As soon as I’m sitting down in the ‘hot seat’, the hair and makeup artists descend upon me. Soon, they’re pulling and brushing and teasing and painting my face in a whirlwind of activity. After a few minutes, they step back and spin me towards the mirror.
Nadine claps her hands, and Giselle snorts. A few other girls titter.
I look ridiculous. If the other girls had big bouffants, mine is enormous. My makeup looks like clown makeup. Pink glitter covers my eyelids from my lashes to my brows. I catch a glimpse of my mother’s hard face in the mirror, so I hold back the thousand different comments that fly through my head.
It’s just one day. I can handle one day. If this is what it takes to keep the peace, then I can do it. At least Andrew and I will laugh about it later.
I clear my throat, nodding to Nadine in the mirror. “Looks good.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. For a second, the walls around my heart start to crack, and I wonder if she’s telling the truth. I stare at my ridiculous appearance in the mirror and I realize that I look like a miniature version of my mother.
I take a deep breath and paint a smile on my face as fake as my makeup. Maybe they do want me here. Maybe this is their way of showing it. Maybe the past is the past, and we’re all moving forward, like real, emotionally mature adults.
19
Andrew
When I join the men at the bar, they’re already well on their way to being drunk. I accept a beer with a thank you but refuse the shot they try to push on me. It feels like a college frat party, except older. I just try to stay on the fringes and sip my beer quietly.
“So, Meghan, hey?” A man grins, winking at me. He’s in his early thirties, with a receding hairline. His greasy blond hair is plastered to his forehead in a quasi-combover.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
“Is she as good as they said she was?”
“Excuse me?” My spine stiffens and the man’s eyebrows rise. I take a step towards him. What is with all these comments? At the rehearsal dinner, I swear Meg’s father was calling her a prostitute. Who would do that to their own daughter?!
The man chortles, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
I jump when a hand lands on my shoulder. Mr. Ainsworth inserts himself in our conversation, and I’m not sure whether to be happy or annoyed about it.
“I see you’ve met Todd,” he says, leaning a bit heavily on me. His drink sloshes in its glass. I nod to the greasy blond man.
“Todd,” I repeat. “I’m Andrew.” I glance towards the door, willing Meghan to appear and take me away from this.
When I told her I’d be her date to the wedding, I didn’t really think it through. I didn’t expect all the eyes, and the comments, and the interrogations. To be honest, I was just thinking with my cock. I wanted to be closer to Meg, and a weekend away with her seemed like the perfect opportunity.
It doesn’t seem so perfect now, when I’m trapped at a gaudy country club with a bunch of overgrown frat boys.
Mr. Ainsworth leans against me a little and then rights himself as Dale, Nadine’s fiancé, appears in the doorway. Another round of shots is ordered. I try to smile and nod along, but I’m not sure it’s exactly believable. Shots really aren’t my thing. This whole wedding isn’t really my thing.
But then I think of last night—holding Meghan in my arms—and I remember that this isn’t about me. She needs me, and if that means enduring an awkward social interaction, then so be it. I can deal with that.
The boys have their arms around each other and are singing drinking songs. I’m still nursing my first beer, smiling along with them as I die a little bit inside with each passing second. Where is Meg?
As if she could feel me wishing for her to appear, the side door to the bar opens and she walks through like a vision in pink.
Well… not so much a vision in pink as an apparition in pink.
I don’t recognize her for a second or two. Her hair is weirdly puffy, as if it took a can or two of hairspray to get it to stay that big. Her face is an odd shade of orange, and there’s pink all over her eyelids. She looks at me from across the room and the corners of my lips immediately start to twitch upwards.
That dress—wow, what a dress. She looks like she should be in a barbie box. She’s as wide as she is tall in that thing. I hadn’t really realized the sheer size of it until I could see the full effect on her.
There is one good thing: with that dress on, her hair looks somewhat proportional.
She walks towards me with her lips set in a thin line. As she gets closer, I can see bits of glitter all over her eyelids. Before I can say anything, she holds up a hand.
“Don’t say a word.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I say, fighting the smile from my face.
“I mean it, Andrew,” she says. Her hair vibrates with anger as if it has a life of her own.
“You look beautiful.”
“Stop.”
“I mean it! You’d be beautiful in anything.”
She closes her eyes for a second and I see the full extent of the pink glitter on her eyelids. Her lips twitch and when she opens her eyes, I see a flash of the real Meg in them. Then, the stress returns and she’s all business.
“I need your help with something.”
“Meg!” Mr. Ainsworth calls out, his arms stretched wide. “You look… great!”
“Thanks,” she says, gritting her teeth. Her fists clench and then she smooths them over the dress. “I just need to borrow Andrew for a second.”
Mr. Ainsworth waves us away, and she slips her hand into mine. Her voluminous skirt makes a whoosh-zip-whoosh noise with every step. When we get to the ballroom, she nods to a door on the left. We step out onto the vast Country Club grounds. There are ribbons and fabrics and flowers everywhere. A small army of workers is setting up tables in the garden. A few tables already have their pink tablecloths and matching pink place settings.
“So I guess they chose pink as their wedding color?”
