Chapter Forty-Four
The Eliza Jane hotel was on the north end of the Quarter, and while we could have walked there, the rain had been on and off all day and we decided it was best not to arrive to the wedding of two strangers looking like wet rats with humidity-induced swamp ass.
Eli watched me while we sat in the back seat of our cab. “Two dresses in one weekend,” he said wistfully.
My cheeks warmed. I still wasn’t used to Eli being so vocal, especially when it came to me.
Since he’d walked down to my and Ruby’s room to pick me up—as though we were on a real date—he’d kept at least one hand on me. I tried to fight him on going to the wedding, but he simply said it would be rude to back out now and I supposed he wasn’t wrong.
Over the course of the day, he’d slipped into what felt like a familiar role.
Like, there was never a time when we didn’t hold hands, and it was normal for him to look for me first in every room.
I’d become so used to being Brody’s secret that I didn’t even think to take Eli’s hand in public until he took mine.
I didn’t hear from Hollis or Ruby, but Hollis’s suitcase was open on a luggage rack when I went to Ruby’s room to get ready and there was a third toothbrush in the bathroom.
I took that as a sign of at least one good thing.
Before we left, Eli moved my suitcase over to his room so I could give Hollis and Ruby privacy and hopefully avoid the inevitably uncomfortable reunion with my grandmother for a little while longer.
Thankfully, I’d packed another dress. Red A-line with a form-fitting boned bodice, a scoop neck, and thick straps.
It was simple, but when I tried it on, it had felt like the kind of dress I’d want to wear for years to come.
I opened the small silk pouch where I kept my limited collection of jewelry and dumped it out on the bed to find the yellow gold wedding band I’d held on to for all these years and slipped it on my right ring finger.
Once we got out of the cab, Eli and I stood on the sidewalk, each waiting for the other to go inside first.
“We could just go to dinner,” I said.
“We’ll eat dinner at the reception,” he said as he took my hand and led me behind a slew of other guests. “Come on, Vera. Play pretend with me. For one night.”
We were directed out to the courtyard, where chairs were set up under a canopy of botanicals and palm trees.
The ceremony was short and had a few Jewish wedding traditions to honor Lilly’s side of the family.
Otherwise, the event was deeply nontraditional and casual.
Not in an irreverent way, but in the sense that even though we’d spent only thirty minutes with the brides this afternoon, I felt as though we knew them.
While Tori said her vows to a tearful Lilly, Eli mindlessly took my right hand. His fingers brushed over my ring and the recognition on his face was immediate when he looked down.
He pursed his lips for a minute before sliding the ring off my right hand. My lips parted as I looked up to him, the sounds of the ceremony dulling as the moment seemed to become only us. Then he took my left hand and slid the band onto my left ring finger.
“We’ve got to play the part,” he explained quietly.
Before I could respond, the officiant reintroduced the brides to their loved ones and we were standing and clapping. My eyes were full of tears I didn’t know I’d begun to shed.
As the couple swept down the aisle hand in hand, Lilly pointed to us and waved, Tori following suit. “Our good-luck charms!” one of them said as they passed us by.
* * *
The clouds cleared in time for the reception, which was held on the other side of the courtyard under strings of lights and bled into a dining room with rows of open French doors and gauzy curtains billowing in the breeze.
When we made it to the front of the guest book line, Eli wrote our names as Eli and Vera Buckley-Stein. He handed the pen to me and motioned to the request that everyone jot down their marriage advice. “You’re the writer.”
I thought for a moment, grateful that no one else was waiting behind us.
I was the least qualified person on earth to give marriage advice to two newlyweds, but as I glanced at the ring on my left hand, I decided that I could at least play the part of someone who knew what the hell they were talking about.
Eli watched over my shoulder as I began to write.
It’s okay to make it up as you go along. And at the very least: do it for the plot.
“I like that,” Eli said as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“I thought it was better than ‘Get a bunch of secret credit cards you don’t tell each other about.’”
“Yeah, that doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
We found our table at the back of the room with a random hodgepodge of older guests, which meant we were right at home.
Eli dove right into small talk and soon we were fabricating a whole life for ourselves.
We stuck to the Vegas story, but I was a screenwriter-turned-picture-book-author with a passion for roller derby.
“And what about you?” an older man with a walrus mustache asked Eli.
“I’m a physician,” he said honestly.
I nearly smacked his leg. No way was he going to play it safe after we’d concocted an elaborate cover story for me.
“But his true hobby is cake decorating,” I chimed in. “He’s auditioned for seventy-three reality TV baking competitions.”
Eli sighed. “And never got a one.”
“But I have a feeling seventy-four is the lucky number,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.
“Oh, I just love those shows,” said a woman across the table. “Might you have any pictures of your work on your phone?”
Eli began to shake his head, but I leaned forward and said, “Oh, honey, I have plenty of photos.”
Eli eyed me suspiciously but kept the act up while I googled for the worst possible cake decorating fails I could find and rapidly saved them to my phone.
“Here’s his latest,” I said, holding up a photo of two breasts that looked more like sad pancakes with an uneven cursive across the top that read: Hasta la vista to Bethany’s titties!
Eli cleared his throat into his fist and jabbed my foot with his. “Uh, our friend was having a breast reduction. It was a . . . uh, special request.”
Our tablemates nodded politely with wide eyes as they leaned back a little from Eli, reconsidering him.
“Oh, don’t be shy, darling.” I turned to the other guests. “He really excels in anatomically correct cakes.”
Eli sputtered as he saw the giant penis cake complete with sprinkle pubes on my phone just seconds before I was about to whip it out for the rest of the class.
He yanked the phone from my hand and shoved it into his pocket before pulling me to my feet.
“If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I owe my beautiful wife a dance. ”
I followed him and gave a little wave over my shoulder to our still-gawking table.