You May Kiss the Bridesmaid - Camilla Isley Page 0,41
you’ve muted the WhatsApp group again?”
To be honest, lately, I haven’t paid much attention to anything on my phone except for Archie’s texts. “I might’ve. Why?”
“The entire wedding party is invited.”
“Oh, you’re going to meet my parents.” I say the words before thinking of their meaning and immediately retract them. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Relax,” he says. “No one knows about us; all the heat will be on the groom.”
He’s right, and I have no reason to be nervous. But I still am… At least, until Archie’s hands start to play a very different game from tickle monster, moving down from my sides to my hips while he kisses my neck.
“Do you think we have time for another—”
“No,” I say, before he can convince me to be late. “I have to go back to my room, shower, and get ready.”
He bites my earlobe. “We could shower together.”
It takes all my force of will to resist the temptation and get out of bed, but I have to. Already I left the spa early. If I’m late to dinner, I worry Winter will suspect I’m up to something.
I end up being so on time only my parents are seated at the table when I arrive at the restaurant. We’re at the fancy one tonight. A separate building from the main hotel, with an English countryside décor: all dark woods and fabric-shaded table lamps.
Tucker arrives next. Then Lana, the happy couple, and last but not late, Archie. At first, I don’t recognize him as he walks toward our table. He’s dressed ridiculously prim, clad in a pair of white jeans and a light-blue V-neck sweater. Tonight’s fantasy would be: member of a nineties boy band. If nineties boy bands ever allowed for beards. Mmm, I’m not sure about this one. The good-boy look is weird on him. But—and this is a big but—it’s the perfect outfit a boyfriend would wear to meet his girlfriend’s parents for the first time.
And I have to stop thinking like that. Yes, the guy I’ve been sleeping with for the past few days will have dinner with my parents tonight, but he definitely isn’t here in a boyfriend capacity.
“Hello, Dawson’s Creek,” my sister greets him, probably sharing my idea that his clothes look out of character. “Where did you leave your E.T. poster? In your bedroom next to Jurassic Park and Jaws?”
“Oh, come on, Snowflake, you must know my favorite Spielberg movies are the Indiana Jones,” he quips right back, and am I irked he has a nickname for my sister but not for me? Would I like him to call me buttercup, cupcake, sunflower? Honestly, no, yikes. “You’re the most glowing bride as always,” Archie concludes.
His smile is wide and charming, and his manners impeccable, especially as he rounds the table to shake my father’s hand and kiss my mom’s after officially introducing himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to impress my parents. Mom, for one, has melted at the hand-kissing.
He finally sits down at the only free spot left, between Lana and Winter, across the table from me. I’m in the middle between Tucker, who has Logan on his other side, and my dad, who’s also sitting next to my mom.
Once it’s clear we’re not expecting anyone else, the server who has been looming close by since I arrived brings our menus and asks if we’re ready to order drinks. I sure am, and ask for an apple martini. If I have to endure an entire dinner with Archie and my parents seated at the same table, I need something stronger than wine or beer.
Everybody at the table is pretty chatty, allowing me to take a backseat to the conversation and cull my nerves in private, while doling out the odd comment here and there.
After delivering our drinks, the server comes back shortly afterward to take everyone’s orders. I go with the Asian style tuna steak, while I note Archie orders a bone-in filet.
Dad is charged with choosing the wine for the table, not because he has any specific competence on the subject, but by simple merits of seniority.
The server has just left with the table’s orders when Logan’s phone starts ringing. He takes it out of his pocket and checks the screen, his eyes going wide. But he’s quick to hide the surprise as he silences the phone and puts it face down on the table.
But not two minutes later, the phone starts vibrating again.
“Darling,” my mom says. “Don’t