“I’m not complaining,” he said. “If you’re always the bridesmaid and never the bride, you might as well live that up.”
It took everything in me not to jab him with my pointy gel nails. It would have been worth losing one of them. I don’t care that he was kind of right.
Anyway, once we were up at the altar, everything went smoothly. The vows, as dorky as they were, were touching, and everyone hollered and cheered when Richard went to kiss the bride.
I might have even shed a tear.
“Daisy,” the wedding photographer, Mara, says to me. “We need you.”
I’m currently sitting on a piece of driftwood on the beach, drinking a glass of rose champagne, feeling a buzz and gathering my thoughts. Down by the water, Mara was shooting endless pictures of Richard and Lacey, though I knew I’d be called in for some shots soon, so I didn’t stray too far.
“We need the best man too,” Mara says, scanning the guests who have filled the beach and the Wakefield’s yard, standing around in their evening best and drinking.
And there is Tai, talking to one of his friends, oblivious.
“I’ll go get him,” I tell her, and head across the beach.
When I get to Tai, both he and his friend—I think his name is Cam—stop talking and look me over. Tai’s expression doesn’t change and he manages to keep his eyes off my chest, staring at a point just past me, while Cam full-on ogles.
Lord, I hope I don’t look like that when I’m looking at Tai.
“So this must be the babe,” Cam says, elbowing Tai in the side.
Tai grunts, avoids my eyes.
“Babe?” I repeat.
“Don’t think I haven’t been asking about you,” Cam goes on, clearly drunk. “I said, oy, mate, who is the American ranga? Introduce me to her. And you know what? This fucker wouldn’t do it.”
“What’s a ranga?”
“It means redhead here,” Tai says warily. “Though I prefer Gingersnap.”
“And so the real question on all our minds,” Cam says, leering at me, “is…”
Oh boy.
Here it comes.
“…does the carpet match the drapes?”
I roll my eyes just as Tai winds up and smacks Cam across the back of his head, so hard that Cam’s drink flies out of his hands, narrowly missing me.
“Get some fucking manners, you cockweasel,” Tai roars at him.
“For fuck’s sake, Tai,” Cam says, holding the back of his head. “I’m not a punching bag.”
“You are when you start talking like a prick. Now fuck off and think about what you’ve done.”
Cam stares at him, bewildered, as Tai makes the motion for Cam to run along.
To my surprise, Cam does so, with his tail between his legs.
Then Tai makes a huffing sound and starts marching off toward the beach.
As usual, I run after him.
“You didn’t have to hit him so hard,” I tell him. “I can handle myself. I’m used to it.”
“I didn’t hit him that hard,” he says, glancing at me quickly. “Believe me, I was holding back. And that’s pretty fucking sad that you’re used to that.”
“It’s just a stupid question,” I tell him. I’m playing it off like it’s no big deal, when actually the question always made my skin crawl. It’s pretty disgusting, if I’m being honest with myself.
And if I’m being honest with myself, there was something very thrilling in a primal way to see Tai react like that. It was like he was in full-on protective caveman mode, and I didn’t mind one bit.
Tai growls in disapproval. “Well then, perhaps I should have introduced the two of you when he asked.”
Hmmm. I see. Back to acting like he doesn’t give a shit. Or maybe the protective part was the acting.
“No, thank you,” I tell him.
“How are you holding up, anyway?”
“How am I holding up? Why? I’m fine.”
He shrugs but there’s more to it.
“There you are,” Mara says as she walks over to us. “I thought maybe I would take a couple of pics of the two of you together before we do the entire wedding party. You’re such an attractive couple.”
Both Tai and I laugh in unison.
Awkward.
She gets us to stand where we are and link our arms together, posing with the reception in the background, our drinks raised. We do a few of these types of photos before she calls over the bride and groom and the rest of the wedding party.
Tai and I unlink arms and I turn to him. We’re still in such close proximity that I’m practically right up against him and he’s not moving back. He’s built like a cedar, roots in deep.
I glance up at him, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face. “What did you mean, how am I holding up?”
A dark brow raises. “Does it matter? You said you were fine.” His voice is low, in a murmur, and we’re so close I can smell his breath. Whisky and mint.
“And why wouldn’t I be fine?”
“You’re awfully defensive, Gingersnap,” he says, eyeing me for a moment before looking away.
“Don’t call me that. And I’m not defensive.”
His lips twitch. “I just know you’ve been having a go lately, with your ex-boyfriend and all. Thought maybe you weren’t handling the wedding very well. The celebration of love, everyone coupled up, etcetera, etcetera.”
Don’t act defensive, don’t act defensive.
I have to repeat this in my head because the first thing I want to do is lash out.
I paste a smile on my face and look at him calmly. “Who said I don’t love being single? After all, I’m the one who broke up with him. And you’re single too, aren’t you? How come weddings are only supposed to be hell for single girls and not for single guys?”
Something dark comes over his gaze, and for a moment there I’m afraid that he actually isn’t single. I mean, he could totally have a girlfriend…one that’s away and couldn’t be here.
“You have a fair point,” he says after a moment.
Then he walks off toward Richard and Lacey.
Meanwhile, I try to brush off what he said, but I can’t.
I need a drink.
For the second time in a handful of days, I’ve woken up massively hungover.
Thankfully, it’s not as bad as the other time.
Least I don’t think.
Let’s see.
I slowly sit up in bed—Tai’s bed—and try to assess the damage.
My head aches.
My mouth tastes sour.
There’s a mysterious bruise on my arm.
I’m wearing my nightshirt backwards.
The light coming in through the windows tells me I’ve slept in, which I must have needed.
I close my eyes, and try to remember the last thing that happened. I don’t even think I remember going to bed.
Oh.
Oh wait.
There’s a fragment of a memory, grainy, like an old photograph.
Someone carried me up the stairs.
And gently placed me in bed.
I remember the gentle part the most, just the feeling of it, because it reminded me of my father when he’d pick me up from when I fell asleep in the car and take me to my bedroom. I was always in a half-awake, half-asleep state. Comforted and cradled.