The Wedding Contract

by H. M. Ward

  God, she looks crazy. Her big green eyes don’t blink and that creepy smile remains tightly in place. After glancing quickly around, I decide her boss must be nearby because something is making her uncomfortable and unnaturally still.

  Placing my hands on the counter, I say, “Yes, I’m the photographer for the Stevens Wedding. I was told a room was reserved for me.”

  “Check in time isn’t until 4pm.”

  “I know, but I hoped the room would be ready early. It was a long drive. Do you think you could help me out?”

  She rolls her eyes and the smile fades. She breathes deeply, flaring her nostrils like a bull. “I am happy to help you find a seat at our restaurant until 4pm.”

  Did she not hear me? I tap my finger on the counter and lean in a little bit. “Is there any chance that I can have my room now? I’m really tired and—?”

  “No! You can’t have it now! It’s not ready now! It’ll be ready at 4pm! Are you hard of hearing or something?” The woman grips her side of the counter for a second and practically snarls.

  Holy snails. That is the face of crazy. I smile with too many teeth and back away slowly. “I’ll come back at 4pm.”

  The woman goes back to her unblinking, pleasantly possessed status. “That’s a wonderful idea. Thank you so much. Enjoy your afternoon on Shelter Island.”

  OMG. What a nutter. I get out of the lobby before she sprouts claws and rips me to shreds. When I’m back out on the street, I decide to walk and grab a late lunch to kill the time. I’m sitting at a little bistro before I finally relax a little. My eye stops twitching, all thoughts of Nick and his assy ways long gone, and I’m content for once, sipping iced tea and nibbling on my sandwich. The little restaurant has all its seating outdoors on the sidewalk. The sky is blue and a slight breeze rustles through the branches. It’s perfect.

  Until my phone rings. It plays the Imperial March, aka Darth Vader’s theme song, signaling that it’s my mother calling. The guy next to me snorts his soda and looks over. I give a weak smile and slump back in my chair, letting it play the song again. Glancing at him, I explain, “It’s my Mom.”

  He gives me a crooked grin. “She sounds amazing.” The beautiful man returns to his meal with a smile on his face.

  I swipe my finger across the screen and hold the evil little device to my ear. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Are you already out there? What happened at work today? You can’t skip out just because you have somewhere fun to be.” My mother thinks my job is a joke even though it more than paid the bills until Nick showed up. No one knows just how bad it’s gotten and I sure as hell don’t want to hear her lectures now.

  “Mom, I didn’t skip out. Amy is there.”

  “Amy won’t do the same job you would do.”

  “Amy is stapling papers. I don’t think she’ll staple her hand too often, so we’re okay. Have you and Daddy left yet?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Missy! I told you that you should have gone to college like Sophie did, but did you listen? No. Now, you run off in the middle of the day and leave Amy there alone. What if someone wants something?”

  “Then they call me on my cell phone.” Oh, God. Someone shoot me. I lean my cheek into my hand and lean sideways as Mom chews me out.

  “That’s no way to run a business, Sweetheart. Have you thought about what Daddy and I offered?”

  “I’m not going to close my studio, Ma.” My tilted body is off balance, as I perch on the side of my chair, ready to topple over. We’ve had this conversation too many times to count. They think I threw my life away because I didn’t get a college degree. The thing is, all my friends who did are now jobless and flipping burgers. I don’t have their debt and things were pretty good until Nick started screwing with me.

  “Sophie is going to talk to you and I think you should listen to her.”

  My feet are crossed at the ankle. When she says that, I push too hard on my right foot and try to sit up quickly, but I must be standing on my shoelaces because my foot doesn’t move. So, instead of going up, I fall down.

  Picture a penguin at the zoo that suddenly falls sideways. Boop. It’s really funny, except when I fall, my hands dart out and grab the closest thing to me—the guy at the next table. I manage to clutch a fist full of crotch and grope him thoroughly before hitting the cement. If he hadn’t been facing me with his legs splayed like that, it wouldn’t have happened. I was trying to grab the chair and totally missed.

