Page 86 of Jace
VIVIAN
I popa vitamin B and guzzle a carton of coconut water. One of the bridesmaids swore this is the best way to prevent a hangover in advance of drinking.
Sure, I could turn away the champagne, or kindly decline the cosmopolitan, and I do after the second glass. But I’m human, and desperate for something to take the edge off.
I swear, having to smile at David, having to laugh at his infantile jokes, having to sympathize with his man-child whining in public—Yes, dear, it’s a tragedy. There’s nothing to watch on Netflix except 1,800 shows and 4,000 films.
The performance makes me want to climb a ladder and fall from it again.
That’s how I broke my arm years ago. I was on a ladder in my studio, seeking a higher vantage point for a boudoir group shot. It was of two married gay men and their two boyfriends. They were having so much fun, and I was caught up in it, loving their laughs and energy.
But then I slipped and fell, suffering a painful fracture of my humerus. It hurt so badly, I threw up.
Yeah, I’d sign up for three more of those instead of another night of playing the fake happy wife.
Thankfully, there’s a ringtone on my phone that usually validates the bullshit I’ve endured. I answer, “Hey, sweetie.”
“Where the hell are you?” Harlow sounds worried.
I didn’t tell her about this charade because she doesn’t know about David’s bribe, and this is why. She’d kill him for me, and lose everything for herself, and I won’t let that happen.
“I’m in Palm Springs at Deborah’s wedding, and I?—”
“You’re what, where, and why?” She protests, “Viv, you’re divorced. Tell that juvenile jerk-off to go fuck himself with his video-game controller.”
Ouch. The image.
“Trust me, I do. But his sister was always kind to me, and it’s not her fault her sibling is Satan’s sperm sack. I’m here taking some photos for her. That’s it.”
I cringe, hating to half lie to Harlow, but it’s worth it. I’m almost free.
“Please tell me you’re going to tell his family what a cheating piece of shit he is.”
I stare out of my villa window. The sun is setting. I’m running late for a cocktail competition. Oh darn.
“They already have an idea, remember? They cut him off after he defaulted on the car loan they cosigned for his Hummer.”
“Well, if his parents have sense, why doesn’t he?”
“Because they didn’t have the sense to raise him without an epic case of entitlement until he was twenty-five, by then the damage was done.”
“Ah, yes.” She huffs sarcastically. “Rich white boy disease: more destructive than climate change.” She sighs. “When are you coming home?”
“The wedding is the day after tomorrow. They’re flying me home the next day.”
“Humph. At least they have a private jet with staff, so you won’t have to sit beside him.”
“It’s a perk.” I wedge on my sandals. “Because I sure as hell won’t put on his oxygen mask if we’re going down. The last thing I’d like him to see is the fuck-off-and-die in my eyes.”
“Atta girl.” She laughs. “Speaking of fucking and heaven, how is your other best friend, the colossal clit thriller?”
I blush, tingling right where she referenced because it’s all I want to remember: the sight of Jace’s sexy face between my thighs. I clasp them together, fighting the sensation.
Now is not the time. I have a party to endure. And if I tell her what’s happened with Jace so far, I fear she’ll hear all the things I can’t tell her.
“He’s sweet as usual.”
“Sweet? Girl, put down the camera and open your eyes. That man is sweet onyou.”
