Page 97 of The Wedding Run
I don’t bother leaving a message. I’m too busy clinging to the door as Derek drives like we’re in a getaway car from a robbery instead of on our way to a wedding.
CHAPTER 51
Libby
When I arrive, the bridal suite buzzes with activity and nervous energy. I greet Marianne, the bride, with a Southern hug, being careful not to get too close and wrinkle her dress or smear her makeup. “You look beautiful.”
As every bride should. She looks as polished as a penny, with a professional makeup artist applying the final touches and brushing away any minor flaws. A hairdresser fusses over each strand of hair, while a photographer captures every expression.
“How are you?” Marianne asks, a flicker of concern crossing her brow. Before I can answer, she glances at the photographer. “Erase that photo, please.” She looks at the makeup artist. “Did I cause a crinkle?”
The makeup artist wisely flicks a brush between Marianne’s brows.
Marianne clasps my hand. “I didn’t know if you’d come. I hope you aren’t embarrassed or humiliated to see Derek today.”
I force a smile. “I’m happy to be here.”
The photographer gestures for Marianne to raise her chin slightly. She complies.
“I was simply devastated by what happened at your wedding.” She leans toward me, her gaze intense. “There’s not going to be any drama today, is there?”
The room falls silent. Everyone bustling around freezes. They wait and watch.
“Derek and I drove here together. We’re here to support you and Trevor,” I assure her.
Relief spreads across Marianne’s face.
The room reverts to the frenzied swirl of pre-wedding activities. Dresses twirl, hairspray fills the air, and tissues blot lipstick.
Someone hands out bouquets of pink peonies to each bridesmaid. There are fourteen. Yes, fourteen. It’s not excessive or anything, just your typical Southern wedding. Many of the bridesmaids are sorority sisters from the bride’s college days, but at least four of us are business associates, and we’re here for the joyful, we hope, ride.
“Well, then,” Marianne chirps, “let’s get this show on the road.”
Milling around the church foyer, I wait for my cue to walk down the aisle. A fifteen-piece orchestra playsShe, a song made famous by Elvis Costello, and it drifts out the doorway as another bridesmaid begins her slow march up the aisle with a groomsman. The wedding proceeds without a hitch.
Derek flirts with a voluptuous bridesmaid on the other side of the foyer. Is he trying to make me jealous? It isn’t working.
Marianne hooks her arm through her father’s. He looks stunned by the growing crowd awaiting them in the sanctuary, or perhaps he saw the enormous bill.
“You’re next.” The wedding coordinator, Nadine, approaches me. She's skilled at her job but blunt in her tone. “Where’s your groomsman?”
“Over there.” I wave toward Derek.
“I’ll get him.” She strides toward him. “You there. Get to your place.”
“In a minute,” Derek says dismissively.
“No, sirree! Right now.” Nadine does not tolerate delays. “We’re on a schedule.”
I move closer to the doorway, positioning myself and noting the slow steps of the bridesmaid and groomsman in front of me.
Nadine prods Derek in my direction. “You missed the rehearsal,” she says to me. “When the couple ahead of you reaches the pew with the pink and burgundy flowers, it’s your turn to go.”
“Oh no!” Marianne cries out behind me. “Oh, wait! I have to pee. Right now.”
“Nervous bladder,” Nadine mutters under her breath. She sighs and hurries to the rescue. “I asked you earlier.”
“I didn’t have to go then.”
