Page 48 of One Night Only
She gulps back the orange juice with a look of distaste.
“You need glucose.”
“I need a new body,” she says thickly. “How do people do this all the time? I’m never drinking again.”
“Spoken like a true drunk.” I push the plate of bacon toward her just as someone knocks on her door. Hair and makeup have arrived.
Everything begins to move very fast. Her parents show up at the same time as the photographer and the room is suddenly full of people. There’s a lot of hands in my hair and brushes on my face as the air becomes clouded with hairspray. The maid of honor dress, a floor-length light-blue gown, is so beautiful I’m scared I’m going to sweat through it out of sheer excitement but I’m nothing compared to Annie, who looks like she stepped right out of a magazine. It’s a simple enough design as wedding dresses go but it’s from a local designer and, at Annie’s request, subtle Celtic patterns are woven into the veil and the long lacy sleeves.
Once the photographer is finally happy, I leave them alone for some family time. The guests have arrived in their numbers, and from the hallway window I can see downstairs to the tent. Voices drift up from the gardens, laughing and talking.
With a couple of minutes to go I slink down the back stairs to where we’ll make our entrance and catch a dangerously warm breeze coming from the open doors.
I’d almost forgotten about the heat.
But despite Mary’s concern there’s a still a line of sleek umbrellas lined up next to the entrance.
“You never know,” one of the staff mutters when he catches me looking.
The rest of the bridal procession has already gathered by the doors and I watch as Annie’s mom tries to calm the overexcited flower girls as they twirl in their skirts.
“Have you seen Mary?” she asks as she wipes a smudge of chocolate off one of their faces. “I think she went to get some tissues.”
“I’ll find her.”
I slip into the adjoining hallway and follow the sign for the restrooms, almost tripping in my heels as I turn a corner and stumble back, spying two people up ahead.
Mary stands beside Declan, tutting as he fiddles with the sleeves of his tuxedo. He looks good. His dark curls have been tamed so that they almost look respectable and a white flower is pinned to his lapel. The tux fits him well. So well that despite his mother standing right next to him, it suddenly has me wondering if the suit is rented or if we can go for round three with him wearing that and me wearing…well, now I’m blushing.
“Shit,” he mutters, ruining my sudden image of us, and I smile as his fingers slip over his cufflinks. I’ve never seen him flustered before. It makes him look younger; his usual confident air stripped away.
“Language,” Mary chides. “Let me do it.”
He offers no resistance, holding his arm out as she fastens them. Neither of them have noticed me yet and I’m just about to leave them alone when she speaks again.
“You’re doing very well,” she says, glancing up at him. “Both your father and I think so. We know how difficult it must be to—”
“Don’t,” Declan says. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’ve been sulking since you got here.”
“Sulking?” He sounds amused. “You just said I was doing well.”
She drops his wrist. “You know what I mean.”
“You were worried I was going to ruin this for Paul, weren’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“You did. Because he’s your favorite child.”
“I don’t have a favorite child.”
“Liar.” Declan smiles fondly at her as she raps him on the shoulder before smoothing the fabric down.
“All I meant to say was that I’m very proud of you,” she says, her voice catching. “I know it’s not easy.”
“Are you crying? We haven’t even started the ceremony yet and you’re crying?”
