3 | Melina
Melina
I try not to touch her half-up-half-down too much as I clip the veil to the back of Rachel’s head.
“Is it in?” she asks, looking at me through the gilded vanity.
I carefully take my hands off, and she turns around to face her two other bridesmaids in silk lavender dresses.
The room fills with compliments. Her strapless lace dress looks gorgeous and expensive.
She fits perfectly with the decor of the green bedroom.
From the antique chests to the crystal chandelier, everything seems very valuable here. I feel like I can’t touch anything.
“What did Julien do to deserve to put a ring on this?” I ask Rachel in the mirror.
“That reminds me, could you check to see if Taylor still has the bands? I’ve been to multiple weddings where the rings get lost or eaten by a dog or shoved up the nose of a child. It’s always a nightmare.”
I give my bride a loyal nod, even though I’m not in the mood to see Prince Taylor right now. Or ever. But it’s Rachel’s day, and he better have those rings.
“Make sure you actually see the rings in the box with your own eyeballs,” she instructs. “And please don’t think I’m a total bitch.”
I assure Rachel she’s not before leaving.
Connected to our bedroom is a long corridor lined with large French windows. The sunset shines through them to illuminate the paintings hung on the other wall. I’m tempted to explore, but I don’t think I’m allowed. I’ve been sent to do a job, anyways.
I knock on the door across from ours. “Is anyone in there?”
“Just me and Taylor,” Julien’s voice says.
I enter to find a bedroom almost identical to ours but in a red color scheme.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Julien says, straightening his tie in the mirror. “It’s bad luck. And what if we were naked?”
“I’m not the one you’re marrying, and why would you be naked?”
Taylor’s eyes meet mine as soon as I finish my sentence. He’s leaned up against the back window, one hand in his pocket, the other on his phone. He looks pretty good in a three-piece suit. I guess I wouldn’t mind knowing what he looks like naked.
Goddammit. What is wrong with me? He’s too privileged to deserve my dirty thoughts.
I bet he already has enough women behind the scenes stroking his.
..ego. Though, unlike his brother, I’ve never heard about any he’s having.
A millennium ago, there were rumors of him being quite the player at university, but nothing as of late.
“Got your toast ready?” Julien asks.
I snap out of whatever I was snapped into. “Yep.” I pull out the folded square piece of paper from my bra. “I’m a little nervous, actually. I’m not sure if what I wrote is good enough.”
Julien waves a careless hand. “Nah, you’ll be fine. If you want, I can take a look at it.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? You’ll already know what I’ll be saying.”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but I’m great at talking. I can give it a once over if it’ll make you feel better.” And what would I know about speech-writing?
“Thank you, Jules.” I set my speech on vanity, then quickly flip it over to the side that doesn’t have the caricature I doodled of Taylor. Last night, while proofreading, I cathartically drew his nose overly angular and his crown too small for his head. It was a fun way to procrastinate.
I turn towards my inspiration. He’s off his phone now, at least, looking at me, glaring.
“I’ve been asked to see if you still have the rings,” I say.
He reaches a hand into his jacket and holds up the small velvet box.
I’d do anything for Rachel, I’d do anything for Rachel, I’d do anything for Rachel.
“And to see them with my own eyeballs,” I squeak. “She wants to make sure you haven’t eaten them.”
He opens the box towards himself. His brows furrow at the contents before he darts his gaze back to me.
My knees almost buckle. “Oh my God, are they not there?”
His expression recedes to its usual aloofness as he displays the two gold bands perfectly intact.
My breathing neutralizes. “Yes, you’re very funny.”
I leave the room before he can make another joke.
––––––––
The ceremony went without a flaw. Rings were exchanged, vows were given, happy tears were shed.
The manor is stunning when all lit up and decorated.
It’s like stuff you see in wedding magazines and think, ‘How do people afford this?’ Each centerpiece has a different type of vase and flower, but who really cares?
I would like to take a picture of it all, but the wedding is no-phones-allowed.
Rachel explained that was Taylor’s one caveat to being a groomsman.
I don’t blame him for wanting to scrape every amount of privacy he can get.
As I listen to Julien reminisce about a crazy drunken night in Morocco, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
Taylor holds a folded piece of paper toward me.
He’s sitting amongst Julien’s horde of siblings.
