with as prissy and conniving as Lauren is, I’m shocked she was able to scrounge up these many friends for her bridal party.
Irie keeps her attention on the front of the church, her gaze never veering, not once. But every time I steal a quick look around, I catch him staring, watching the two of us. I even shoot him a smile. Not a kind one of course, one that implies that I see him, I’m onto him. That she’s mine. That he can gawk all he wants but she’ll never want him, she’ll never be his again.
His gaze is so heavy, so penetrating, so invasive, I’m going to need a chemical shower to get it all off me.
As soon as the bridal party is settled up front, the music changes once again, the wooden pews creaking as everyone rises to acknowledge the bride. In the back of the church, Lauren stands in the whitest of white princess-style gown. An elaborate veil covers her face, hiding everything but her bright pink lips that match the plethora of pink flowers she’s had placed in every corner of the sanctuary.
A woman in front of us gasps when Lauren and her father pass, exclaiming to her husband that Lauren looks like a “modern-day Grace Kelly” … whoever that is.
A few moments later, Michael gives his daughter away and takes a seat next to Elizabeth in the front row, dabbing at the corners of his watering eyes.
It makes me think of Irie—and the fact that she doesn’t have a dad. Would she want Michael to give her away someday? Or maybe she doesn’t want to marry at all. Seems like everyone I know is swearing off marriage, and for a while, I was right there alongside them.
But when you meet someone and you know you want to spend the rest of your life with them, it changes your whole perspective on locking it down.
I glance at Irie, whose stoic expression is virtually unreadable, and I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now … specifically, if she’s thinking the same thing I’m thinking.
They hold the reception—if you can even call it that—in the church basement. There’s no DJ. No bar. Just “refreshments,” a wedding cake, and an overflowing folding table covered in gifts for the newlyweds.
“They don’t believe in dancing,” Irie says to me as we scan the large fellowship hall. “It’s against their religion.”
“I mean, I get not wanting to blast Bruno Mars songs in God’s house and all of that, but I’ve never heard of dancing being against anyone’s religion.”
“It’s too seductive,” she says, her tone nonplussed. “Might encourage premarital relations.”
“Anyone who thinks dancing is too seductive has never seen my Grandma Mary breaking it down to Motown Philly.”
She laughs at my cheesy one-liner and bats me on the shoulder. “I’m going to go find Aunt Bette and get us a table before they all fill up. You want to grab us some cake and sparkling cider?”
“I’m on it.”
Irie disappears into the crowded room and I head toward the refreshments table, where the line is already eight people deep.
I’m minding my own business, waiting my turn, when some guy behind me clears his throat like he’s trying to get my attention. Curious, I glance back and find him.
The asshole of the hour—no, the asshole of the century.
“You’re here with Irie, right?” he asks, hands clasped in front of him as he puffs out his chest. His tone is a desperate attempt to be cool and friendly but his rigid posture and defensive stance are a glaring contradiction.
He’s intimidated by me.
Maybe even jealous.
Which makes no sense seeing how he threw Irie away like fucking trash after she gave him the night of his life.
The more I stare at this smug bastard’s pinched-in face, the tighter my fists clench. If I don’t get some goddamned wedding cake in my hands in the next fifteen seconds, it’s not going to look good for him.
“I, uh … we used to date,” he says, with a nervous chuckle, like I’m supposed to find that cute.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
His thin lips crack into a proud smile. “She stills talks about me, doesn’t she?”
I don’t know if it’s the arrogant funk permeating off his body or the fact that he thinks I’m dumb enough to believe he’s simply making conversation here and not trying to infiltrate his nose in his ex-girlfriend’s business, but a flash of heat sears through me and my palms begin to twitch.
“We had