The Marriage Rival

I take it back, I hate weddings.

The ceremony dragged on forever. Marcus and Marcia, oh yes, they even have matching names, went on forever with their vows. Okay, we get it, you’re in love and want to spend the rest of your life with each other.

Don’t get me started on the photographs.

After the ceremony ends, we are whisked away to some park where the photographer demands a thousand pictures all of which are painful and unnecessary. Rick, one of Marcus’s groomsmen, is smart enough to sneak in a flask of bourbon which we guzzle in the limo along with any other alcohol we can get our hands on.

By the time we arrive at the reception, the sun’s beginning to set. The venue overlooks Malibu, it’s pricey, but Marcia’s parents own some sort of restaurant chain, so barely small change for them.

I’m requested to sit at the main table. It’s long and overlooks the entire room.

Over on my left, Presley is seated at one of the round tables next to Mom and David.

She looks stunning as always. The strapless emerald dress fits her perfectly even though she claims motherhood added pounds to her hips. Those hips did what they fucking need to do in the bedroom, and that’s all I care about.

And her hair—the long brown locks sit against her skin. I always have a fascination with her hair, something about the way it spirals naturally into a lock of curls just makes her all the more beautiful. She often complains about it being a tangled mess, how humidity isn’t her friend, and sometimes straightens it, though she claims it is a lot of work. If only she could see how beautiful she is to me. That’s all that fucking matters in my opinion.

The scotch sits in the glass in front of me. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had, clearly not enough to make this day move any faster. The alcohol and empty stomach are catching up to me. Thankfully, the entrée is served, but it looks green and squishy, but fuck it, I smash it down then more booze because sitting here is boring as fuck.

There’s chatter all around. The girls are giggling, typical girl behavior induced by expensive champagne. The single boys beside me are figuring out who they’re going to try to fuck tonight.

“Man, Marcia’s cousin, the redhead… fuck she’s a gem all right.”

I snort. “She’s a dyke, m

an.”

“Even better,” Rick snickers.

I have only met Marcia’s family today including her two older brothers.

They’re okay but the eldest one, Harry, is a sleazy fucker.

“Fuck the bridal party, I’ll take the hot brunette over there. Man, she gave me a boner when I saw her ass walk past.”

My eyes scan to where he’s looking until I see him staring straight at Presley. Against the pristine silver tablecloth, my knuckles tighten into a ball, hard and stark white. The sound of my grinding teeth echoes louder in my head, drowning out the noise surrounding me. The animosity is like acid burning, potent and damaging any rationality trying to ease its way through.

I needed to suppress my rage in front of all these people but no one, and I mean no one, talks that way about my fucking wife.

Rick cackles into his scotch glass. “You might wanna slow down, cowboy. She’s taken.”

“Makes it even more of a challenge.”

The rage inside me has fired up beyond a level of control, forcing me to stand up in triumph ready to smack the shit out of this dickhead.

Rick senses my animosity, placing his hands on my chest.

“Not worth it, man. For the record, his missus left him for her yoga instructor half her age. Ego is bruised, so don’t let him get to you.”

I clear my throat, and motion for Harry to lean in. “You talk about my wife like that again, and I’m going to make sure your dick is cut off and shoved so far up your ass you’d wish you never laid eyes on her. You got me?”

I sit back in the chair, downing the drink in front of me in one go, then eat the damn chicken served in front of us.

After the food and all the other wedding traditions including the cake and speeches which were up next, Marcus asked me to say something. Public speaking never fazes me, but with several scotches and a few glasses of bourbon swimming inside of me, I hold myself together to pull off my short yet sweet speech about marriage.

The crowd oohs and aahs, there’s laughter followed by a giant applause.

Damn, I am good.