1. Cora
cora
. . .
You either love weddings, or you hate them.
The thing is, no matter which camp you’re in, there comes a time in all our lives when we end up attending them. That and funerals.
I once attended a funeral where the guest of honor requested it be a party, complete with balloons, disco music, and flashing lights. A group of her closest friends wheeled her coffin down the aisle while dancing. That made a hard day bearable.
My sister Emma, who is only eighteen months older than me, is firmly in the wedding camp. The romantic in her can’t help but come out. She gushes over every tiny detail.
The day her boyfriend proposes to her, I’m certain she’ll keel over. Then start planning while everyone around her panics. She’s dreamed about her wedding for as long as I can remember. Before she was old enough to date .
I’m kind of in between. I can take them or leave them depending on who is getting married. All the better if there’s a free bar, and you can’t go wrong with good catering.
This wedding has all that and more. The groom is my sister’s boyfriend’s cousin. Or his cousin’s best friend? I can’t remember. It’s a head fuck and a half, no matter what.
Because Diego, my sister’s other half, is a part of the wedding party, she wanted me to come along so she wasn’t alone.
I’m not sure why the bride and groom are happy to have me, a stranger, show up to celebrate their marriage. According to my sister, I was more than welcome.
Who am I to complain? It’s in an enormous mansion. The appetizers are excellent, and the booze is free flowing. The ceremony is outside in the glorious sunshine, facing the water behind the property.
Nothing formal or stuffy, no churches or priests. In fact, the officiant is a young guy wearing linen pants and a halfway unbuttoned blue shirt.
I’ve been itching to take photographs since we walked in. Emma said that would be a massive faux pas. You don’t take random pictures of people you don’t know at a wedding. Plus, there is a professional wedding photographer already taking pictures.
There are so many beautiful things here and my photographer’s mind is awash with ideas for the perfect shot.
My equipment is in the car. It wouldn’t hurt to go grab my polaroid and take some pictures, right?
No one would notice. It’s not like I’m going to bring out the digital camera, which is expensive enough to rival the one the photographer here is using.
I’ve always loved the pictures a polaroid creates. No manipulation, no do-overs. Only that perfect moment in time.
“Don’t even think about it.”
I side-eye my sister. I swear she can read my mind. “You’re no fun.”
“Cora, you can go a couple of hours without having a camera in your hand.”
“Of course I can. I wasn’t even thinking about getting it.” I lie. “What time is the show getting on the road, anyway?”
She moves out of the way as two women who look like they stepped off the cover of Vogue magazine walk by. Emma’s shoulders go up and she averts her gaze. God, I wish she wasn’t so self-conscious.
My sister is gorgeous. So what if she’s voluptuous? To me, she has the perfect figure, a sculptured face that stops traffic and to die for golden curls that fall down her back. Diego loves everything about her.
Bullies in high school shattered her confidence. It should have been the other way around, my big sister protecting me. I’d be damned if I was going to let a group of jealous, stuck-up, nasty bitches humiliate and hurt my sister.
I make no excuses about being a hellion in high school. My attitude got the mean girls to back off. No one needs to re-hash how I did it. Purple hair dye, glue, and rumors about STDs may have been involved .
“Not until two. Enjoy the champagne and relax.” Emma breaks into my thoughts.
“I’m relaxed,” I argue back.
Or so I’m telling myself. Three days ago, I got kicked out of my apartment because the landlord needed a place for his niece to stay.
Given I was renting on a month-to-month basis, he fucked me over.
Everyone warned me, but I never thought it would happen to me.
We had a good relationship me and my landlord. Until his family got involved.
Emma and Diego offered me their spare room, but their place is tiny. The last thing I want is to impose. Or be in the tiny bedroom next to theirs when they’re doing what they do…no one wants to hear that.
I’ve been living in my photography studio while I find a new place. My old apartment was cheap, although in a decent neighborhood. Everything I needed was within walking distance. Now I live in the back of the studio where I photograph my clients. Half of my belongings are in storage.
“Mom hates you sleeping in your studio. She keeps pestering me about you going home.”
“The horror.” I put a hand on my chest. Emma’s lip twitches.
