I normally wore some makeup, but never to this level. It had taken forever for the hundred-dollar-an-hour makeup artist to smear it all on. But again, I was just going along with what had been forced upon me.
I wasn’t the kind of woman who fawned over the idea of holy matrimony or happily-ever-afters—at least not anymore. Because, although I loved the company of men, I was a single mom to two cats. Beep and Boop’s half-assed brand of tough love was all I needed in my life. Not that my meddling parents understood that.
A wave from the uppity wedding coordinator, whose hair was higher than the steeple on the church, put our feet in motion.
“We can always object,” he said and then cleared his throat. “Rock, paper, scissors for which one of us does it.”
I grinned at my aunt and uncle as we slowly marched closer to the altar. With a bright smile on my face, I replied, “He’d kill us.”
“The lesser of two evils.” He pretended to shiver. “At least we’d get out of this stupid wedding pageant quicker.”
He had a point.
Still, there was no way I was going to ruin my brother Calvin’s wedding day—crazy debutant bride or not. And deep down, Hudson would never do that to his best friend, either. It was bad enough that Lauren wasn’t there. We’d all done our fair share of shit to each other over the course of our lifetimes, but objecting would be a step too far—even for us.
At the pulpit, before we split, he leaned over again and muttered, “I can’t wait to hear all about how it’s going with you and that mouth-breather you brought, Lex.” He hung his jaw open, panted, turned on his heel, and clapped Calvin on the shoulder, taking his place beside him as best man.
Holding my bouquet, I flipped him off where no one else could see, and he gave me a smug wink.
At least I have a date, cocksucker.
He’d brought a seven-year-old.
Yes. That’s right. I was the maid of honor in this circus. Not because Vanessa and I were close—or even friends for that matter. Truth be told, if she hadn’t had a collar around my brother’s neck for the past two years, I wouldn’t have given a shit about knowing her at all. But for whatever reason, they were getting married. Hooray.
As far as I was concerned, I was only looking forward to all of the planning and fittings and rehearsals and showers, ad nauseam, being almost over. I’d spent a small fortune on this fucking dog and pony show and had literally nothing to show for it. The bright, intoxicating light at the end of this long, dark, annoying tunnel was me getting shit-hammered later at their reception.
I deserved an open bar and wasn’t afraid to use it.
I meant that from the bottom of my cold, dead heart.
Okay, so my heart wasn’t really all that cold or dead, but as I stood up front and looked into the congregation, my hooker-painted eyes landing on my date—if you could call him that—I was again reminded of how dumb all of this was.
My feet had started hurting before the ceremony had even begun, but by the time it ended and Hudson and I were paired again to leave the altar, I was preparing for a new life as a double amputee. Only a troll would force her wedding party to wear four-inch stilettos to a Catholic wedding. A fucking troll, I tell you.
“Are you crying?” Hudson asked as I hung my wrist on his tree trunk of a forearm for support.
“No.”
“Yes, you are. You bawl bag.”
I did my best to again offer smiles as we passed row after row of family and attendees. “I think I lost a toe about an hour ago. I’m mourning.”
He stretched his thick neck to the side and tugged at the collar. “I know what you mean. I can’t wait to get out of this fucking thing. It’s choking the shit out of me.”
I laughed, a full belly laugh. What a sucker.
“What?” He glared down at me, his stern brow proof of how serious he was about getting out of the formal wear.
“It’s funny that you think you get to change anytime soon.”
“Oh, I am,” he stated as if he’d gotten permission in writing, which I was certain he had not.
“Dude, we still have pictures and dances and God only knows what else before we’re set free. You’re looking at another few hours.”
“You’ve got to be out