Page 24 of His Curvy Obsession

I pat my mother on the arm as I squeeze past her in the narrow hallway, walking back in the direction of giggling feminine voices coming from a door at the other end and thanking god that I don’t have to endure this wedding date-less.

9

Eric

Thankfully,the ceremony is short.

The less time I have to sit with my butt in a pew listening to a minister talk about the deeper meaning of love and marriage, the better.

The only good thing about the ceremony was watching Rebecca walk down the aisle clutching a bouquet of pink roses. When she got to the front and took her place on the bride’s side of the wedding arch, she found me in the crowd and angled her bouquet so that I could see the back of it. Tucked out of sight so that only she would be able to see it, was the red rose that I gave her.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her for the rest of the ceremony. She made up for my lack of emotion, tearing up at the couple’s sentimental vows, crying again when they sealed their promise with a kiss.

Maybe I don’t enjoy weddings…but I enjoy watching Rebecca.

After the ceremony, the wedding party stays behind to take photos with the photographer.

I follow the rest of the guests as we’re herded from the sanctuary to the reception hall, where twinkling lights and flowers are spread from corner to corner. There’s music booming from the speakers, and the lights are low.

I wonder if Rebecca will want me to dance with her. Dancing wasn’t part of the deal and in truth, I’m not sure I can handle that. Not even for her.

“How do you know the bride?”

I look and see a woman in a blue dress smiling at me.

“I don’t know the bride,” I reply honestly. “I know her sister, Rebecca.”

“Rebecca,” she sighs. “Such acutegirl, right? She looked soadorablein that hairpiece. Bless her heart!”

I nod absentmindedly, looking around the room. When I feel a hand on my arm, I flinch.

“Want to get a drink?” she asks, jerking her head towards the bar in the corner.

“No, thanks.”

“Aw, come on,” she smiles, rubbing my arm with her hand and sidling closer to me. “What, don’t you drink?”

“I don’t,” I reply. I lean away from her, but this only makes her slide her chair closer to me.

“I love weddings, don’t you?”

“No.”

She looks at me.

“Well, whatdoyou like?” She asks. “Tell me. What does Eric Stone enjoy?”

There it is.

My name, spoken by someone I never introduced myself to. Am I reallythisrecognizable? Or was this woman told that I would be here by someone else?

The reception hall is filling up with more people and I see the wedding party finally returning, groomsmen and bridesmaidsand finally, the lucky couple themselves, the groom and his blushing bride.

I knew this event would be challenging, but I’m feeling more claustrophobic than anticipated. I have to get out of here. But as I rise from my chair, so does the woman in the blue dress.

“I need to go,” I say, taking a step away from her. She hooks her hand around my elbow, closing the distance between us again.

The claustrophobia increases. My chest tightens. My eyes scan the bridal party. I see a flurry of pink feathers standing tall above the heads of all the others and Rebecca peers around the crowd of groomsmen, searching. Her eyes find mine. Then they drop to the woman’s hand on my arm. She looks back at me with a frown. Turning back to her sister, she says something to her and then steps away from the crowd, walking to me with hurried footsteps.

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