Bad Cruz

No wonder Trinity blew most of her savings on this wedding. There was no way Dad could’ve paid for the napkin holders alone from his retired sheriff’s pension.

I was seated as far as possible from Cruz and didn’t think for one moment that it was by accident. Catherine Costello looked pleased to have me banished from her precious son’s sphere.

She even patted Cruz’s hand and said, extra loudly, “See the woman with the green turtleneck dress? The one next to Fiona Rouse? I want to make an introduction. She just started her residency at the Johns Hopkins Hospital.”

I continued pining for Cruz in dignified silence, occasionally answering my mother, sister, father, and Bear who tried to grab my attention and talk to me. The more I stared at him, the more I realized there was a real possibility I was going to beg him to have me back.

Publicly.

Very publicly.

Happily?

The only way to get him back was to show him he was more important to me than my stupid pride.

When the speeches came, I sat back and sipped some wine. I didn’t normally drink in front of my family—I was always so desperate not to embarrass them in any way—but today, something fundamental had changed in me.

I vowed to live my life for myself and my son, not for anyone else.

The speeches were carried by Cruz, who was Wyatt’s best man, and Gabriella, the maid of honor.

Cruz went first.

He delivered the perfect speech, starting with Wyatt’s description as a chubby, cherubic baby, his embarrassing, wannabe-Jon-Bon-Jovi adolescence years, and even glossed over that unfortunate marriage in a highly entertaining manner.

He had the guests in stitches, but also in tears, and served his captive audience with what must’ve been one of the best speeches to be carried at any wedding, at any time, in the history of the world.

Good luck to you, Gabriella.

When Cruz sat down, I saw Trinity and Gabriella exchanging hushed words. Gabriella smiled in embarrassment, nodded, and walked back over to her side of the table.

I arched an eyebrow.

She didn’t bail on that part, too, right?

Because everyone knew wedding speeches were like obituaries. Nobody wanted to do them, but someone had to.

“Nessy?” Trinity turned in my direction, all smiles.

Oh, no.

“Yes?” I replied with coldness that shocked even me.

“Would you care to make a speech for me?”

“I would not, actually. What happened?” I couldn’t help but bite back. “Gabriella got cold feet again?”

“Actually,” Trinity tried to muster another smile, but this one was a little wonky, a lot sad, “I told Gabriella I wished for my sister to carry the speech for me. I know it’s very last minute, but I figured…well, I’ve been really horrible to you, haven’t I? I made you feel like you were less-than, and on top of that, didn’t choose you to be the maid of honor, even though you certainly pulled your weight. So I thought…I mean, I was hoping…”

A rush of adrenaline ran through me.

This was her way of apologizing.

But it was too little, too late.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said tightly, sitting back in my seat. “I don’t have anything written, and I’m Messy Nessy, remember?”

“You’re my sister,” Trinity maintained. “I like your mess. Your mess is great. Perfect. And you know me better than anyone else.”