Meg just looks at me sideways. She fights to keep the grin off her face, and then nods to the side of the reception area.
“Here,” she says, nodding to a wooden structure the size of a couple refrigerators.
“What’s this?”
“This, my friend, is a box full of doves,” she flings the shutters open, revealing hundreds of doves flapping inside. Wire mesh stops them from escaping, but they still explode into a flurry of activity when they’re suddenly in full sunlight.
“They’re pink,” I note.
Meg sighs, shaking her head. “These poor birds. I just hope it wasn’t toxic dye.”
She puts her fingers against the mesh and a few curious doves peck at them. Meg turns to me with a deep breath.
“I’m on dove duty. Which means you’re also on dove duty.”
I’m grinning again. “Dove duty?”
“These doves are to be released as the bride and groom step through these doors, right when the sun hits the horizon.” She recites the words as if she’s said them a hundred times, and then looks at me with the hint of a smile forming on her lips.
“Wow, that’s… specific.”
“It’s very ‘Nadine Ainsworth’, is what it is.”
“Why did they have to have you do this, and not some staff member? It seems weird to have a bridesmaid on dove duty.”
“Dove duty is no laughing matter,” Meg says. “It’s very serious. Not everyone can be trusted with this.”
“Oh no?”
Meg grins. “I volunteered. The other option was to learn a choreographed dance within the next two hours.”
“I’d pay to see that.”
“You should be paying me just to see me in this dress,” she laughs. “I’m trying to be a good sport with all this.”
“You’re doing well,” I chuckle. “I’m not sure I’d have your patience.”
Meg chuckles, and then turns to the doves. “Here. I’ll show you ho
w to open the box. You’ll have to open that side at the same time as I open this one from the top to fly in the right direction.”
I watch Meg launch into explanations, with my eyes sometimes drifting to the height of her hair, and other times drifting to the cinching of her waist. She leans over and I catch a glimpse of her cleavage, which has been pushed and boosted in her corseted dress in a way that makes my cock throb.
I take a step closer to her and brush my fingers across her chest. She stops talking, closing her eyes for a second as she leans into my touch.
“You know,” I say in a low voice. “It’s not the worst dress in the world. I wouldn’t mind bending you over and—”
“Meggy! There you are! Are you all set for the dove release?” Meg’s mother hurries towards us. Her own hair masterpiece is a perfect replica of Meg’s. Meg takes a step away from me. She nods, and her hair nods with her.
“All set.”
“Good. Come with me, you two, we have guests to greet.”
20
Meghan
Apart from the bodice of my dress being incredibly itchy, the ceremony is almost pleasant. My sister opted to have the ceremony at the club with an officiant, with the reception then being held in the gardens.
When I walk down the aisle with the other bridesmaids, I catch Andrew’s eye. He’s grinning, as usual. His gaze flicks to the aisle behind us, and when we reach the end, I see what he was motioning to. Our skirts are so big that they rubbed almost all the flower petals off the bouquets that lined the aisle, leaving a trail of petals and destruction in our wake.
Andrew sees me looking at the carnage, and that cheeky grin of his reappears. I stifle a laugh, forcing myself to avoid his gaze until the urge to laugh subsides. Every time I look at the destroyed bouquets of flowers down the aisle, my cheeks start to tremble. I glance at Andrew once more even though I know I shouldn’t.
I dissolve into a fit of laughter that I manage to cover up with an awkward cough. An usher rushes over with a glass of water and I manage to regain my composure right before Nadine walks down the aisle. The ceremony is short but remarkably romantic. I’m a little ashamed to say that I’m surprised. I’d expected something much more over-the-top.
After the ceremony are the pictures, and the other guests head out to the gardens for a cocktail hour. By the time the pictures are done, it’s nearly time for Andrew and me to release the doves.
I walk quickly towards the gardens to find him. My eyes dart from one side to the other as my mother’s words ring in my ears. ‘Don’t fuck it up,’ she hissed to me right before I set off towards the doves.
Great.
No pressure.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my massive skirt and scan the reception area for Andrew. He spots me before I see him—how could he not? I’m like a big pink traffic cone. The crowd parts around him as he makes his way towards me. A couple people snap pictures of him as he walks by, and I remember that he’s an NFL star. To me, he’s just Andrew.
“Here,” he says, handing me a plate. “Thought you might need some sustenance.”
“Banana bread!” I laugh. “Where did you find this?”
“There’s piles of it on the table over there,” he grins. “I’ve never seen that at a wedding before. It must run in the family.”
“Maybe it does,” I laugh, taking a bite. I shake my head. “Not as good as yours.”
“Obviously. So is it dove duty time?”
I shove the rest of the banana bread in my mouth and put the plate down on a waiter’s tray. I nod solemnly to Andrew, pointing at the big dove box. I swallow and take a deep breath. “It’s dove duty time.”
“Our big moment.”
I laugh. “Hopefully not too big. I’m imagining doves attacking guests and descending on the snack table.”
“Sort of like you descending on a banana bread table.”
“Watch it, mister,” I say, arching an eyebrow. Andrew grins.
“I’m sorry, I can’t take you seriously when you look like this. You look like you’re a performer at Disney World.”
