Page 37 of To Love or to Lose
“You clean up nice,” Jameson whispers from behind, making me jump.
He’s dressed in an all black suit and tie, and he has three silver rings on his right hand.
“And you look exactly the same,” I reply.
“Handsome?” He smirks.
My eyes, despite not wanting to, scan his body again. “Arrogant,” I correct him.
“You wound me, Genevieve.” He inhales through gritted teeth and clutches his dress shirt in faux agony.
“Your battered ego has nothing to do with me.”
“Ready for pictures?” Mom asks.
We all nod. Winnie looks excited, Eloise is unenthused, and I’m ready to get this over with.
Chrissi preps everyone's flowers and starts teaching us how to pin on the boutonnieres.
We take pictures of the boys sliding the corsages on our wrists, and all I think about is how unfair it is all they have to do is slip flowers over our wrists. Meanwhile, we must turn into dutiful little housewives and pin them on through their shirts.
When it comes time to pin the boutonnieres on, Eloise and Winnie do it with ease.
I, however, have a different idea. After pretending to struggle with the pin for a few moments, I jab it neatly through Jameson’s suit jacket in a not-so-gentle manner.
He hisses in pain and pulls away from me when the pin hits him in the chest. “Ow!” He grabs my hand that is holding the pin, as if I was planning on doing it again.
I shrug, feigning innocence, “Whoops.”
“Give that to me!” My mother snaps, trying to take the boutonniere from my hand.
“No, no, that’s okay,” Jameson says. “Let her try again.” He’s giving the type of cocky smirk that would normally make me want to light myself on fire.
“You’re lucky you’re not wearing a white shirt,” I say.
“Why is that?”
“Blood would bleed through white.”
“How about we work on not making me bleed at all?” Jameson grabs my wrist with one hand and the pin I’m holding in the other, guiding the pin through the shirt and into the clip where it’s supposed to go. “See how easy it is tonotcause me bodily harm?”
“I think I prefer the alternative,” I snide. “Plus, I wouldn’t classify an accidental poke asbodily harm.”
“Accidental, huh?”
“Why of course.” I attempt to imitate his accent, making him laugh.
We continue taking pictures, letting our awkward moms pose us how they want, like we’re some type of dolls. There’s nothing like having your number one rival’s arm wrapped around you while your mom shouts at you to smile at him.
“Stop holding me like that,” I whisper when he wraps both of his arms around my shoulders from where he’s standing behind me.
“Like what?” He asks sarcastically, placing his hands on my collarbone.
“Stop it.”I slap his hand away.
My mom and Wren are whispering to one another as they take pictures, looking back and forth between us and each other.
I push out of Jameson’s hold when they put their phones down. “Are we done now?” I ask, walking away before either of them answer.