I moved out when I went to college. I’d rather chew off my arm than go back home.
Not that Mom isn’t wonderful. It’s a choice.
When I struck out on my own, I intended to stay that way.
The deadly sin of being prideful is one of my many character flaws.
Or so people tell me. I wear that badge with, well, pride .
“You can’t stay in your studio indefinitely. It’s not a home. And it’s not safe.”
“How do you figure? I have more locks and alarms in that place than Fort Knox. My babies are there.”
“That you refer to your equipment as babies is a genuine concern.”
My smile is sweet and salty at the same time. Emma doesn’t push it.
“Doesn’t it smell beautiful?” She takes a deep breath, forgetting my woes, because she knows I’ll get pissed. “I love these flowers. And the color is perfect for a summer wedding.”
“They’d look great in your look book,” I smile.
“No. No cameras.”
It was worth a shot.
I marvel at this place. Even pulling up at the gates was something new to me. There are security guys out there. Now that I think about it, there are guys who look suspiciously like security in the garden, too.
“Who did you say he was marrying again?”
“I didn’t. Because I knew you’d react.” She lowers her voice and mumbles. “Francesca Nova.”
Huh. That is information I would have preferred to know before I bought a brand-new dress and agreed to come here. We went to high school with Francesca Nova. For about three weeks in her senior year, she had purple hair. Unwillingly.
“Oh boy. I can’t wait to see her.”
“She’s changed. ”
“How would you know?”
“Because she apologized to me.”
“And you forgave her. Did you forget she gave you a full-frontal wedgie?”
“Shush,” she grabs my arm and looks around. There is no one within earshot.
“You should have told me. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see me. Do I need to hide behind the floral displays?”
“You don’t need to worry. She’s over high school and since she apologized, I’m happy to move on.”
“Well, it explains why this is taking forever to get started. She always was an attention seeker.”
“Cora, please.” Emma gives me the look. “It’s her wedding day.”
That look is one that means I can’t continue my rant, for fear of upsetting my sweet sister.
“Fine. I’ll do my best to avoid her.”
“That is probably best.”
“Aren’t these flowers reminiscent of a certain period in Franny’s life?”
They’re lilac. Emma nudges me, but I don’t miss that smile.
“I need to pee,” I announce.
“Thank you for sharing.”
A server passes and I stop him and ask where the bathrooms are. His directions seem easy enough to follow. I ensure my sister will be okay, then go in search of relief from all the champagne I’ve consumed while waiting for Nova to get her ass down here .
It sure as hell will be interesting to see her again. If Emma can forgive, I guess I can, too. But I’ll never forget.
Entering the property is like walking into something off Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous . It’s really OTT. Following the directions to the bathroom, I turn down a hallway with the portrait painting landmark.
Counting off the doors, I’m almost there when I hear a commotion from a room on my right. What is that? I’ve always been too nosey for my own good. Instead of heading for the bathroom, I head for the doorway, where it sounds like another party is going on.
There is lots of male laughing. Is this the wedding party?
“He’s going to lose his shit when he sees you.”
“You look fucking ridiculous, man.”
“I don’t know. He looks kind of sexy.”
At that last remark, there is a lot more laughing and insults to whoever said it. What are they talking about? Taking a chance, I peer around the doorway.
There are five people in the room. Diego is one of them, as well as three other guys, all wearing matching suits with lilac ties. There is the purple again. I almost snicker.
My eyes are drawn to the other person in the room. Is that the bride? The long, flowing white dress is a dead giveaway. Oh wow, she got big. But there is something odd about the person. The dress is stretched across the back and being held together by a strap. It definitely does not fit.
Then he turns around and my eyes widen. First, shock hits at the sight of a man in a wedding dress. Then laughter bubbles up because I’ve heard of this trend. A male friend pretends to be the bride at a reveal and turns out it's the groomsman. Hilarity always ensues.
Lastly and most disconcertingly, my stomach swoops, my heart thunders, and my breath catches.
The man in the wedding dress is Ronan Christian. The drummer of Velvet Echo. Only one of the biggest rock bands in the western hemisphere.
And he’s looking right at me.