Page 2 of Rider Daddies
My best friend of nine years.
She was the first friend I made when I first moved out here to California. She helped me improve my English and everything.
And now they’re too infatuated with each other, too busy slinging their tongues down one another’s throats, to notice me.
Anger courses through my veins, heating my blood. It feels like an alternate reality.
Like a dream.
Is this seriously happening right in front of my eyes?
I look down at my watch.
Ten minutes.
Tristan and I are supposed to be getting married intenfucking minutes. My heart contracts, pieces of it breaking away. I can’t think about that too much at the moment. Adrenaline thumps through me at a pace far too fast for me to keep up with.
I fold my arms over my chest and clear my throat.
They both stiffen in response, separating. They turn around rigidly.
Willow gasps.
Tristan can’t even look me in the eye.
I launch myself at them, pushing Tristan back into the nearest tree. I pin him up against it, sticking my face in his. It’s a bad idea. I’m so close that I can smell Willow’s perfume on him.
I shove him to the ground, backing off.
“Lucia—?” Willow says.
“Porca puttana.”I realize she won’t know what this means, so I translate it for her. “Fucking bitch.” The English version doesn’t punch the same.
I tug on her hair. She has it down today, tiny braids running through it. I yank on one with brute force, pulling her to the ground with it. There’s dirt all over her pink dress now. I take a look at the muddy ground and decide to scoop up some of the soil, rubbing dirt into both of their faces.
“There. Finishing touches.”
Tristan clambers up from the ground, his beige tuxedo ruined. “Lucia. Please. Calm down. Let’s talk about this.”
“Calm down?” I scoff. “We were supposed to be getting married in ten minutes, Tristan. Were you even going to bother to show up at the altar?”
“Yes, Lucia, of course. Willow means nothing to me.”
A flicker of disappointment crosses Willow’s face.
Fucking hell.
There’s no way this is real.
I take one look at the pair of them, and then turn around. Disgraceful. My best friend and my fucking husband-to-be. You couldn’t write this shit.
“Lucia?!” he calls again.
“Porco dio!” I scream, marching away from them.
Guests gather around, whispered conversations arising. “The wedding is off,” I announce, stomping through the woodland to locate the exit.
I need to get out of here now.
