Page 206 of Bridesmaid By Chance
SLOANE
This is easily the weirdest wedding I’ve ever been to.
And listen, I’m not here to judge, okay? I truly believe what you want to do on your special day is really up to you, but the only thing missing from the 1800s’ gilded soiree in this nineteenth-century ballroom is body odor.
Let me paint you a picture.
A hand-painted ceiling sets the scene with flying, naked cherubs, cotton-like clouds, and intimate touching of index fingers. Polished pillars line the perimeter of the room and are highlighted by ambient uplighting. And a combination of white lilies and powder-blue ribbons dress up dramatically sized vases that are centered on each table.
Currently I’m stuffed into an empire-waist gown that has turned out to be itchier than I anticipated, a corset that has my boobs touching my chin, with my hair curled in tight, uncombed tendrils that frame my face. I’m wearing gloves that stretch all the way up to my bicep, flats that are cutting into the tops of my feet, and I’m engaged in a dance with a man who clearly had a shot or two before the wedding according to the scent seeping out of the corner of his mouth.
Meanwhile, the wedding guests flank the perimeter of the ballroom, watching intently as we perform the steps to live music coming from a string quartet playing on a balcony overlooking the room. The bride and groom are smiling widely, newly married, ready to embark on theirexciting journey, while the rest of us parade around, hoping this nightmare will soon be over.
At least that’s what is in my head.
I have already plotted my exit. I’m going to fake sick, clutch my stomach, and take off with a twiddle of my fingers and a pat on my back for a job well done, because why would I have to stay? I stood while the couple gave their vows, I swayed back and forth, hoping and praying the corset didn’t cut off all circulation in my body, and I performed the dances.
Nothing else will be needed of me.
Sure, would I like to stay because the cake looks like something I would want to plow my face into and have a feast? Of course.
But no cake is worth this kind of torture.
The kind of torture where your lousy husband stands off in the corner, eyeing you the entire time, never letting his gaze stray. It’s been like that since the moment I walked down the aisle. I could feel his eyes on me. It made my skin prickle and my heart rate accelerate, which of course sent me into a spiral of self-loathing.
This man has put me through a tumultuous time starting from “oh, she can be your bridesmaid” to “on your knees and suck me off” to “oops, forgot how to text,” and here I am, practically panting because he’s looking at me.
I hate him.
I want nothing to do with him.
And yet my nipples are ready to break through my corset to seek out his fingers.
The music ends and everyone claps while I turn to…uh…God, tall guy with alcohol breath, and curtsy while he bows.
Then the dancers start mingling with the crowd. Hudson is in the corner, a glass of liquid in his hand. I glance over to him, wondering if he wants me to come up to him or not, and well, it’s going to be anot.
Leaving-early plan needs to commence.
I bring my hand up to my stomach, ready to hinge at the hips ever so slightly to exhibit pain just as there is a tap on my shoulder.
I turn to find Sheridan standing behind me, tears welling up in her eyes. Her dress is simple and white, with lace details. Her gloves are lace as well, and the florals in her hair complement her dress beautifully. And speaking of tendrils, I think she has at least five hundred all individually curled.
“Oh, Sloane, thank you so much.” She pulls me into a hug that blows up my ability to act sick. “You did such a beautiful job and executed everything so well.”
I slap on a smile as she pulls away, looking like I was the luckiest person to be chosen for such an event. “Are you kidding me? This was so much fun. I’m so glad I could be a part of it.”
“Really? You had a good time?”
“The best. Can’t wait to go home and tell my ballroom instructor that I took part in a cotillion. He will be so proud.”
“Well, I’m glad we could add that to your dancing résumé.”
“You surely did. And the wedding, it was so beautiful. The weather could not have been more perfect.”
“Have you looked outside?” she asks. “It’s pouring. We made it inside just in time. I heard it’s good luck for it to rain on your wedding.”
People just say that to cheer up the couple so they don’t go into a tailspin about a soggy wedding.
