Page 4 of When the Time Is Right
He had a point.
Still, there was no way I was going to ruin my brother Calvin’s wedding day—crazy debutant bride or not. And deep down, Hudson would never do that to his best friend, either. It was bad enough that Lauren wasn’t there. We’d all done our fair share of shit to each other over the course of our lifetimes, but objecting would be a step too far—even for us.
At the pulpit, before we split, he leaned over again and muttered, “I can’t wait to hear all about how it’s going with you and that mouth-breather you brought, Lex.” He hung his jaw open, panted, turned on his heel, and clapped Calvin on the shoulder, taking his place beside him as best man.
Holding my bouquet, I flipped him off where no one else could see, and he gave me a smug wink.
At least I have a date, cocksucker.
He’d brought a seven-year-old.
Yes. That’s right. I was the maid of honor in this circus. Not because Vanessa and I were close—or even friends for that matter. Truth be told, if she hadn’t had a collar around my brother’s neck for the past two years, I wouldn’t have given a shit about knowing her at all. But for whatever reason, they were getting married. Hooray.
As far as I was concerned, I was only looking forward to all of the planning and fittings and rehearsals and showers, ad nauseam, being almost over. I’d spent a small fortune on this fucking dog and pony show and had literally nothing to show for it. The bright, intoxicating light at the end of this long, dark, annoying tunnel was me getting shit-hammered later at their reception.
I deserved an open bar and wasn’t afraid to use it.
I meant that from the bottom of my cold, dead heart.
Okay, so my heart wasn’t really all that cold or dead, but as I stood up front and looked into the congregation, my hooker-painted eyes landing on my date—if you could call him that—I was again reminded of how dumb all of this was.
My feet had started hurting before the ceremony had even begun, but by the time it ended and Hudson and I were paired again to leave the altar, I was preparing for a new life as a double amputee. Only a troll would force her wedding party to wear four-inch stilettos to a Catholic wedding. A fucking troll, I tell you.
“Are you crying?” Hudson asked as I hung my wrist on his tree trunk of a forearm for support.
“No.”
“Yes, you are. You bawl bag.”
I did my best to again offer smiles as we passed row after row of family and attendees. “I think I lost a toe about an hour ago. I’m mourning.”
He stretched his thick neck to the side and tugged at the collar. “I know what you mean. I can’t wait to get out of this fucking thing. It’s choking the shit out of me.”
I laughed, a full belly laugh. What a sucker.
“What?” He glared down at me, his stern brow proof of how serious he was about getting out of the formal wear.
“It’s funny that you think you get to change anytime soon.”
“Oh, I am,” he stated as if he’d gotten permission in writing, which I was certain he had not.
“Dude, we still have pictures and dances and God only knows what else before we’re set free. You’re looking at another few hours.”
“You’ve got to be out of your ever-loving, fu—” Hudson cut himself off as his son ran up to us. Releasing my arm, he picked Jack up in one swift motion. But don’t be mistaken: He silently finished the sentence while staring me down.
“Lex, you look funny.” Jack was seven and spoke nothing but the facts.
“You’re right. I do.” I poked him in the side. “You gonna save me a dance later anyway?”
His eyes lit up, but he argued, “You don’t know my dances.”
Just to prove a point and see the little fart’s reaction, with my bouquet in hand, I gave him a sample of my best Floss moves.
“Dad, she can do it!”
“Alexis,” someone called from near the chapel doors. “We need you, Sugar.”
Sugar. If that wedding planner called me Sugar one more time, I was going to trip her ass the next chance I got. That just goes to show you how well she didn’t know me.
In my best, thick Southern drawl, I called back, “All right, Snickerdoodle. I’ll be there in two shakes of a dog’s tail.”
“Go on, Sugar,” Hudson quipped.
“Yeah, Sugar,” Jack added. Like father, like son.
Dutifully, I did what had been asked of me. Pictures. Train fluffing. Flower holding. Smiling. All the while losing, my best estimate, a pint of blood a minute from the holes worn into my feet. My older brother owed me big time, and I had no issue at all with sending him links to a few high-end thank-you gifts I’d had my eye on.
