Page 52 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
I look around dumbly. She laughs despite herself. I’ll admit it, that’s the reaction I wanted.
“Don’t be a dork,” she says, pulling out a compact and fixing her still perfect makeup.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, my voice low.
“You don’t have to say that,” she says.
“I know.” I smile. “You’re too thin though, Tabs. Your curves are gone.”
“Oh god, now I know you’re laying it on thick.”
“I’m not. I swear. One friend to another.”
“Pax, I’ve got mere weeks before I get married. Which means I either need to find a designer who is willing to make me a dress, like, yesterday, or I have to be able to buy something off the rack. You have to be thin for those.”
“You were already thin.”
She rolls her eyes at me for what seems like the millionth time.
“Is Wipplecock making you lose weight?”
She giggles, then covers her mouth and gasps, looking around to make sure no one saw her laugh. Not that anyone would care.
“You know that’s not his name,” she says. “And no, he’s not. He thinks I’m perfect just the way I am.”
“Well then.” I sit back in the bench seat and cross my arms over my chest. “My job here is done.”
She glances at my biceps, then back up at my face. If I’m not mistaken, her face reddens. It’s hard to tell sometimes with all the makeup. She wears a lot more of it these days.
“I like your hair better down,” I tell her. “And when you aren’t wearing so much makeup. You don’t need all that stuff. It just takes away from your natural beauty.”
Her eyes meet mine, but it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. So, I purposely blank the expression on my face. Because right now I’m thinking too much. And the too much that I’m thinking is comprised of thoughts I should not be having. Thoughts about a woman who is about to marry another man. I had my shot and I blew it.
She blinks after a moment, collecting her thoughts. “It doesn’t matter what you think anymore, does it?” And with that, she shuts the moment down for both of us. I’m grateful, because I don’t know that I would have been strong enough to do the same. It was a huge mistake agreeing to be her photographer. Having to spend this much time with her. Too many memories get dredged up, which just confuses emotions and creates feelings that aren’t really there.
The horn blows, signaling the time to return to our cars as we’ll be disembarking soon. I take her coffee cup and toss it with mine into the recycle bin, then we make our way back downstairs, along with most of the other passengers.
Neither of us say another word. I’m sure it’s better that way.
15
Tabatha
It doesn’t take long to make it from the ferry terminal to the Cascadian House. Even though I’m using my GPS, I’m still pretty much following Pax since I’m still the car behind him. We pull into the lot at the same time and I park next to him in the front row. I see Hunter is already here and I’m assuming one of the other cars is Liza’s.
The front grounds are breathtaking. The perfect blend of indigenous plants and trees interspersed with green grass, annuals, and perennials. To one side is the coast and to the other is rolling hills. It’s hard to tell what is behind the property, but my guess is more of the same. I’m out of my car before Pax and I head toward the front door, not bothering to wait for him. He catches up to me anyway and we walk in together.
The building itself is only nine stories tall with maybe twenty-five rooms per floor in addition to varying sizes of ballrooms and meeting rooms. The first floor hosts the lobby and staff areas, a restaurant, cafe, gift shop, and lounge. According to the brochure, there are 180 rooms and another fifteen suites. With the guest list that Hunter has planned, we could end up filling the entire hotel.
The hostess points us to the elevator and lets us know Liza and Hunter are upstairs on the eighth floor in one of the larger ballrooms.
“The elevator attendant is on break, but it’s easy to use,” she tells us. “One lever for pretty much everything, one way to go up, and the other way to go down. And you can only go up from this floor.” She smiles big and her voice sounds overly cheery. If I had to listen to her all day, I’d slap her and throw her in the sound.
The entire inside of the elevator car is copper. It’s gorgeous. We get in and Pax moves the lever to the door close position. A gate closes first, then the doors, and we start to move slowly. Very slowly.
“It may have been faster to take the stairs,” I say, knowing full well it wouldn’t have. I’m in heels and a pencil skirt, the last thing I want to do is walk eight flights of stairs.
I watch as the floor indicator moves from one to two.
