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I was never enough.
My hands curled around the counter’s edge tightly, my knuckles turning white. I wanted to wipe off the makeup and take my hair down, but I’d never hear the end of it if I did.
I wasn’t exactly proud of who I was today, but I’d be damned if I let Gareth intimidate me. My whole life I’d had to deal with my mom and her constant remarks. I could handle anything Gareth threw at me.
I straightened my back and pushed off the counter. The wedding was done. I might not be able to take off all this makeup without some makeup wipes, but I could undo my hair and let it free. My mom would hate it, but I didn’t give a shit.
I worked diligently to take out all of the bobby pins pinning my long hair up to my head, letting the curled tendrils free and then running my fingers through them. It took quite a while; I think the stylists must’ve used one hundred or more bobby pins on my head alone, but I managed. One by one, the pile of bobby pins on the counter grew.
Once my hair was free, I felt better. My hair colors clashed with the red a bit, but whatever. I let out a slow breath and scooped the pins up, taking them to the trash. I pushed out of the restroom and started to walk back to the reception…
But then I realized there was no hurry. I’d just go back to sit down with Gareth, and I’d rather do anything but that. So, instead of going back to the reception hall, I made a left turn down another hallway.
The place was huge. It was in the middle of the city, but it had its own private gardens in the back. That’s where I decided to hide out for a while. Besides, might get some inspiration from the garden and its flowers. We didn’t really get winters around here, so flowers bloomed all year long.
After a minute of walking, I pushed out of a set of double doors and came out on a marbled patio. A few tables and chairs littered the patio, but it mainly led to steps down into the garden. I headed down to the pathway that zigzagged around the flowers of the garden.
Objectively, it was a pretty enough garden. Small fairy lights were strung across the pathway, lit now that dusk had settled on the world.
The best part? Everyone else was still inside, enjoying the reception, maybe breaking the celebration and the dancing to partake in some cake. I doubted my mom would come find me if that was the case; she’d save some snide comments for me.
I sat on a bench deep in the garden, the building blocked out by well-manicured trees. With the fairy lights strung overhead and the sheer fact that no one else was around, it was peaceful. I liked it.
It wasn’t but a minute later when a deep voice spoke, “I think you’re supposed to be inside, enjoying your mother’s wedding.” He sounded faintly amused at finding me out here.
Turning my head, I spotted a man wearing a dark suit approaching me, a sly smile on his face. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. Thick stubble lined his face, dark hair on his head. He was tall, possibly around six feet, and he walked with a purpose—not that he owned the place, but that he was confident in whatever life could throw at him. I’d put him a few years younger than Alistair, if I had to guess, thirty or thirty-one. Handsome enough.
I’d seen him in the audience, watching the ceremony. I didn’t know who he was; he hadn’t come up to the table to congratulate Alistair and my mom at the beginning of the reception.
“I can only take so much celebration,” I spoke dryly.
He stopped when he stood before me, his light eyes on me. The fairy lights didn’t give enough illumination for me to see what color they were. “I feel that,” he remarked, slow to sit down next to me. “I’m Rick, by the way.”
“I’m—”
“Brianna,” he cut in. “Everyone knows you are. Nicole’s only child, the new Montgomery girl.”
It was my turn to chuckle. “I’m not a Montgomery. I never will be.” It occurred to me then that I didn’t know this man, so being this blunt with him might be a mistake. Anything I said might land in Alistair’s ear, or my mom’s.
“Most people would be happy to become a Montgomery,” he said. “I’m surprised you’re not. Then again, you don’t strike me as a…” Rick trailed off, obviously not wanting to say the final word.
So I did: “Gold digger?”
That got him to laugh. “You said it, not me.” His laugh was easy, and it did the opposite of make me uncomfortable. This guy, whoever he was, I liked a whole lot better than Gareth.
“How do you know the Montgomerys?” I asked, leaning back on the bench, needing to know who he was. He didn’t seem like most of the others at the wedding, not snobbish like the other wealthy elite. He seemed more down to earth, more likable.
“Alistair is an old friend of mine,” he said. My face must’ve been shocked, because he grinned at me. “Why so surprised?”
“You just… you don’t seem—” I was having some trouble putting it into words that wouldn’t insult him. Maybe he wanted to be like Alistair and Gareth and everyone else inside. Maybe me telling him he didn’t give off the typical rich aura, AKA a kiss my ass one, would upset him.
But, thankfully, he didn’t act upset. He only laughed again. “That I’m not one of them? You can tell so easily, huh?” He must’ve sensed my hesitancy, for he went on, “That’s all right. No offense taken. Guess you and I are the outcasts of this party, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“For a rich man’s wedding, you know what there’s not enough of? Booze. Good thing I brought my own.” He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulling out a small metal flask. He unscrewed the lid and took a small sip.
As he took that sip, I noticed for the first time the tattoo on his hand. It was black, and from what I could tell it was an eye surrounded by lines, a geometric pattern of some sort. A unique tattoo, definitely.