Of course, they placed him as close to me as possible without him physically being at the bride and groom’s table.
Julien must’ve forgotten to give the speech back to me.
“Thanks,” I say as I take it.
I open it to find scribbles all over the thing.
It couldn’t have been that bad, could it?
Julien’s cursive handwriting is a lot girlier than I expected it to be.
Some things are crossed out, sentences are moved around, and he even replaced the quip I made about the royal elephant in the room.
Before it read, I’m not going to make a joke about His Highness being here because I heard if doesn’t land, he can have someone chop off one of my fingers.
Short. Meta. Should have gotten a laugh, right?
It now reads Taylor was our ring bearer today.
I’m not sure whose idea it was to trust anybody in the royal family with precious jewelry.
A little harsh, in my opinion. About a week after Princess Charlotte’s funeral, her heirloom emerald necklace worth over a million dollars somehow went missing.
There were a bunch of conspiracy theories about how it was stolen or how members of the royal family hawked off the recently deceased princess’s jewelry on the black market.
I can’t read this in front of Taylor, right?
I’m not sure how touchy he is about gossip, especially gossip that involves his mom, who died of cancer when he was a teenager.
I guess if Julien thinks it’s okay.
I quickly memorize the changes as Julien’s twin brothers give their best men’s speech.
When it’s my turn, I tell the crowd how Rachel and I are the sisters we never had, how we met in grade four and bonded over our love of Justin Timberlake.
I tell them how, while Julien may not be Justin, there couldn’t be anyone in the world more perfect for her. A little syrupy, but I do mean it.
I fumble with my paper when I get to Taylor’s joke.
After scanning the smiling crowd and realizing that none of them are going to remember this after tomorrow, I make the split-second decision to take the margin’s advice.
While everyone else laughs, Taylor’s blank expression remains stagnant.
I might’ve ruined whatever chance we had at saving the relationship.
Thankfully, I succeed in my speech-giving without any embarrassment.
Now starts the fun part of the reception.
As I leave my table to grab a glass of wine, I try to calculate the appropriate amount of alcohol to consume at a wedding this fancy.
The Thibeauxs went all out, with waiters, live music, and a giant, tiered wedding cake with gold accents.
I didn’t think Rachel could top her old Hollywood-themed bat mitzvah.
Most of the weddings I’ve been to have been buffet events.
Julien’s younger sister taps my elbow at the bar. “I liked your joke about Taylor.”
She means the joke I didn’t write.
“Thank you, but I got it from your brother.”
I wonder if she knows any more about Taylor personally. I’ll admit I’m interested in what the man is like behind his shield of unreadableness.
“So, did Julien and him hang out together a lot as kids?” I ask.
“Yeah, I remember him being around the estate ever since I was little. His mom was good friends with my parents.”
Estate . That would be nicer than my one-bed apartment above a dry cleaner. I don’t even know what a dry cleaner does besides exist to be a place for me to live on top of.
“I actually asked him out once, funnily enough.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but he’s four years older than me, so I probably still looked like a kid to him way back then.
One of my more cringeworthy moments in life.
” The bartender hands me my glass of wine, and she clinks her drink with mine.
“Here’s to dodging the bullet. I don’t know if you’ve talked with him much, but he’s kind of an ass. ”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I concur.
“And I think he could be gay, anyways.”
I stop twirling my glass stem. “I didn’t know that.” Although I’ve heard the gossip. The royal family is a remnant of St. Claire’s antiquated government system, and their position is mainly ceremonial. However, I don’t think the ancient monarchy rule book accounts for that situation.
An arm swings around my shoulders. Julien’s smile is crooked and lazy. “Nice toast, Mel. I liked your Taylor joke.”
Is he intoxicated already? The reception just started.
“You mean your Taylor joke.” I shimmy his arm off me. “Everyone seems to like it.”
Except for Taylor.
“What do you mean?” He spots his sister’s drink and takes a sip of it, to her annoyance.
“You wrote that joke in the margins, remember?” He can’t be that drunk. I pull out the speech and open it for him.
He laughs and points at the paper. “I did not write that.”
Oh God. I look past Julien to see Taylor sipping champagne amongst the Thibeaux family. Why did I think telling a joke involving his dead mother’s necklace would be a good idea? Look at him, drinking away his sorrows.
“Who wrote it then?”