Chapter 11 Nick
ELEVEN
NICK
“Ilook like one of those doily dolls you find in bathrooms to cover a roll of toilet paper.” Mel steps out of the hall in what can only be described as the world’s cruelest fucking joke from the world’s nastiest bride.
That bitch Karla stole the groom, destroyed a friendship, traded her self-respect for a shitty guy, and still, she insists on making Mel look stupid on her big day.
“I look like Princess Peach!” she cries out. “But the low-budget version.”
“You are, um…” Sitting at her counter in my suit and with a cup of coffee steaming by my hand, I study the peach-colored monstrosity, with taffeta skirts, shoulder pads straight out of the eighties, and the unfortunate shoop-shoop sound the fabric makes every time she moves. “Beautiful?”
“Shut up!” She storms across the kitchen—shoop, shoop, shoop, shoop—and snatches up my caffeine, tipping it back and chugging the blistering liquid like it doesn’t hurt. “I look disgusting, Nick! She’s doing this because she enjoys seeing me embarrassed.”
“So don’t go.” I fold over today’s newspaper and scan the front-page headlines. Ground has been broken on a new multistory building in the city, and the mayor is badgering the developer for a photo opportunity. “Call in sick and stay home with me. Take back your power, Princess.”
“Stop calling me Princess while I wear this god-awful dress! And I can’t take back my power.
” She sets the mug down again, slamming it to the paper and leaving a moist ring around the mayor’s face.
“I don’t have power. I’ve never had the power.
Power,” she announces, her voice squeaking and her energy verging on hysterical, “is not a commodity I have ever afforded. I have to go, and what’s worse is I have to arrive alone.
Because Drew is sending a car, and it’s only for the bridal party.
Which means you’ll go alone and, hopefully, come find me before I die of humiliation. ”
“I’ll come find you.” I act like none of this matters.
Like today isn’t weighing on her heart and damaging her soul.
If I keep calm, maybe she’ll feed on that.
If I lose my shit and rampage about what I actually think about these fuckers, then I doubt either of us will make it to the wedding without setting something on fire.
“What time is the car coming to get you?”
“Twenty minutes.” She shoop-shoop-shoops her way to the back door, pushing the ratty curtain aside, and peeks out at the bunny family gleefully gallivanting over the lawn.
“Why did they even invite me? Like,” she glances over her shoulder, sadness and hurt gleaming in her eyes, “I know why. Because society says we have to get along. I even know why she dressed me like this—”
“Because she’s an insecure, horse-faced hoe who knows she got the man by lying and cheating.
She feels shitty for that, but instead of owning up to her actions and dumping the trash who’d cheat anyway, she’d rather make you feel like shit.
” I set my elbows on the counter and smile at the woman teetering dangerously toward tears.
“She’s miserable and mean and hates herself, Mel.
And you’re beautiful and smart and kind.
You’re everything she’s not. And best of all, you’re free of the guy who dulled your sparkle.
She was envious of what you had and set out to take it.
But now she has it and realizes how stupid she was. ”
“You don’t even know these people.” Sniffling, she reaches up to wipe beneath her nose. “You’re assuming.”
“Am I wrong?” I set my feet on the floor and push up from the stool, then meandering around the counter and setting my hands on her hips, I drag her around and slide my palms up to cup her throat.
“Rich or poor, crust or cracker, the same types of people exist on both sides of the train tracks. She was never in love with the man she stole. She was in love with the idea of the life you had. She was envious and greedy, and now, when she looks at you, she’s reminded of how utterly lacking she is.
So to make herself feel even remotely pretty at her own wedding, she needs to dress you up in toilet doilies and hope no one notices you’re still the most beautiful woman in the room. ”
Her eyes well with tears, and when she blinks, that moisture sticks to her lashes and trickles onto her skin. “Go in there today with your head held high and a shit-eating grin smeared on your face. That’s how you take back your power. Wear that dress the way Anna wore César Thursday night—”
“God,” she chokes out and attempts to lower her gaze. But I hold on tight. I refuse to allow her a chance to escape me again. “I don’t know how she can be so confident. She just walked in there and owned that party.”
“Which is why she was not invited to the wedding. The bride knows Anna would fuck that shit up. Just as she knows you’re shy and sweet and not likely to make a scene.
She wants you to be miserable today, Mel.
She would get off on looking back at her wedding photos and seeing your sadness.
So you take back your power by beaming in every single one.
Flip the bird, make a scene, and make her question her sanity.
Because she thinks you’ll hate the dress.
So fake it until she thinks she messed up. ”
“It’s a really ugly dress.”
“Yeah,” I cough, my laughing breath tapping her cheeks and bringing a smile to her lips. “It’s hideous. But if it’s any consolation, I would still hike it up and fuck you sore between church pews.”
“Good lord.” This time, she’s successful in pulling out of my grasp. Shaking her head, she paces the kitchen. “You can’t say those things, Nick!”