“I am the official Senior Dove Releaser of this very classy and sophisticated affair,” I say, smoothing the pink taffeta fabric down and patting my hair. It’s nearly solid from all the hairspray in it. I look at my hands and see bits of pink glitter all over them. “I would ask you to please respect that, Mr. Davis.”
“My apologies,” he grins, bowing. Behind him, my mother appears in the doorway and nods to me.
“It’s time,” I say, positioning myself on one side of the box. “Get ready. I’ll take the top, you do the side. Remember, we release it at the same time. I’ll give you a signal.”
Andrew nods, jumping to action. He heads to the opposite side of the box. I can hear the doves cooing and fluttering inside, as if they can sense that they’re about to be released. My hands drift over the smooth grain of the wood and find the little metal latch that will set them free. I look at it to make sure I know how to open it. The hinge is quite rusty, but the latch mechanism itself looks okay. If Andrew and I successfully unlatch both sides at the same time, the flock of doves should be directed upwards and across the sky.
If he opens his side before me, the front of the box will open first, and the doves will fly too close to the ground. That, my mother stressed to me multiple times, would be a very, very bad situation.
Music starts to blare, and I recognize the opening notes of ‘Stop’ by the Spice Girls.
Andrew frowns. “That’s an odd choice for a wedding song,” he says. I just shake my head.
“My sister and her friends have had choreography for this song done for almost thirty years. She always wanted to do it at her wedding.”
Andrews eyebrows shoot up and he nods.
“Like I said,” I grin. “Classy and sophisticated affair.”
“These pink doves are as classy and sophisticated as your dress.”
I laugh, nodding. “Okay, get ready.”
The bridesmaids explode out of the clubhouse door in a flurry of arms and legs and pink taffeta. The Spice Girls are blaring over the speakers, and soon I’m transfixed. I might even be impressed. The song may be old, and the choreography a little elementary, but I can tell they’ve been practicing. The crowd is on board, laughing and clapping along with the performance.
It’s actually pretty good, and I find myself smiling and nodding along to the music.
Giselle and another bridesmaid produce massive pink feather fans and hold them up to hide my sister and her husband’s big entrance. They shake the feathers as their dance number comes to its big finale. I glance at Andrew, who nods. He’s ready.
Looking back at the dance troupe, I hold my breath. This is my moment. My fingers brush over the little metal latch as my heart thunders in my chest. Just a few more seconds until the big reveal. As soon as the pink feather fans drop to reveal the newlyweds, Andrew and I have to release the doves.
The suspense mounts as all eyes are glued to the dance number. Finally, Giselle gives me the tiniest of nods. She drops the feather fan and my sister is revealed. I nod to Andrew, who opens his side of the dove box in one smooth motion.
I do the same… except the box doesn’t open. There’s a latch in my hands, but the lid of the box is definitely still on. As if in slow motion, I realize with horror that the latch is rusted shut, with the end of it coming apart in my hand. My eyes swing from the rusty, broken latch in my hands, to the rusty piece on the box, and finally I meet Andrew’s eye from the other side of the box.
In a rustle of feathers as screeches, hundreds of pink doves are released from the side of the container, heading straight for the mass of pink taffeta in the middle of the dance floor.
“No, no, no, no, no!” I say, trying to pry the box open with my fingernails. Andrew rushes to my side, and we manage to crack the wood and open the box after a few, precious seconds. The roof falls away as the last dove flutters towards the sky.
It’s too late.
<
br /> The doves have been released straight into the guests and bridal party. Pink dove feathers are mixing with pink taffeta in a mess of screams and flapping and flailing—both on the part of the doves and the bridesmaids.
I watch in horror as one dove makes a straight line for my sister’s massive bouffant hairdo. It latches onto the top, perching itself on my sister’s head like a throne. Then, in its crowning moment of glory, the dove lifts its tail and drops a big, wet, poo right on my sister’s head.
The scream that Nadine releases in inhuman. I cringe, expecting all the windows and glassware in a ten-mile radius to start shattering. Startling the birds, her screech coincides with the arrival of the five-tiered wedding cake on a massive tray, carried by four waiters. The birds flutter and then descend on the cake with surprising ferocity.
“Oh, fuck,” Andrew whispers. I’d nearly forgotten he was there. I’ve watched the chaos unfold with a numb detachment, and now the horror of the situation is starting to hit.
The horror does finally hit home when the flock of doves attacks the cake-bearers, and the massive cake goes toppling to the ground. It’s immediately covered with pink, screeching doves. The four waiters run off in opposite directions, waving their arms above their heads to try to protect themselves from the sharp beaks and claws that attack from the skies.
Nadine’s hair is dripping with bird shit. A trickle of it makes it to her forehead, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, staring straight at me. She lifts a trembling finger, pointing it at the center of my chest.
“You,” she screams. Her anger is all-consuming. I’ve never seen her like this. She takes a step towards me, and it’s all the urging I need. I grab Andrew’s hand and drag him towards the clubhouse.
“We need to go.”
Engaged to Mr. Perfect: An Accidental Marriage Romance (Mr. Right Series Book 3) Page 9