8. Hendrix
Hendrix
P iano keys echo their slow trancing melody, and the smell of something pungent, like rosemary, invades my nostrils making them twitch.
I fight the need to toss my juniper bouquet as I pull down the side of my maid-of-honor gown, the fabric feeling a lot less like satin and a lot more like Velcro against my skin.
To hell with comfort, though, when there’s a statement to make. And this ruched, low cut, backless number sure is doing the trick in front of all the self-righteous judgment.
The past two months have been nothing short of a whirlwind: between finishing up junior year, wedding plans, dresses, gowns, flowers, avoidance, denial, and attempts to flee each one.
The only saving grace was being left with such little time to deal with the ticking time bomb that is Saint and Hendrix.
For the most part…the closest I’ve gotten to him has been through Theory, and he’s made it clear the only reason he’s backing off right now is for his father and sister’s sake.
Not even my mother’s.
Of course we indulged in some moments.
Dirty looks in class, flipping each other off in the halls, hushed threats at the dinner table whenever Mom forced me to eat at their house. Or should I say eight-story Gilded Age mansion , as per the itemized tour given to us by Vic.
In a twilight zone somewhere, I could see him and Archer being related for sure. The only difference being one owns a stage and the other the world’s leading cybertech company.
All in all, throughout the growing hostility, Saint and I managed to keep up pretenses in the presence of our families.
After tonight, though, the deal is sealed. There’re no more excuses to hold back or maintain our fake smiles. Reality will hit the second our parents take off on a private jet to Santorini, Greece.
Luckily for me, Mom and I exchanged our own vows, one of hers being a promise not to push me into living with them. Especially now that we’re right smack in the middle of summer.
There are “oohs” and “aahs” whispered in the air around me as I pass, like old ladies do to a precious little girl they can’t believe has “gotten so big.”
Pathetic.
The annoyance of it all results in me not-so-discreetly flipping off Saint’s creepy great uncle Magnus when I catch him staring at my tits. The same guy, mind you, I caught lurking outside the women’s bathroom at the rehearsal dinner.
I inhale, his sneer and the pearl clutching gasps in the room like a breath of fresh air, feeling slightly better about the sudden lack of control over my life. That is, until a set of fiendish eyes crawl up my skin all the way from the altar.
Given both the priest and groom prefer holy sacraments over sins, it’s safe to assume the latter is coming from no other than… the best man .
And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I decide the right course of action is to meet Saint dead in the eyes, immediately rattled by their vibrance as always.
From halfway across the church , I kid you not.
What kind of bullshit is this?
How the freak is green supposed to compete with…I don’t know…the fucking sky?
As if his eye color isn’t enough to have me question my life choices, Saint’s hair appears like dark silk on his head. He stands stoic next to his father in a sharp black tuxedo, imported from Italy, of course, with both hands behind his back and an upward tilted chin.
Everything about this guy exudes raw, sexual magnetism, like carbon does energy. In other words…everything I hate in a sworn enemy soon-to-be stepbrother.
As if Saint can read my thoughts, he winks at me, an act that can easily be mistaken as playful. But I know a threat when I see one—and his is loud and clear.
Another. Game. On.
The realization is enough to chink my armor and leave me stumbling in these five inch murder heels.
Which I do, without an ounce of grace.
I catch my balance quickly, though, in spite of the throbbing in my ankle, and swallow the harsh taste of embarrassment on my tongue as I straighten my shoulders.
I will kill him in his sleep.
Problem solved. The end.
Our gazes unlock the second I reach the altar, bowing my head slightly in respect before making my way to the left, where Theory is slowly following behind in a jade gown.
“I can’t get over how hot you look,” she whispers as she passes, popping the gum in her mouth before settling at my side. Looking over at me with a much more genuine undertone than Saint’s, she adds, “No wonder big bro’s got such a hard-on for ya.”
Pretty sure “big bro’s” got a hard-on for everyone.
It’s the animosity he lacks.
“I highly doubt that,” I whisper through the corner of my mouth, shifting my weight off my sore ankle. “It's pretty clear we hate each other.”
Shushes from some old ladies in the first pew have me clamping my mouth shut.
Not Theory, of course, because she tells the hags, “Don’t worry about noise because you’ll hear enough silence when you’re dead.”
