45. Jeanie
45 /
jeanie
Bride of Dracula
All of us, sans the bride of Dracula, arrive at Vizcaya thirty minutes before the wedding starts. It’s a historical Italian Renaissance mansion on the intercoastal waterway south of downtown Miami.
For anyone getting married, it’s the perfect dreamy location, complete with lush tropical gardens, priceless sculptures, and ornate water features.
For me, it offers a lot of places to hide a dead body. I guess I’m sabotaging the wedding by stealing the groom after all. If stealing means murdering. At least, that’s the current daydream playing out in my mind.
Sophia may not forgive me, but after all that’s transpired, I’m feeling protective of her. But also, I’m ticked.
How dare Roman do this to her? She revirginized herself for this marriage. For him! Her level of commitment reaches far beyond anything he deserves.
Guests mingle between the coral walkways and serene palms. A string quartet plays in the distance. Suited waiters deliver hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Mom hijacks a mimosa from a passing tray and takes a sip.
“Let’s separate,” she says when we’re unable to locate Roman.
I scowl. “If he’s not hiding, he should be.”
Dex tugs Mom by the arm. “We’ll search the ceremony area.”
“I’ll check the second floor of the mansion. Maybe there’s a groom’s suite or something.” Nathan gives me a peck on the cheek and leaves to investigate.
As he struts away, I hope he doesn’t find Roman first. I’ve sensed he’s been on the edge of introducing Roman to his very large and powerful fists for some time, though I could say the same about most people.
In a Mediterranean courtyard, tables are being set by staff for the forthcoming dinner party. I weave around the chaos of clanking china and silverware, then cross to a large gallery with tall stained-glass doors. Beyond, they open onto a wide terrace where bay waves tumble in the distance.
I pause at the top of the steps, take out my phone, and call Roman for the tenth time. This would be so much easier if he would answer.
There are several messages from Elsie and Amelia, but I ignore them. I know what they want. The bride is missing, and I was the last person to see her.
From this vantage point, I can visually follow the bridesmaids’ bright pink dresses around the property. When Natasha, the new mayhem of honor, spots me, I hustle back inside .
“Jeanie, where’s Sophia? The wedding’s about to start,” a voice calls.
But it’s not Natasha who’s cornered me, it’s Roman. He’s wearing a tux and his hair is slicked to the side.
A flashback hits me. The last time he was dressed this nicely was for our wedding.
I expect my emotions to run wild at the memory, but I still feel nothing but disgust. Or maybe I’ve finally kicked the legs off his long-held pedestal. Right now, I’d kick him under the refrigerator like a dropped ice cube if no one was watching.
“She’s not coming, Roman.” I don’t bother easing into the issue. He’s fully aware of what he’s done.
“You told her I kissed you, didn’t you?” He crosses his arms.
“I told her you were cheating on her with someone else.” I glance around the guests, wondering if the woman is here.
He laughs. “Now you’re making up lies?”
“Why would you marry someone you don’t love?” I shake my head, truly curious what his answer will be.
“Who said I don’t love Sophia?”
“You don’t cheat on someone you love.”
“I cheated on you for years and that worked out fine.”
I’m taken aback until he sniffs, wrinkling his nose. The small tic is one of his tells. He’s lying. When you’ve known someone for so long, you learn some things.
Regardless, I take his words the way he meant them. He wanted them to stab and twist into me so hard that I would run away, but he doesn’t hold that sway over me anymore.
My body vibrates with a new kind of superpower. It’s anti-Roman, or maybe it’s anti-asshole.
“You can’t hurt me anymore.” I remain unmoved by his fake declaration. In fact, I’m on the verge of a maniacal laugh, like a real villain.
“Last night at the luau, my groomsmen overheard your argument with Nathan. I know your relationship was fake. I was right, you’ll never get over me, and no other guy is ever going to want you.”
Roman’s delusional and toxic words strike again. This time, though, they can’t break through my new armor. Maybe I believed them at one time, but no more.
Like they’ve been called to duty, Nathan’s strong arms wrap possessively around my waist.
Warmth travels from the spot of our contact and heat surges through my body. Like it always does, it electrifies me with a current of power. He’s always here when I need him.
“Everything okay here?” he asks.
“You don’t have to act anymore,” Roman tells him.
Nathan smirks. “That’s the beauty of it. I was never acting. Without realizing it, you gave me an amazing gift. You gave a guy like me an opening with the hottest, coolest woman ever, and now that I have her, I’m not letting her go.”
