look at them.”
“Pitiful,” I retort in jealous outrage.
“One thousand four hundred!” shouts the MC about the painting whose auction it’s getting increasingly difficult to focus on seeing as Mr. Everitt’s ungodly regard is doing things to my body that are definitely diverting blood away from my brain. “Can I get fifteen hundred?!”
Nisha seems similarly distracted. “Fuck, I’ve never been more turned on by a man looking at another woman.”
“He’s only doing it because I don’t bend over like everyone else. It’s just a game. Those types like a challenge and then discard them like yesterday’s pizza once they’ve got what they wanted. I know the type.”