  The guy’s eyes go wide and he jumps up, bumping the table with his hip. His pasta dish and tea start to slide as gravity pulls everything downward. By this time, I’m on the ground and I turn just in time to get a plate of spaghetti in the face, followed by a full glass of tea to wash it off.

  I can hear my mother shrieking from somewhere on the sidewalk, still scolding me. For a moment, no one says anything. They just watch in horrified silence. I wipe the sauce and tea from my face and glance down. It looks like I was the victim of an assassination attempt by a clown. There’s a huge red stain over my boobs with limp noodles in my hair, and a few hanging from the neckline of my shirt. One noodle is actually caught in my necklace. The tea diluted the sauce, which then ran into every crevice of my body, so I’m saucy and sticky. Not to mention, I groped a random stranger and knocked his table over.

  I sit there way too long, trying to blink the stinging sensation out of my eyes. When I look up, the guy has his hand out. I take it and he helps me up.

  “I am so sorry,” he says. He isn’t laughing at me, which comes as a shock.

  “No, it was my fault,” I say. Someone hands me my phone and I hit END CALL without telling my mom goodbye. She calls back two seconds later.

  Handsome guy chuckles at the Imperial March as it plays again. “I suggest not answering that.”

  I laugh, otherwise I’d cry. “Not planning on it.”

  The wait staff bustles around us, righting his table and cleaning up my mess, leaving the two of us standing awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant. “My name’s Deegan, by the way. Deegan Greene. I’m a Sci-Fi nerd and I’m pretty sure you’re a goddess.”

  A shy smile passes over my face, as I look at the ground and then back up at him. I hold out my sticky hand. “Sky Thompson.”

  “Can I walk you back to your hotel, Sky?”

  “That depends. Is it four o’clock, yet?”

  His jaw drops slightly. “Are you here for the Steve Stevens wedding, too?” The way he says it makes me laugh even though his lunch is stuck to my body.

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “I’m guessing we had the same receptionist. I’m Steve’s best friend.”

  I nod and pull a piece of spaghetti from my shirt. “I’m the photographer.”

  “Really?” I don’t know why he says it like that. Apparently, I made a really bad impression, as if I’m too clumsy to photograph people.

  “Yeah. I’ve known Sophie since we were kids.”

  “Ah, well then. We have a lot of catching up to do. I’m pretty sure if we put our heads together, we can thoroughly embarrass them.” He winks at me and takes my elbow, before dropping enough cash for both of us on the table. “Steven had an unnatural love of glue. I’d hoped he’d have aspirations to take over the company that makes sticky-notes when he grew up.”

  I laugh a little. “It must have been a disappointment to see him become a pediatrician.”

  “Indeed. Come on. Let’s see if we can get Satan’s Spawn to let us check in. If she refuses, you should go sit on that big white chaise in the center of the lobby. I bet they’ll change their mind about that four o’clock policy.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Deegan is right. My room isn’t ready until I say I am happy to wait and walk over to the little white couch. At that point, Spawny magically appears, room key in hand, and tosses my ass out of the lobby.

  Deegan walks me to my room, helping me carry my bags and gear. After unlocking the door and tossing everything on the bed, he smiles at me. �
�Later, I will buy you a drink—or five—to make up for this.”

  His attention feels nice. Life has been too crazy to flirt with anyone in a long time. I smile crookedly. “I was the idiot who knocked your table over.”

  “I know, which is why it’s horrible that I am still pristine and you are not.” He winks at me and leaves before I can blush.

  What a horrible how-we-met story. Mom, this is Deegan. I grabbed his package at the sidewalk bistro down the street. It was good for both of us, until the food fell on my face. Oh, God. In a split-second decision, I grab the doorknob and yank it open. “Deegan?” I poke my head out and see him waiting for the elevator.

  He looks back at me. “Did you forget something?”

  “Yeah, can we not tell anyone how we met?”

  He smiles. “Ah, your mother doesn’t know she’s a Sith Lord?”

  “Uh, she’s evil incarnate, but no—not that. I mean, let’s just say we met at check-in and leave everything else out.” Meaning I’d rather not recap the fact that I’ve felt him up, uh, down in his nether regions.