“Then why are you both still here?” Roman asks, scowling.
This is what I’ve been waiting for, a chance to tell him Sophia isn’t coming and the wedding is off. The news will wipe the smug expression off his face. It may be petty, but it feels good to be the one who puts him in his place.
I pull in a breath. “Funny you should ask, because?—”
“I’m here! I’m here! Roman?”
Sophia’s frenzied voice cuts me off. We turn and find her barreling for us, gripping the length of her wedding dress while balanced over pink stilettos.
“Finally.” Roman throws his arms in the air. “Where were you?”
Before Sophia can respond, Roman dismisses our conversation, takes her hand, and leads her down the stairs in a flurry of white fabric. Sophia glances over her shoulder and grimaces at us. The two are halfway to the altar before I swivel to Nathan with a WTF expression.
“How did she get out?” I ask, frustrated. The coffin was secured. Before we left, I tested it several times.
Freddie appears at my side.
“You’re not going to believe this. Sophia was stuck in the coffin when I woke up,” he says like he saved the day.
I jab him in the arm. Why did he pick today to be the hero? The little creep.
“Ouch.” Freddie rubs his skin. He looks offended, but then he says, “I like it.”
As he pops his brows at me, Nathan captures him in a headlock and gives him a well-deserved noogie. I take the stairs two at a time to chase after Sophia. Behind me, Freddie screams for help .
I catch up to the bridal party in the garden where the ceremony is set to take place.
Guests relax when Roman appears. He takes his place on the dais at the front with his groomsmen. Dex stands by his side as his best man, appearing uncomfortable. He tugs at the collar of his shirt.
“What should I do?” Dex mouths when our gaze connects. Then he makes a pushing motion near Roman’s back.
I shake my head. Too many phones capturing the moment. Though I put a pin in the idea, just in case.
The bridal party lines up. The ladies are too distracted by the parts they must play to notice I’m not dressed for the wedding. I’m barely dressed appropriately for a run to the local dump.
Holding a bouquet of flowers, Natasha takes her position at the back of the line. As I pass, I stare her down. Turns out, Nathan fired her last night after the way she treated me, which is likely why she ran to Sophia with the scandalous details. It was pure retaliation .
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” Natasha says.
“Don’t even start,” I hiss. “You’ve caused enough trouble.”
The music kicks in, and one at a time the bridesmaids walk down the aisle.
I hasten around a high green hedge. Hidden behind it, I find Sophia. She appears frazzled, sucking in deep breaths as she tries to compose herself. Beside her, a wedding coordinator fans her with a clipboard. On the other side, a makeup artist dabs sweat off her forehead with a cocktail napkin.
“Fifi, don’t do this. I was telling you the truth,” I say as she waits for her musical cue.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re either with me or you’re not.” She lifts her chin and looks away.
She’s so stubborn.
The wedding march begins.
Sophia readies herself, brushing her hands down her bodice and swiping her palms over her delicately pinned hair. She centers herself with a deep breath, rolls her shoulders back, and grips her bouquet of pink flowers. The wedding coordinator adjusts the train of her dress with a flap of silk and lays it flat. On the other side of the hedge, chairs creak as guests rise to their feet.
My heart catapults into my throat. I’m out of options. Swallowing all my pride hurts, but I do what I must. In a fit of bravery, I stand beside Sophia and wrap my arm around hers. Yes, I want to tug her to safety, but I fight it and instead face my fears.
“What are you doing?” She bats at me with her flowers.
“I’m with you, even if you’re making a mistake,” I say, unwilling to loosen my grip on her arm.
If I can’t think of a way to talk her out of this before she says I do , I will give her away to my ex-husband, if only to prove myself to her. I’m her true friend.
“Don’t make a scene.” Sophia unlocks herself from me and steps around the hedge and onto the aisle. Now she’s out in the open alone.
Every guest’s face turns in her direction. They ooh and ah . At their admiration, she turns on her brilliant smile and poses for the wedding photographer. She’s perfection.
Before she can take the first step, though, I slide beside her and twist my arm with hers again. Now that we’re side by side, the guests’ attention slides to me.
Understandably, their reaction is less enthused. I’m wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt that reads all hail the sausage queen .
“I’m seriously going to hurt you,” Sophia bites out through a tight smile.
Two photographers circle us, snapping photos.
“Keep smiling and walking,” I say, responding in the same manner.
“What are you going to do, trip me and break my ankle before I reach the altar?” Sophia asks.