My mouth drops open as she shrugs, ignoring Vic’s scolding from the other side of the altar.
Fuck, do I like her holy spirit.
“So, are we besties yet, Hen?” Theory returns to chewing her gum, curling one of her tinseled braids around her finger.
Given how bridesmaid duties have given me the chance to get to know her…I would say I’m not far off from at least considering her a friend.
Theory is sweet and spicy, all in one.
Not much different than her brother.
I can tell how eager she is for us to be close, and a part of me—a huge part of me—wishes we could be just that.
Especially since I haven’t been seeing as much of Bex as I’d like.
But the more she says things like this, tells me about her stories growing up, asks to go shopping and for advice, the more my guilt eats at me like a cancer.
I’ve considered coming clean a few times but decided against it to save my mom the drama. I do intend to, though, very soon. Probably while our parents are on their honeymoon.
All I have time to respond with is a heartfelt smile, because the “Bridal Chorus” begins to fill the air of Vic’s parish church.
Everyone rises, their attention focused on the entrance where the double doors swing open. Mom, appearing absolutely stunning behind a veil in her Alexander McQueen gown, starts walking down the aisle
I close my eyes, still unaware of how I went from being the center of her world to having to share it with two new people I’m not sure I should like—and one I know damn fucking well I should not.
After an inwardly curse, I respond to Theory with, “Ask me that question in about two hours, when I’m drowning in alcohol and bad decisions.”
Theory chuckles next to me as Mom moves like a princess toward Vic, the rising gasps of breath from everyone around her completely warranted.
When she finally reaches him, the smile on her face is bright as Auntie Pop raises the veil over her head.
She looks so happy it makes me sad, because I know I want her to feel this way as much as I don’t want to feel this way.
My chest tightens as I watch Auntie Pop kiss her cheek, it’s even worse when Mom blows me one too.
I mouth the words “I love you” and she does so back as Vic reaches for her hand, Mom and Auntie hugging before he turns with Mom to face the priest.
Vic doesn’t seem to be paying attention to his holiness as he stares longingly at his bride, so filled with adoration it’s impossible to think his feelings aren’t genuine.
The wholesomeness of the moment piques my curiosity—specifically for his son and how he truly feels about the turn of events.
Is Saint happy for his Dad in spite of having to share him? To hell with me, will he at least treat my mom the way she deserves?
My concerns turn to answers when the crawling feeling returns again, and when I look at him I’m met with a stare lethal enough to kill. Saint, proving exactly why I’ll be spending the rest of my life in resentment, reveals a gold ring in his hand, which he hands to his father when requested.
No eye contact with the man, or exchange of words, as he plays his part but keeps his attention on me. His dad notices yet doesn’t bother trying to correct the behavior. He just takes the ring from his son and fakes a smile, exactly what Saint would be doing if he harbored any human decency.
Saint’s facial features tense as his father begins speaking his vows, then morphs into satisfaction when Auntie Pop’s asked to hand over Vic’s ring. The walls close in on me as Mom repeats the same words back to Vic, tears stinging my eyes when they share their first kiss as husband and wife.
And there it is.
The end of the world as I know it.
The whole room cheers, whistles, and hundreds of pink juniper flowers are tossed in the air by the crowd. Mom and Vic make their way down the aisle arm and arm, leaving me no choice but to meet Saint halfway to do the same.
Stupid wedding traditions.
My knees rattle with each step closer, and the hairs on my neck stand on end at the sight of Saint holding out his arm.
Reluctantly, I slide mine around it, feeling the heat of his skin radiating from beneath his jacket. My breaths are shaky as he squeezes my arm tighter.
And tighter, until I wince from the pain.
The entire room watches, waiting curiously for us to get moving, but Saint no longer seems to give a shit about appearances.
Or abiding by tradition.
Instead, he leans over, lips ghosting over my ear as he whispers, “Here’s to the start of the inevitable.”
My hand fastens around another glass of Prosecco as I retrieve it from the bartender, my body swaying lazily to the current Bruno Mars song playing.
I look around, watching an endless amount of strangers dressed to the nines in suits and gowns not at all equipped for the summer spread throughout the largest ballroom in The Sherry Park Castle.
Have rich people never heard of cocktail dresses?
Fancy castles or not, geez.