I don't answer any of them, and I'm so, so relieved that I destroyed my phone.
"You think you caught something when you slept with him?" Izzy rolls on her stomach on the bed and takes one more look at my hideous picture. She’s really pissed that they outed me as her twin, seeing as I look like a nightmare in the prom dress.
"Huh?" I ask, and then her question registers. "Ick! I hope not." She’s right. I need to get tested.
The irony hits me hard in the gut. If this guy, who is all about clean-eating and exercise and talking me into quitting weed ended up giving me something, I swear I'm going to lose it.
"I'll schedule an appointment when I get back home."
Izzy grabs my hand in hers and offers me a pity-smile. "I'll come with."
Chapter Fourteen
Izzy is standing right next to me in the Elvis Funky Chapel. We’re both holding bouquets, but I’m not wearing the vintage Valentino I tried on before yesterday’s disaster. I guess I’ve been metaphorically and physically stripped of my right to wear anything couture.
I’m back in the dark-red, mermaid-style dress I originally planned. I don’t mind. What I do mind is being the center of freaking attention at the wedding. News has broken that Ty Wilder is (was!) my boyfriend. I try to look on the bright side—at least no one knows about his male-prostitution phase. The public and most of the guests all think he's just a violent jerk.
Shane, Izzy and I are the only people at this wedding who know the truth, and I'm planning to take this one to the grave with me. I may not have dated the most sought-after bachelors in the country before Ty barged into my life, but dating a former male prostitute is a new low, even for me.
Okay, maybe I'll just tell Nana Marty. Nana won't judge. She won't tell my parents. Nana can keep a secret. I'm pretty sure she's got a pile of 'em securely tucked deep inside her head.
I watch my grandmother in her very skimpy and age-inappropriate white dress, standing in front of her prince charming, Simon.
Simon is pretty darn cool. He is handsome for his age—tall, with thick white hair and steely blue eyes. He is wearing a tux and looks better than my chunky, fifty-something father. My parents stand across from Izzy and me. It’s obvious they are none too thrilled about the wedding. But unlike me, Nana isn't a person who gives a damn about what they think.
Mom keeps shifting and staring at her shoes, while Dad zones out. In his mind, he’s at the golf course, talking politics with his friends and comparing golf clubs. The chapel looks like a deserted branch of Olive Garden, but the ceremony is lovely.
And me? I’m a hot mess. I’m trying to keep it together, but every thought I have is of Ty.
“Blaire, are you crying? Again?” Izzy whisper-yells at me as the Marilyn Monroe look-alike performs the service.
I feel so bad. Nana did all this so I could be in Vegas, and her plans backfired completely. I'll be dealing with the shock waves of the explosion for a long-ass time.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not crying. Just happy for Nana.”
“You may kiss the bride.” Marilyn beams at Simon. He looks at Nana Marty with eyes filled with happiness, but thankfully, keeps it clean and only gives Nana a peck on the lips. Mom and Dad smile tightly while Izzy and I jump on our fragile grandmother.
Izzy twerks around her, the flowers in her hand raining petals on the floor, while I cling to her shoulders like she’s my only chance of being saved from a starving shark. An injured Shane is standing with his parents in an aisle, surrounded by a few more guests, golf-clapping. He is looking at Izzy. Not at me, not at the bride, just Izzy. She is his sun and his moon. The want in his eyes is unmistakable, even with the new, purple frames Ty has given him.
Nana pats me on the cheek and holds my chin firmly in one hand. “Oh, my darling Blaire,” she murmurs into my nose. “Your mother told me what Tyler has been up to. Had I known you were going to bring enough drama for an HBO mini-series, I would have brought more vodka. I want all the gossip. Meet me in the lobby bar in an hour. Simon can pop my imaginary cherry tomorrow.”
Hell, I’m going to need therapy after Vegas.
Back at the hotel, I tell Izzy I’m meeting Nana downstairs for drinks and ask her if she wants to tag along.
“Too tired.” She slips out of her gown and walks around the room in her undies. That nasty Elizabeth's Passion thong she's wearing is glaring at me like a sweaty pervert in a raincoat, but other than that, there’s no denying her body is damn near perfect. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”