Amaya
Once again I found myself donning a bridesmaid dress I would have never chosen in a million years. If I ever got married, I would have an incredibly hard time picking a bridesmaid’s dress because I had seen and worn everything. This time it was a mint green ballgown with a dyed to match top hat. Even though I advised the bride, a mother of two named Riviera, against the hat, she had insisted, claiming the groom would find it hilarious.
The groomsmen began to cackle as the bridesmaids walked into the church narthex where they waited. I rolled my eyes at the four middle-aged men who were laughing so hard tears came to their eyes. I was, yet again, paired up with the worst of the bunch. Brides, I had come to realize, did this on purpose. I wasn’t their friend, so I was paired with the most obnoxious of their groom’s friends. That was so their own friends wouldn’t have to deal with them. I understood, but that didn’t make the awful guy any less awful for me.
This time it was a forty-year-old gym rat with huge muscles and bleached blonde hair. He was attractive, but he knew it and thought he was God’s gift to women. Spoiler alert—he was not. He wiped his eyes as he approached me and slapped the top of the hat, causing it to shove into my ears. I winced from the pain and stepped back.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get lined up.” There was no pretense of being the bride’s friend. I was a hired hand and everybody knew it. “Let’s get our flower girl up front.”
I ushered the bride’s daughter, also donned in mint green but without the hat, to the front. Behind her went my gym rat, then the other three ladies and their groomsman. The bride and her son came in and brought up the end of the bridal party.
Checking Riviera’s hair and dress one last time, I gave her a genuine smile. “Are you ready? You look spectacular.”
She did not smile, but kept a perfectly neutral face. “I know. Let’s go. I got a honeymoon in Hawaii to get to.”
That genuine smile I gave her was because after this, I was done with her. I didn’t often have bridezillas, but she had definitely become one. Perfection was never achievable, but I couldn’t have told her that. Hopefully at The Promenade I would be able to turn down clients I thought might be a problem. Or at least not have to play bridesmaid for them.
We all marched down the aisle and took our places. This is when I usually went over my mental checklist for the reception. In this case, it would be next door at the local VFW. That was a new one for me, but the groom had been in the Army in his younger days. I had mastered the art of keeping a soft, happy expression on my face while mentally checking out and going over my list.
Something in the crowd caught my eye and a strange sensation came over me. I scanned the room as I felt my face begin to flush. There it was again, the sense that someone was watching me. Not the wedding, but me specifically. I began to scour the faces while trying to maintain composure of my own.
Sure enough, I spotted him. The auburn hair, the piercing blue eyes, and a wicked grin that I had fallen for two years before. Kyle. Our eyes met and his grin widened. I lifted my chin in defiance, but he copied my motion and I immediately lowered mine. Stop, Amaya! Look away! I casually moved my gaze, hoping I appeared casual even though my heart was racing and I could feel sweat roll down my neck.
Why wasn’t Orlando here to save me? No, I could save myself. Why had I booked this bridezilla wedding? How did Kyle know this couple? I wanted to stomp my foot like a child and run away, but I couldn’t. The clock at the back of the room told me I had three more hours. Could I do it? Of course I could. I could do anything. I could stand up to Kyle.
That didn’t stop me from wishing Orlando was here, though. I turned back to the bridal couple just as they kissed. With tongue. Blech. At a church, too. Pushing Kyle from my mind—okay, tucking him into a corner—I helped get the bridal party back around to the other side of the church and inside for pictures. The guests meandered over to the reception and I prayed with everything I had that Kyle had gone home or at least left the church.
The photographer wasn’t familiar with me, so I couldn’t count on him coming to my rescue. I set the family up for pictures and darted to my bag in the back of the church. Grabbing my phone, I texted my sister.
Amaya: Kyle is at this wedding I’m working. Help!
Linaya: No! Leave. Get out of there!
Amaya: I can’t, I’m working.
Linaya: Call Orlando.
Amaya: No.
Linaya: Why not?
The photographer called for bridesmaids, so I shoved my phone down the front of my dress and took my spot. I smiled, but I was sure I looked more panicked than happy. When the groomsmen joined us, the photographer had them wear our hats. Everyone laughed, but I felt like I was gong to get sick. Kyle was here.
Excused again for the bride and groom to take pictures with their children I fished my phone from my strapless bra.
Orlando: What’s going on? Linaya just called me and said you needed me.
Ugh, my sister!
Amaya: I’m working a wedding and Kyle is here.
I switched to my sister’s text.
Amaya: You called Orlando?
Linaya: You didn’t respond! I panicked.
A new message from Orlando popped up.
Orlando: Send me a pin of where you are. I’ll come.
Amaya: No! I’m working. I can’t have a date.
Orlando: Don’t care. Even if I don’t come in, I’m coming.
I quickly sent him a pin of my location and released a shaky breath. My phone went back into my dress as the bride called for me.
“My make-up is running,” she yelled at me.
The make-up bag was right outside the door, so I grabbed it and touched her up to finish pictures. When those were done, we made our way over to the reception.
