Right on cue, the DJ appeared at the microphone. “And now, as you folks sit back and enjoy your coffee and tea, the maid of honor is going to step up here and say a few words.”
Lindsay leaned forward, staring at Curtis from her position four seats down at the head table. Her expression read as plainly as bold lettering on a glowing billboard. Sara better not say something stupid.
He bloody hoped the same thing. But as Sara smiled and pushed her chair back, an unwelcome, fist-sized knot formed in his stomach. He barely knew her, but he knew better than to assume anything where Sara was concerned.
With the lopsided wedding party of two bridesmaids and one groomsman, the DJ had set up the mic in the empty space to Curtis’ left. At least Sara would be within arm’s reach if she went off the rails. Man, he hated thinking that way. His gut told him she wasn’t a bad person. Didn’t mean she always made good choices though. He knew that firsthand.
She met his gaze the moment she stood. Held it—held him, in utter fucking thrall—while moving toward the microphone stand. The click of her heels on the banquet hall floor echoed in his head despite the hum of a couple hundred voices and the clatter of their rapidly disappearing dessert dishes.
Heat rippled through him as she entered his orbit. And when she trailed her nails along the short span of neck above his shirt collar, electricity shot straight to his cock, bringing it swiftly to attention. On the rails or off, it didn’t matter. He definitely “had a thing” for this woman.
“Go get ’em, princess,” he said, loud enough for her ears only.
No reply, just a light squeeze to his shoulder. She exited his personal space and stepped to the mic. Shoulders back, chin up, she appraised the crowd. Glanced to the right and smiled at Nia and Conn. Then back to the sea of faces she returned.
Sara
So many faces were trained on her. Some innocently and excitedly waiting to hear her toast the newlyweds. The majority probably waiting to see if she’d live up to her reputation as the family troublemaker.
Being the center of attention came easily to Sara. She’d had almost two decades’ worth of practice, starting Christmas Day when she was ten years old. Back then everybody wanted to hear what the little girl who’d just lost her parents had to say. The house fire had earned her the rapt attention of the entire town. Attention she didn’t want, but wound up craving in time, as she discovered its ability to patch her fractured soul. Like so many cravings, it had become an addiction. And in turn, like so many addictions, it had become her undoing.
Not tonight though. Anybody in this banquet hall who thought the fireworks were about to start could fuck right off. For the next few minutes she’d be the center of attention, but only to bounce it where it belonged—on her sister.
“Think back as far as you can,” she began, “to your first childhood memory. Not those vague and fuzzy ones that might be memories or might be dreams, but the first clear, hard thing you remember.” She gave them time, then continued. “There’s a theory that when a strong negative emotion such as fear is attached to an early memory, it’s more readily recalled later in life.”
A true hush fell over the large banquet hall. Heavy silence.
“That’s why so many of you are probably remembering your first trip to the dentist right now.” The mood lifted, the joke earning a round of chuckles. More still when she pointed at a table about halfway back and added, “Sorry, Uncle Howie. I’m sure none of those memories came from sitting in your chair.”
While the room enjoyed a laugh courtesy of good-natured Uncle Howie, currently standing and taking a bow, she stole a look to her right. Curtis’ eyes locked with hers immediately. Amazing eyes, so twinkly and naughty and wise all at once. A perfect match for his mouth, currently wearing a wide, relaxed smile. She’d put that grin on his face. And that knowledge put one on hers.
“Uncle Howie,” she addressed the room again, “you’ll be happy to note that my first big childhood memory has nothing to do with your excellent and gentle dentistry.”
“Glad to hear it, Sara,” her kindly uncle called amidst some light applause.
“I’ve spent a lot of time digging through my early memories.” The room grew silent again. She turned her head, this time focusing on Nia. “The first really solid event I remember is Nia and I, standing hand in hand on the first day of grade one. I was so nervous, I’d given myself the hiccups.” She took a moment to look at her captive audience. “I don’t know how many of you have ever heard me hiccup, but it’s loud. Imagine one of those horns that clowns use in parades and you won’t be far off the mark.”
“It’s not that bad,” Nia called from her spot at the head table.
“Dude, it’s totally that bad and you know it.”
“Well…maybe it is.” Nia shrugged and nodded, and more light laughter rose from the crowd.
“So on that day, the hiccupping got pretty awful. And as the kids around us laughed, I got more nervous, which made the honking even worse.” She gave up the view of all the engrossed faces to look at Nia again. “Nia grabbed me by the shoulders, stared me straight in the eye and serious as anything, said, ‘I will give you my Royal Pink Princess Pony if you can hiccup again right now.’” She tilted her head toward the crowd. “If you’re not familiar with the intense devotion little girls have to My Little Pony, let me put it this way—Nia’s bribe was basically the equivalent of a million dollars to my six-year-old self. I wanted that princess pony more than anything, and she knew it.”
“Did you hiccup again?” somebody called from one of the tables.
“Nope. I couldn’t do it. Not a single time, for the rest of the day. At six years old, nobody knew me better than Nia. Twenty-three years later, that’s still the case. We weren’t officially sisters back then, but in my heart, we always have been. And I am the luckiest person on earth, having Nia as my sister. As my best friend.” She crossed her heart and blew a kiss to the bride. “I am so happy you got the fairytale. You deserve all the good things.”
Ten feet to the right, Nia returned the gesture from their childhood.
From three feet to the right, Curtis leaned over and handed Sara a table napkin.
She accepted but didn’t use it. If a tear managed to break free and roll down her cheek, so be it. For this moment, for her sister, she wouldn’t push the emotions back into their safe box.
“As for you…” She wagged her index finger at the groom. “I have a few things to say to you.”
The guests chuckled when Conn innocently pointed at himself. “What’d I do?”
“Everything. See, Nia and I have disagreed about that fairytale business for a lot of years now. I kept telling her that real-life guys don’t do movie-style romantic stuff. Then you swooped in and pulled out all the stops to woo and win my sister. And you’re still doing this stuff, even after you got the girl. You proved me wrong, and I hate being wrong, but this time, I’m so glad I was.” She raised her wineglass. “To the beautiful bride and my awesome new brother-in-law.”
Hands rose en masse to join her in toasting Conn and Nia. Not the most eloquent speech in history, but it seemed to have done the trick.