Page 8 of Resting Grump Face
His driver takes us straight onto the tarmac, where his private jet is already waiting. We hug goodbye, I let him know I owe him one, and I am finally off to the island where the wedding is taking place. The pilot assures me that, thanks to the time-difference, he should be able to get me there just in time for the ceremony, and, once at altitude, I fall asleep immediately. Unfortunately, the flight is over before I actually feel rested. What’s even worse is, I don’t have time to take a shower before the landing.
As soon as we make it off the runway, I get in a cab and head straight for the wedding venue, not sure whether I am already too late. Phoenix is probably worried and wondering where his best man could be.
It takes less than 30 minutes on a much too narrow and winding road along the coast to reach the little chapel that is overlooking the ocean. The guests appear to have already congregated inside, as the only people I discover are servers with trays of champagne and canapés.
“That will be $72, please,” the cab driver says and flashes me a grin.
“Right… money.” I look through the window to try and find someone familiar. “Here,” I hand him my plastic prison bag,“please keep this as a deposit. I will be back with your payment in a minute.”
I can’t believe the bullshit I am going through today, and all because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself and my dick in my pants. From now on, there will be no more distractions. Nothing. No fucking women whatsoever.
Stepping, or rather vaulting out of the cab, I knock my head on its frame and stumble over my own two feet like an idiot.
God, this is the worst day of my life. It’s as if the universe is treating me like a practice run for a cosmic comedy show.
I rush inside and immediately discover the groom standing at the altar. He is talking to his grandma, who is supposed to officiate the wedding. Luckily, the bride is nowhere to be seen. It would appear I have made it just in time and a Jabali-shaped load disappears off my mind.
That’s at least something. I didn’t miss the most important part.Maybe this day is about to get a little better.
I walk down the aisle towards my best friend, who turns to face me just when I reach him. Phoenix grabs me by the shoulders, holding me in place to give me a thorough inspection, from the dark circles under my eyes to the bold choice of fashion I had no choice but to wear.
“Not now,” I say before he can ask. “You wouldn’t have 72 bucks in that dapper tux of yours, would you?”
Phoenix stares at me without a word until his grandma comes to my rescue. She fumbles in the cleavage of her dress and produces a few folded-up bills that she hands me with a gentle grin.
“You are not my type, Ryker Grayson, which is why I’ll spare you the dirty joke about having to pay me back later,” Nana explains in the most charming Scottish accent and presses a smooch on my cheek to say hello. “Just know that I will cut youif you don’t.” She gives me a wink and sits down on the chair by the altar as I walk back outside to pay the driver.
Just as I return, a quiet melody lets everyone know the ceremony is about to begin. Phoenix gives me a big hug before I take my place by his side. Then our eyes are fixed on the giant double door where his fiancée, Olivia, is about to make her entrance.
“So,” I whisper to the groom as we stare straight ahead and I can finally relax for the first time in two days, “since I missed yesterday, I’ll just skip to the stereotypical questions, which, according to all the movies I’ve seen, one is supposed to ask in situations like this: any second thoughts?”
The corner of Phoenix’s mouth lifts slightly while his head begins to nod. “Yes, indeed,” he says. “Second thoughts, third thoughts, fourth and fifth?—”
The music picks up as the door opens and Olivia, accompanied by her dad, slowly steps inside.
“…and they’re all about her. All my thoughts, every single one.” A tear rolls down his cheek as I hear a hauntingly familiar voice let out a gushing ‘Ohhhhh’.
4
SIENNA
Iwave at Mr. Handsome In Pretty Pink Pants and give him my brightest smile. He does not reciprocate. Instead, he just stares at me as if he has seen a pants-stealing ghost. I would kill to be able to read his mind. From the looks of it, he is going through all the emotions available to him, which range from slightly annoyed to severely pissed, in the span of a few seconds while blood is slowly dripping down his forehead.
Since he apparently hasn’t noticed it himself yet, I try to let him know by pointing at my own head. In response, he narrows his eyes and pretends to scratch his nose while subtly flipping me off.
Figures.
I guess it might have looked like I was telling him that he isn’t right in the head —and although that would definitely be correct— this is neither the time nor the place. So, in trying to take care of my bridesmaidly duties, I tear a piece of cloth from my dress, sneak over to my newfound one-night-stand nemesis, and try to wipe away the blood. His eyes are still focused on me, which I (unsuccessfully) attempt to ignore.
“What happened?” I whisper while suppressing my grin, and, unintentionally, smudging the blood all over his frowny forehead.Dress fabric really isn’t made for medical emergencies.
“You…” he growls, grabs my wrist and pushes it away. Then he takes the handkerchief from his suit pocket and wipes himself clean. I sneak back to my spot before Olivia reaches us.
He looks just as arrogant, and annoying, and angelic as the last time I saw him. There aren’t many people who can pull off the pink-pajama-pants-look, but somehow, he seems to make it work. He looks attractive in a sort of adorably rugged way. Then again, maybe it’s just the fresh wound that gives him this dangerously seductive air, or maybe it’s just my misguided libido again. I should ask Olivia if they invited any eligible single doctors who could take a look at me (and, if absolutely necessary, at his wound).
The sun, drenching everything in a beautiful pink hue, sets in the background, and the ceremony pans out just like planned… I think. I may be a little distracted by my new nemesis, but I am pretty sure that Nana is giving a speech even more moving than the one from yesterday’s rehearsal.
In the meantime, I am busy holding eye contact with the best man. Except, while other people might eye-fuck, we eye-fight, and you don’t even need David Attenborough to tell you that I am winning.