An uncle of the bride was acting as DJ and he introduced the bridal party. Muscles and I spun onto the floor and he dipped me low, catching me off guard. Once he had righted me, however, he pulled me close.
“If you’re interested, I’m at the hotel across the street. Room 302. Meet me there at ten.” Then he goosed me and sauntered off to where his buddies already had a table full of empty beer bottles.
No, thanks. Not even thanks. Just no. Hard pass.
I checked my phone to see if Orlando had arrived yet. Nothing. The newlyweds came in and immediately set up for their first dance. The bride’s children were also supposed to dance next to them. I found the flower girl and brought her over to her brother, who was at least fifteen years older than her. He hoisted her up and carried her to the dance floor and began to twirl her around next to their mother and new stepfather.
My phone vibrated against my skin and I checked it.
Orlando: I’m right outside. Just in case you need me.
A sigh escaped my lips and I felt my shoulders relax. Even if I didn’t need him, even if he didn’t show his face, he was here for me. Any doubt about him in my mind slipped away in that moment. He showed up when called. If Kyle approached me, I would be ready.
And approach me he did. While everyone talked, laughed, and filled their plates from the buffet, Kyle sought me out.
“Amaya, look at you. That shade of green looks awful on you.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked me up and down.
I stood to my full height, which wasn’t much, but I would no longer back down from him. “This shade of green looks awful on everybody, Kyle. What do you want?”
“I thought I’d ask you for a dance.” He held out his hand.
“No, thank you. I’m working.” I turned my shoulder to him and took a sip of the tea in my hand.
He moved to be in my line of sight. “I heard. Zach said you’re going up to his room for some extra work later. But I told him you’re mine.”
Now I did put my glass down. “You have absolutely zero ownership of me, Kyle. And for Zach, well, he’s a pompous buffoon. I would never do that. Besides, my boyfriend is outside waiting for me.”
With a scoff, he replied, “Sure he is. Let me guess, he’s a hot model millionaire.”
A sly smile came across my lips. “Hm. He is hot. And he is a millionaire. I think he could be a model.” Orlando really could be a model.
Kyle grabbed my hand. “Come on, Amaya. Quit playing games with me. Show me this millionaire.”
I pulled out my phone and texted Orlando a single word. “Come.”
Kyle was pulling me harder toward the dance floor. “You’re such a twit, Amaya. Nobody in their right mind would want you.” He flung a racial slur towards me.
My feet dug into the floor and I yanked my arm, not caring if it dislocated. I was about to do something I had never done at a wedding—call attention to myself.
“Let go of me! STOP!”
Everything stopped. The laughter and chatter stopped. The sound of forks and cups stopped. Every eye turned toward us.
As if I was a medieval damsel in distress, Orlando appeared from the background. He charged ahead, took Kyle’s hand off me, and turned with his eyes blazing. In one motion he clocked Kyle square across the jaw.
Sprawled on the floor, blood poured from Kyle’s nose. He opened his mouth to speak, but the blood caused him to close it quickly.
Orlando stood over him, his chest heaving, his fist still balled. “When a woman tells you no, it means no. Go to—”
I put my hands on Orlando’s arms before he could finish. He stopped and turned back to me. Strong arms enveloped me as he held me tight, his breath still ragged.
A panicked voice came from behind me. “Are you okay, Amaya?” Riviera and her groom stood there, wide-eyed.
I released Orlando and turned to her. “I’m so sorry. He wouldn’t listen or let go.”
The groom whispered to his bride and stepped away, pulling Kyle with him. Riviera came a little closer to me. “Kyle is George’s nephew, but he is being escorted out. I’m so sorry this happened to you. I don’t know what came over him, but I hope you’re okay.”
“You’re not upset I ruined the reception?” My chin began to quake.
She stared at me, wide-eyed. “Honey, he was hurting you. You stand up for yourself, no matter what. Never let a man control you or handle you like that. My ex-husband was like that and I should have left long before I actually did.”
Her attention turned to Orlando. “Would you like a drink? Ice for your hand?”
Flexing his right hand, he nodded. “That would be great.”
“Now,” Riviera said, turning back to me. “If you’re okay, we’ll cut the cake in five minutes.”
The panic in my mind eased and bridesmaid Amaya came back into focus. “Five minutes, got it.”
Perhaps I misjudged Riviera. She was a strong, independent woman and I had a newfound respect for her. She left to get Orlando ice and a drink and the crowd had resumed talking. I bit my lip and looked at Orlando.
“Thank you.”
“He deserved it. But I think you could have handled yourself.” He cupped my face with his hand.
“Just because I could have, doesn’t mean I’m not glad you were here.”
“You’re okay?”
My wrist was a little sore, but it would recover. I nodded.
He winked at me and pulled me closer. “Looks like I’m invited to stay.”
“Save me a dance after they cut the cake,” I said as I leaned into him for a quick kiss before dashing off to get the cake knife.