She’s crossed a line. Not so much with her words—she’s said way worse to me before—but her tone is so falsely pitying.
We all hear it, feel it, and the tension at the table amps up.
“Babe, not everyone wants all that. And the most important part of the whole day is the bride and groom. Everything else is just gravy, right?” Doug takes Emily’s hand and I truly feel for him. He’s here to have a honeymoon with his bride, not get into some dick-measuring contest with Lorenzo or a melee with his wife and a flash from her past.
His tone snaps at Emily, whose face pinches. She’s never been the type to take someone clapping back at her lightly, especially if she’s basically being told to shut the fuck up. Even if it’s done politely.
But she knows she needs Doug on her side. He is her husband, and whatever sort of little game she’s playing with me now, he’s going to be the one she has to go home with.
Across the table, Emily glares at me, the insults coming through loud and clear in our silent conversation.
I know what you’re doing, Emily.
Doesn’t matter. You can’t stop me. And you know it.
Bring it on. This is my man, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
A-bitch-gail Andrews.
That’s what she always called me, and I can hear it as if she said it aloud.
Suddenly, a movement catches my eyes off to the side of the booth. I look closer and blanch.
It’s Meredith and Claire!
Claire looks happy but tired, as though she’s ready to turn in for the night. Meredith, however, looks freshly ready to crush her enemies, see them driven onto stakes before her, and hear the lamentation of their children.
Meredith can’t see Lorenzo and me together. Not again. It’s too suspicious. I can imagine the judgment in her steely questions already.
Are you here to work, flower girl? Or slut around with the closest man you can find who’ll have you?
Not knowing what the hell to do, I duck down, practically burying my face in Lorenzo’s lap.
“Are you okay?” Emily asks from above the table, confused. “What are you doing?”
“Maybe she’s getting a little sausage to go with those teeny-tiny bites of lobster?” Doug suggests, and in a dim corner of my panicked mind, I wonder what it is with some men and their obsession with getting blowjobs in public.
Then again, Lorenzo’s crotch is right here, and it smells sexy, feral, and manly. He’s not hard but halfway there, and if I just rub my lips . . .
What the hell am I doing?
So what if Meredith sees me out on a date? I’m not a nun, and as long as I do the job I’ve been hired to do and do it well, the rest of my business is none of their business. But at the same time, I don’t want them seeing me out the night before an important business meeting. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in SweetPea or me.
I peek under the table, trying to ignore the whispers from above. I feel something twitch and press against my cheek, and I realize that Lorenzo’s getting harder, too. Either I’m going to have to at least give him a little nuzzle or really have to explain what the hell I’m doing . . .
Phew. I see Meredith’s stilettos and Claire’s sandals walk out, and I sit up, brushing my hair back behind my ears. “Sorry, guys,” I blurt out, grinning. “Dropped my napkin.”
Lorenzo looks at me with a question in his eyes, but I shake my head imperceptibly. I’ll explain later.
Taking his hand, I decide I’ve pressed my luck enough. “This was fun, but Lorenzo and I really should be getting to bed . . . like now.”
“But it’s early!” Emily protests. “We can still—”
“I didn’t say go to sleep,” I add, pushing Lorenzo out of the booth as Doug laughs and shoots Lorenzo a thumbs-up. “Have a fun night!”
“What about tomorrow?” Emily asks as I get to my feet, freezing me. “I mean, whatever you’ve got planned, it can’t be all day, right?”
Shit. “Ahh . . . not really,” I reply, knowing that my schedule includes the early morning meeting with Meredith and then a bit of preparation with Janey. Then we’re taking the afternoon off to get some sun and talk through the arrangements for Tuesday’s luncheon. But really, most of my work this week is the rehearsal, the wedding, and the reception, and since I can’t put together bouquets this early, the majority of my work tomorrow will be phone calls and confirming the deliveries of our fresh materials. “You know, we’ll probably hang out some.”
“Are you kidding? You’re on your honeymoon and don’t have every moment planned?” Emily says, springing her trap. “I have an idea. Doug and I are going kayaking tomorrow afternoon to a private island just off the coast. They have private cabanas, flamingos you can feed, and the most beautiful backdrop ever. What if you guys came along?”