“Why not?” I turn and dig my hands into my pockets. “I’m your adoring boyfriend, remember? I cherish the ground you walk on and pray at the altar of Melanie Hamilton.” I flash a taunting grin. “I should propose to you at her wedding. She’ll hate that.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“You can’t control me.” Chuckling, I wander forward and step in her path, stopping her when she strides this way. “I’m not gonna propose, because then you’ll have all those social climbing wank tanks expecting an invitation.”
“Wank tanks? Really? Where do you come up with these phrases?”
“They’re easy to come by on the streets I grew up on.
” I catch the crackle of gravel beneath tires outside and then the incredibly rude bleat of a horn that means her ride is here.
But when she attempts to turn because she’s completely incapable of making someone wait, I slip my fingers into the V-neckline of her dress and drag her to a stop.
Her breath explodes from her lips, and her eyes widen and swing back to mine.
“You still have twenty minutes. Just because they’re early does not mean you need to run out there on their command. ”
“Nick—”
“You’re not a dog, and you don’t come on command.
” I stand over her, forcing her head back and her neck to extend.
And when she’s my prisoner, completely and totally focused on me, I lower and press a kiss to her supple lips.
“It’s just a dress, Melanie. And she’s just a hoe.
Beneath the gowns, you’re still you. Which means she’s still insecure and ugly and cheap, and you’re still wonderful and pure and beautiful.
Remember that when you’re standing there in front of all those opinionated fuck sticks.
Because you’re going to feel judged, but the reality of the matter is, you’re better than them.
All of them. They fucking wish they could be you, which is why they torment you.
When they’re talking shit and acting superior, remember they’re terrified. ”
Her striking eyes flicker between mine. “Terrified?”
“Mm. Of being exposed as nothing but big talk and low self-esteem. Will I see you before the ceremony?”
She shakes her head and swallows, the loud gulp hitting my ears and bringing a smile to my lips.
“But I’ll see you,” she whispers. “I’ll be the idiot up front in the ugly dress. And while they’re promising fidelity and lying in church, in front of a priest and all the people they swear they love, I’ll be searching the crowd until I can find you.”
“I’ll be there.” I lean in and give her a second kiss.
Why the fuck not? “You’ll see me. And once they’re declared husband and wife, you can fly free, too.
” One last kiss. I brush my lips against hers and linger until she sighs.
“By then, you’ll have put on the show and done your supposed social obligation.
They’ll have saved face and pretended everyone is still friends.
Your parents still get to kiss his parents’ asses, and the slutty bride will be legally attached to the dud she coveted.
As soon as it’s done, your cage is open, and you get to fly away. ”
The fucker outside honks again, laying on the horn and stoking the flames already alive and well in my veins. “Can I hit him?”
She chokes out a tearful laugh. “No. That wouldn’t be proper.”
“Being proper is really fuckin’ restricting. It’s way less fun than what I’m accustomed to.”
“Yeah, well—”
“I bet proper people make slow, sweet love. Missionary position only. Scheduled intimacy.” I pull back and grin when I find her cheeks burning with a rosy red blush. “People like you and me, we get to fuck. Way more fun.”
“You’re not helping right now.” She rolls her eyes and circles out of my arms. But I let her this time and swallow the hilarity bubbling on my breath that tries so desperately to get me in trouble because her dress isn’t just ugly.
It comes with a giant fuckin’ bow perched at the small of her back and bounces with every shoop-step she takes.
“You’re good at your job, though.” With jerky movements, she snatches up her phone and reaches under her skirt to tuck it…
somewhere. I assume it’s in her garter and not her vagina.
“How many other women have hired you? Because I won’t lie,” she glances back with a lifted brow, “I’m a little jealous.
I don’t wanna let you go after tonight, knowing you could be making some other woman feel artificially special. ”
I scoff and start toward the front of the house when she heads that way.
“I personalize my approach for each client. What you’re getting, Ms. Hamilton, is tailored just for you.
No one else gets this.” I follow her through the door, though I wait on the porch while she heads down.
But then I meet the driver’s eyes and hold his stare until he releases the horn and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with nerves.
Good, bitch.
“I’ll see you in a little bit, okay, Princess?”
I hate that no one gets out of the car to open the door for her, and worse, that I can’t do it for her without the risk of slamming someone’s face through the windshield as payment for their bad manners.
I loathe that these assholes act like social elites when there’s an audience to be fed, but when doors are closed and witnesses are lacking, they’re worlds away from the bullshit they pretend to be.
“Hey, Mel?” I make sure I’m extra loud when she opens the car door and the people inside silence to eavesdrop. When she turns back to meet my eyes, I beam. “I love you. Save your first dance for me.”
She blushes and shakes her head, ducking low and preparing to slide in. But she’s a good girl, and ignoring me would be rude. “Love you, too. And I save all of my dances for you.”
“That’s my girl.” I flip the driver off while Mel is busy getting in, then I turn the finger to a wave when she’s settled and looking my way again. “Drive safely.”