Page 108 of Love Complicated

See that guy sitting in the back at a table, wishing he could take the ice sculpture on the table and smash it against his own skull so he could leave? That’s me. I’m miserable, and the thoughts of bleeding all over the white linen table just to piss Madalyn off actually sounds pretty good. Makes me smile. I’d gladly take stitches over this bullshit.

I don’t like events like this. Hell, I actually made it through all of high school and college without attending bullshit like this.

I don’t like dressing up and pretending I’m something I’m not, and I certainly don’t want to spend the night in the same vicinity as Austin. . . or Madalyn. . . and worse. . . Brooks.

Guess who gets to do that tonight?

This guy, unfortunately. And you know, while I’m at it, I’ve never understood the term FML. Fuck. My. Life.

I think—and most wouldn’t put much weight on what I think—but events like this are where the term originated from.

Don’t believe me?

Take a look around. Look past all the bullshit decorations, the thousands upon thousands spent in catering, the hideous ice sculptures, and the five thousand dollars a bottle Chateau Margaux on the tables. Peek underneath the mascaraed masks—which I refused to wear—and you’ll see rich, insecure assholes flaunting a status. An image. A persona even they can’t stand on a good day.

Why do they do it?

Money.

Greed.

Power.

The driving force behind everything we know, and Brooks Jacob and Madalyn Campbell are the king and queen of it all.

You wanna know why I live in a trailer?

Thisis why. I will never be like them.

You wouldn’t believe the looks I get when I show up in a black tux.

My attention’s drawn toward the entrance. I notice Aly’s returned from the restroom. Immediately, like the pull she has on me is gravity, my eyes fixate on her and the floor-length black dress she’s wearing.

Fuck, it’s really hot in here, and I’m definitely sporting a semi. I’ve seen her in a dress before, but nothing like this. I have this image of her in a white dress, walking down an aisle. Only this time it’s not the haunting one I usually have of her marrying the wrong man. She’s with me.

Tenderly, she smiles my way, red lipstick-stained lips contrasting against her porcelain white teeth. Nervously smoothing out her hair, she says something in Tori’s ear who’s standing next to her.

As she nears, my heart’s in my throat, ready to explode. There’s something about the way her dress clings to her curves—and the way Austin’s eyes never lift from hers—as she makes her way over to me. He glances at me, then to Brie beside him, the instigator of his infidelity, his arm tight around her frame.

He knows he fucked up, kinda like me leaving Aly in the arms of a liar. Anger hits me. I can’t help but want to knock his teeth in for looking her way, even now. He never deserved her.

Before Aly approaches me, Emily finds me, her red dress dangerously revealing her fake tits on display. Ordinarily I’m sure Emily is a nice woman, but lately, she’s trying too hard to get me to notice her. She purposely doesn’t sign Luna’s reading list, just so I have to call and ask for it.

“Ridge,” Emily breathes in passing, running her perfectly manicured hand over my chest. “Would you like to dance with me?”

I hadn’t noticed the live band. My thoughts of Aly had been clouding everything else around me.

I glance to the stage, the band who I recognize as Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats. You wouldn’t believe the amount of money they put into tonight, and it shows when you look around. Everything from the twinkling lights strung up, the white linen table clothes, crystal stemware, rose petal entryway, is way over the top if you ask me for a fundraiser.

“Ridge?”

Shit. Emily’s still standing in front of me. I look over her shoulder, at Aly, then back to Emily. “Sorry, but I don’t dance.”

She steps to the side, her hand on my shoulder now. Her disappointment settles in her face, deepens her frown lines. “Let me guess...” Her eyes flick to Aly, then me again. “. . .you’re waiting to dance withher?”

I don’t answer. I don’t think I need to.

My stare immediately goes to Aly, who looks like she wants to rip Emily’s arms off as she watches the interaction with unveiled interest. Is it wrong I want to see them fight?

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