Page 26 of On The Rocks

“You are a fucking clown,” Shannon muttered. “I mean, do you really think you’ll live happily ever after with Callum O’Shea? Come on, Maeve. He’s only marrying you because he couldn’t get one of us.”

My head jerked back to face her. “You’re lying.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the poor relation, and you look like shit. Your perfect fiancé asked Da for me and then Erin before he was made to settle for you.” She looked me up and down with an exasperated expression on her face. “Grow up, Maeve, this isn’t your fairy tale, and believe me, Callum O’Shea isn’t your Prince Charming. That man will screw you over the second you get back to his bar.” She let out a biting laugh. “Hell, he already has.”

I searched Shannon’s eyes for any sign of subterfuge, but there was none. A coldness washed through me because it was becoming clear that, yet again, I was the consolation prize. All my life, the people who were supposed to want the best for me were the ones I couldn’t trust.

“Get out,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m done with you all.”

My tone was unwavering, but underneath my bravado, my heart contracted painfully.

Orla’s mouth curved into a catty smile. “In that case, you can finish getting ready by yourself. Your dress is hanging in the closet...” Her voice trailed off as a loud buzz sounded from her cell phone. “That’ll be the cars arriving. We’ll see you at the church. Hurry now; your car won’t wait forever, and Father Michael can’t be delayed because he’s got another wedding straight after yours.” A nasty smile spread across her face, and she checked her watch. “You’ve got about three minutes.” With a toss of her hair, she sashayed to the door with Shannon and Erin following her, and they left without a backward glance.

Seething, I watched them leave, one part of me frozen in disbelief, the other part consciously having to stop myself from screaming obscenities after them.

Why did I think that after everything they’d done to me over the years, they’d suddenly change and become decent people?

But more to the point, why was I so trusting and stupid?

My eyes slid to the mirror again, and another pained cry escaped me as I caught a glimpse of my shitty blue eyeshadow. Mind whirring, I grabbed my cell from the bed and pressed the number of the only woman I knew who could help me. She was beautiful and kind, and her hair and makeup always looked awesome. I just hoped she didn’t think I was a madwoman. I’d only gotten to know her this week, so I ran the risk of her thinking I was weird and desperate. Though, at that precise moment, I was clearly both.

I clicked the speakerphone icon and waited. Every ring felt like it lasted an hour, and I prayed to God I could get to the church in time, looking normal instead of resembling the Joker fromBatman.

“C’mon,” I murmured at the cell phone, tapping my foot impatiently. “Answer, please, let her answer.”

The line connected, and an unsure voice whispered, “Maeve?”

“Aislynn,” I cried. “I need your help.”

“Huh?” she replied. Clearly confused.

“My aunt and stepsisters have done my hair and makeup, and I look like a bad RuPaul impressionist without the ‘shante sashay’ thing going for them.”

“Whaaaat?” she shrieked.

“Can I put you on video call?” I begged. “I need you to help me. I don’t know a thing about hair and makeup. Can you look at me, please, and tell me what to do?”

“Wait while I go outside,” she whispered. “I’m sitting in the church. Callum’s already here with Donny and T.”

“Sweet Jesus,” I wailed.

“I know!” she wailed back. After a few seconds, she murmured, “Okay, I’m outside now. Let me see what I’m dealing with.”

I took a deep breath, clicked the cell onto video, held my phone up, and stared down the camera.

“Oh my God,” Aislynn yelled. “What did those bitches do?”

“Help me,” I begged. “Callum will take one look at me and run for the hills.”

“Okay, okay,” she chanted. “We can do this. First, wash your face clean. No makeup’s better than that. We’ll have to scrape your hair back into a tight bun at your nape. It’ll be simple and classy, but at least you’ll look normal.”

I spun and headed for the bathroom. “Will you stay on the line with me and help?”

“Course I will,” she murmured. “Do you think you can manage a bit of mascara and lip gloss?”

I winced. “I don’t own any.”

“It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” Her tone turned steely. “I’ll look after you.”

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