“If that’s what it takes to save you.”
“Why do you even care?” Sophia speed-walks, losing time with the music.
“Because that’s what sisters do. They look out for each other.”
When we reach the end of the aisle, Roman flashes me a nasty look before presenting his hand to Sophia. With his guidance, she steps onto the dais, joining the wedding party. Maybe sensing the drama, the minister doesn’t ask who gives this woman.
With a backdrop of concerned whispers, I muscle Natasha out of the way and take my place as maid of honor. When Sophia turns to hand over her bouquet, she finds me instead.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid. ”
I bob my head, undecided on the next course of action. Even though I’m doing this, I can’t believe I am. This is not how I pictured this moment. I’m jittery and on edge with the walls closing in. With every second that passes, I’m losing control.
Nathan paces behind the seated guests, tugging at his hair. Beside him, Mom juts her head toward Roman and makes a punching gesture.
I shrug, out of ideas. If telling Sophia that Roman is a two-timing bish and locking her in a coffin didn’t work, what will?
As I listen to the ceremony, I rack my brain for a solution. Then the wedding officiant says something that makes my head whip in his direction.
“If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”
“Stop!”
I say it in my head the exact moment someone else says it aloud. A woman with dark blonde hair feverishly waves her arms from a distance.
“I object.” The woman scurries down the aisle.
I drop Sophia’s bouquet, along with my jaw. I’ve never been so happy to see Roman’s secret lover. All the wedding guests stare in confusion as she approaches the altar. Their curious whispers return.
Freddie rushes to the front and points his phone between Roman, the woman, and Sophia. Knowing him, he’s live-streaming our royal-family-level cluster-fudge to social media .
“Evette? What are you doing?” Sophia is the first to speak, though her words are shaky, her posture stiff.
Evette glances at Roman, maybe wanting him to explain, but instead, he shrinks away, his face turning stark white.
“You can’t marry Roman. He proposed to me last night.” As proof, Evette lifts her hand, presenting a diamond ring the size of Texas, while Sophia’s is more Staten Island.
Sophia’s eyes bug out of her head. Guests gasp. The bridal party leans closer to ogle the ring and all it suggests. Dex turns and coughs through a grin. Freddie moves closer, capturing the sparkling quality of the ridiculous star-shaped diamond on his phone.
All the while, I give Roman a death stare.
He was going to marry both of them? How, exactly? Did he need a spare? Like a tire? Was this woman his backup plan?
“Um, um ...” The officiant fumbles, looking over his notes like he’s unsure what to do next. He won’t find the answer in there.
I understand his unease. No one ever speaks up during this part of the ceremony, except in movies when characters need a convenient way out of a sticky situation. Thank goodness for convenient Groom-Be-Gone.
“You’re what ?” Sophia blinks, her attention pinging between Roman and Evette. “You proposed to our wedding florist’s daughter? Last night ?” Her voice rises to an ear-piercing pitch. The sound is so high and tight, it could break glass .
Meanwhile, tightening fists form at my sides, thumbs out.
“Let me explain!” Roman lifts his puny baby hands in a big don’t kick my stanky ass gesture. He stumbles several paces, flailing.
“You cheating McCheat-face!” Sophia’s mouth twists as she follows him. She jacks her arm back and socks Roman in the eye. His hand snaps to his face when he yelps in pain. Off-balance, he reels left, then right.
The guests cry out and stand like they’re at a boxing match. The bridesmaids whoop and rally, their arms raised with excitement. This shit-uation just got real.
When Roman rights himself, I shove Sophia out of the way.
Unlike my first attempt, this time my strong knee makes perfect contact with his nut sac. When his mouth opens forming an O, I’m waiting for one man-marble to launch like a T-shirt from an air cannon.
Instead, Roman drops to the ground, cupping his damaged jewels with a high-pitched yowl. Somewhere glass does break as his eyes roll back into his skull.
“That’s for ducking with my sister.” I point, meaning this in every way you can take it, except the one. Thank God.
The groomsmen cringe, clearly sympathizing with Roman’s busted balls. Evette drops to the ground beside him, ready to nurse him to health. Freddie lunges in for video closeups. Dex’s eyes widen. The officiant covers his face with his hands and turns away to laugh, like he’s given up completely.
After pulling myself together, I turn and present my arm to Sophia. She swipes her bouquet from the ground and links her arm with mine. This time, though, it’s her who holds me tight. She needs the support, and I’m here to be the wind beneath her bra. Always supportive, never sweaty.