  He grins wickedly, but nods. “Of course. I’ll see you later.” He disappears into the elevator and I slip back into my room.

  CHAPTER 5

  Alone at last, and it’s still half an hour before check-in. I have enough time to shower and get ready for tonight. Sophie is having a special dinner this evening for the wedding party and her closest relatives. It should be a week of fun with a camera strapped to my face—which is fine with me because I love shooting. Sophie and Steven will get married over the weekend and the guests will hang out for a few more days, because who wouldn’t want to stay here? The place is beautiful, minus the demon at reception. Well, I think it’s beautiful, but I bet Mom won’t. We don’t really get along very well.

  My mother nearly had a stroke when I told her that I wouldn’t be attending college. My brother and sister, both of whom are at least a decade older than me and perfect in every way, attended college. They were two perfect children, bestowed upon my darling parents from glorious angels above.

  Blah, blah, puke. Seriously. You can’t imagine what holidays are like at my parents’ house. According to her, I’m obviously from the ‘other side of heaven’s tracks.’ I love her, but we seriously don’t see eye-to-eye—on anything. It’s like, she got every parent’s dream in kids one and two, so God thought it would be hysterical to throw Baby Oops at them a decade or so later, just to mix things up. Perfection comes in many shapes and sizes, but, to my mother, I’m not even close.

  The perfect daughter would have a ring on her finger and be finishing college, while making arrangements for Barbie’s dream summer wedding. I’m not that kid and Hell will have to freeze over before I let some douche put a ring on my finger. I may be mental, but after being up close and personal with the wedding industry for this long, I’ve seen things. Most couples get married because it’s time, not because they’re in love. They might have money issues, parental pressure, or they’re simply tired of being alone—so they pick Mr. Good Enough and tie the knot.

  That won’t be me.

  I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the tiny room get good and steamy before I shuck my clothes and get in. I sigh deeply and stand there, letting the water wash my troubles down the drain. If only life were this simple. I’d never leave the bathroom. I’m pretty sure if I put a fridge next to the tub, I could live in here. I’m half water rat, anyway.

  My mind drifts to Sophie. I really hope she’s making the right decision. We didn’t get to talk about it. The engagement happened so fast and then she got swept away in planning a wedding. BAM! It got here faster than I thought it would. I wonder if she feels the same way. Rubbing my hands over my face, I sigh deeply and hope she’s happy. Brides have a tendency to freak out. A serene bride is a medicated bride. Not only is a wedding the biggest commitment of someone’s life, it’s also the event with the highest probability of everything going wrong.

  Example: the wedding I shot last weekend. The frosting shouldn’t have caught fire like that, but it did. A few misplaced doilies, a strong gust of wind, and poof! Inferno cake. The little couple on top melted into little hunchbacks.

  A wedding from earlier this month had an even more horrifying event: while the bride was walking down the aisle, her little flower girl got too close and stepped on her train. The sound of popping stitches filled the church, as a monster hole opened down the back of her gown, revealing the bride’s panties—which were printed with the word BRIDE across her backside in Swarovski crystals. I was amazed when she just hugged the horrified flower girl and let someone staple the dress back together. That wedding continued, when most other brides would have eaten the entire assembly and spit out their bones for something like that. Never step on a bride, not unless you have a death wish.

  A noise catches my ear, like someone is yelling down the hallway. I assume it’s Sophie’s younger cousins. After turning off the water, I step out and towel off. I look behind the door for a robe, but there isn’t one. Whatever. I will not have a stroke and I have no plans to call the front desk for assistance, just to have Spawny bring me a robe that’s been defiled. No thanks. I toss my wet towel on the edge of the tub and pad out of the bathroom naked. I head for my suitcase, which is on the bed, so I can grab my dress and make-up kit.

  As I step through the bathroom door and into the room, I’m glancing at the dreadfully ugly carpet. It’s like one of the Vegas-style, busy, rugs that hide every stain known to man. Damn, it’s ugly. That’s when I feel the sensation of eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle at the same time a pair of shiny black shoes enter my field of vision. From there on, everything happens in slow motion. My entire body tenses as I lift my gaze.

