“Oh, sugar,” Daisy waved a hand with silver polish on her long nails tipped with aquamarine rhinestones in the shapes of hearts, “Me and Marcus got a room. All access all the time. Comprende?”
I leaned up to Ren and whispered, “We’re doing that next time”
“What?” he asked, looking down his nose at me. “Did you say something? My ears are bleeding.”
At that, I burst out laughing.
“What’s funny?” Shirleen queried, also in aqua (a Rock Chick wedding party stretched long, believe you me). “No, don’t tell me. I don’t give a shit. What I give a shit about is that I’m about to whale on those bitches Ava calls sisters so someone needs to calm me down. With brandy. Or bourbon. I don’t care which. I just spent five minutes with those two where they ripped every woman here’s outfit to shreds along with complainin’—at length—about not bein’ in the weddin’ party, when every fool knows those two treated their sister like trash for years. So how do they think they’re gonna get a pretty dress? Don’t answer that. The answer is, no one here knows how bitches’ minds work.”
She sucked in a huge breath.
Then she admitted, “I was beginning to get scared—me… Shirleen—that suddenly their fangs would come out and those vampires would lay waste to the entire guest list.”
We all looked toward Ava’s sisters, Marilyn and Sofia, who nobody liked. Even Ava.
They were in a huddle, clearly whispering, lips set in sneers, eyes to a woman I didn’t know, but I thought she was Luke’s aunt (or something). Which meant she was in her fifties. And there was nothing wrong with her outfit. She looked great.
Then again, Marilyn and Sofia could talk trash about anybody. They’d cut their teeth honing that skill through a lifetime of abuse piled on Ava.
And obviously they hadn’t stopped.
Also, neither of them had a steady man.
That said it all.
“What’s happening?” Sadie asked, pulling Hector into the group.
Jules looked at Hector, whose black eyes were still burning, then at Sadie, who totally had sex hair (like me), before she wisely stated, “We’ll tell you later.”
“Okay,” Sadie replied and leaned into her man as he slid his arm around her shoulders.
Her eyes were bright and happy.
A shrill whistle pierced the air and we all looked in its direction.
When we did, we saw it came from Luke (also in a tux, obviously; black with black shirt and a long black tie, unlike his groomsmen who all had white shirts and ties to match the women’s dresses).
He was standing on the dance floor.
He was also crooking his finger at something.
Our heads swung in unison to the direction he was crooking, and we watched Ava wending her way through tables, her face soft, her eyes locked on her new husband.
She was wearing an ivory, chiffon column dress with a ruched strapless bodice and rows of soft, wispy, vertical ruffles falling down the skirt. The whole thing was covered with a sheen of what looked like glitter. The sides of her hair were pulled back with teacup ivory roses behind her ears, the back falling in curls.
Her dewy, peachy makeup was applied by Jet.
Her hair was done by Indy.
She made it to Luke on the dance floor. The minute she did, he grabbed her hand, turned his head to the DJ and jerked up his chin.
His intent could not be missed.
And none of us missed it.
“Holy crap,” Indy breathed.
“Oh my God,” Jet murmured.