Well, mostly never. Two percent of the time.
“There won’t be a wedding,” Sophia announces to the guests. “But if you want to stay, I’m having a Newly Unwed party. Come to the mansion and celebrate with me and my sister, Jeanie.”
Everyone goes wild. The bridal party cheers. The string quartet strikes up the wedding recessional. Sophia and I parade down the aisle together, more empowered than before. As I pass, I make eye contact with a grinning and clapping Nathan.
“Crisis averted.” He wipes invisible sweat from his hairline.
“Teamwork,” I say and blow him a kiss. When he pretends to catch it and then rub it all over his massive chest like suntan lotion, I giggle.
Outwardly, Sophia remains cheery for her adoring friends and family. Though, once we reach the bridal suite in the mansion and I shut the door, drowning out all sounds of the wedding, she drops her bouquet and breaks down weeping.
With care, I guide her to the couch where we sit side by side. She places a head on my shoulder and sobs. She ekes out several watery words, most of which I don’t understand. Like I would with a sister, I hug her to my side and rub her back as she processes everything .
I’m processing everything too . I came too close to losing her sparkle to the black hole of Roman.
“I’m sorry I doubted you.” She rubs her snotty nose on the sleeve of my shirt.
I place a box of tissues on her lap and tug one out to hand to her.
“I’m sorry I tried to steal the groom.” I pause in thought and then say, “But as awful as I was, I don’t think I regret any of it.”
Sophia blows her nose. Over the tissues, she says, “That’s not a very good apology.”
“I wouldn’t have gotten to know you if I didn’t.” My lips thin. “I’m sorry for all the years we missed, Fifi. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you. Or try to.”
“Rule number one, no more trying to mail me out of the country, though the coffin was much cozier than the steamer trunk.”
“I make no promises. It’s my job to stop you from doing stupid things.” I bump my shoulder to hers. “What are the other rules?”
“No more lying.”
“From here on out, consider me an anti-liar, pants not on fire.”
We laugh and then we cry again. And then I come clean about everything.
I explain how I woke up in Miami, flashed Nathan the breasticles and schemed to take the wedding down from the inside. I even tell her how Roman jumped me on the beach.
Sophia considers the new info and then somehow, after hearing how terrible I’ve been, she forgives me for everything. I know I don’t deserve it or her friendship. She’s a better person than I’ll ever be. I promise her, I’ll do better.
After a while, we clean up and return to the main floor of the mansion. Standing at the top of the stairs, the emcee announces Sophia and me. We clasp and raise our hands as the guests cheer us on.
On the dance floor, with everyone encircling us, the music kicks in. For our first sister dance, Sophia and I sway, twirl, and waltz to her wedding song, which we’ve claimed as our sister anthem. When I spin and dip her, the crowd cheers wildly, just like Nathan promised.
But then the DJ breaks in with a new, more appropriate song, one Nathan suggested before we came out.
The sound of a record scratching cuts in, causing Sophia to stand up and look around, confused. When familiar beats pump through the sound system, she bounces in place, hands clapping, and squeals like an asthmatic flamingo as when a song about us being best friends fills the room.
The guests scream, becoming more animated, if that’s possible.
At the center of the dance floor, Sophia twerks, grinding and popping like a pro. I slink around her, working the room like a woman who just learned to dance from her famous stripper boyfriend. Each of our moves play off the other’s, like we choreographed the entire thing.
Mom joins us, her arms swaying like a wasted, hippie flower child, two new men trailing. Dex robots across the floor and then break dances, spinning on his back. He’s so good, I do a double-take to check it’s really him and not a stunt double. The bridesmaids take turns dancing with Mini-Wolf, now dressed in a powder blue tuxedo. I have no idea where he came from, but I don’t care. Freddie catches every happy moment on his phone. Excited guests join the celebration fun-tivities.
Nathan finds me in the crowd. From behind, strong arms slide around my hips, locking them against his. With a light touch, he brushes my hair aside and kisses my neck.
His hot breath strikes a match on my skin, and goose bumps race away from the fire. Instant hunger sweeps between my legs and triggers my beaming nipples.
I lean back, melting closer to him, luxuriating in the fact that this is real. We are real.
Nathan says near my ear, “Congratulations, my diabolical vixen. You successfully crashed the wedding, eliminated the groom, and saved the bride. What’s on your evil agenda next? Wherever you lead, I’ll follow.”