  Standing in front of me is Nick Ferro, ass-hat extraordinaire, with a huge smile on his face. “Don’t tell me—you’re the slutty bridesmaid.”

  I don’t answer. I scream and try to cover up at least a little, so he can’t see everything, but he already has. And the jerk is just standing there, with that amused grin on his face.

  “Get out!” I scream the phrase over and over again, trying to hide both girls and wishing for a loincloth to magically appear in the proper place. Every time I grab one boob, the other falls out of my grip. They’re too big to hold with one hand, but his eyes are all over me, and I don’t want him looking. My hands move around spastically between my crotch and my chest, so I look like I’m landing a plane. For a second, I think about turning and running back into the bathroom, but then he’d see my butt, and since that’s the one piece of me he hasn’t seen, I refuse to turn around. Logic isn’t one of my strong suits. Don’t judge me until it happens to you. It makes sense. Sorta.

  Nick steps back as I hurl the tissue box at him, and stumble backward into the bathroom. Nick says pleasantly, “This is my room. You get out.”

  “It’s not your room, it’s mine! I’m going to call the cops!” I bump into the sink and try to shove the door closed with my foot. It’s an uberly uncoordinated effort that lands me on my ass. My ankle catches the door, closing it, as I not so gracefully fall backwards. I let loose a few expletives before a loud SLAM.

  He rushes to the door. “And tell them what? That the guy you came on to didn’t want you? I didn’t say that, by the way.” He’s quiet for a second, and adds, “Are you all right?”

  “No!” I’m not all right. Why is he here? Why is he in my room? This is the person responsible for singlehandedly destroying my business. Amy thinks I’m paranoid, but what the hell is he doing here, then? He shouldn’t be here. I’m sitting with my back against the tub when the door cracks open. I kick it closed. “Oh my God! What kind of deviant are you? I didn’t say come in!” My voice is at least an octave higher by the time I finish yelling at him.

  “You said you weren’t all right.”

  “I’m fine! Go away!”

  “I can’t. This is my room and I have a wedding to shoot this week, so if you don�
��t mind—”

  What? Scrambling to my feet, I grab the shower curtain and pull it off the rod. As I march out, the little plastic rings drag on the floor. Yanking the door open, I rush through and slam into his chest. I swear to God, my entire body made that dong sound that happens when you run into a metal pole. Not that I’ve done that. Recently. Oh holy hell, his body is hard. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly sexy? And he smells good, too. Meanwhile, I’m wet, sporting a rat’s nest on my head, and styling the latest fashion in hotel shower curtains, which is that white plastic crap that sticks like tape to my damp skin.

  I step back, but Nick steadies me, or I would have fallen over again. I don’t say thank you. I want to bite his head off. “What wedding? No you don’t!”

  He speaks way too calmly. “Yes, I do. Mr. Stevens hired me.”

  What a liar. “He did not!”

  Nick gives me that magical crooked smirk again and reaches into his gear bag, producing a wedding contract for photography services. I snatch it out of his hands and scan the thing. How could Sophie do this to me? I glance at him from the corner of my eyes, grinding my teeth. I’m very feminine when I’m pissed. I know. I flip to the last page and see a signature from Steven’s Dad. “I’m sorry, Miss Thompson, but this is my wedding. You’ll have to leave. Unless, I was right about my first guess and you’re in the wedding.”

  “I’m not the slutty bridesmaid!” I smack the contract into his chest and stomp over to my bag, ripping out my contract with Sophie. I thrust it at him, spewing, “See! I’m the photographer and my contract says the same damn thing yours does!”

  He reads it over and his jaw tightens, before he looks up at me with those annoyingly beautiful eyes again. Where the hell did they come from? Those blue eyes sparkle so much it looks like dwarves mined them or something. “I guess it does.” He shrugs. “Apparently, we were both hired to photograph the same event, and we were both given the same room—the photographer’s room.”