How to Ruin a Wedding(11)
A kinship has blossomed between us now that we’ve spilled our lives. I feel oddly close to Anders and, more oddly, somewhat protective too.
He doesn’t pull away, so eventually, I do.
His cheeks have reddened, and he averts his gaze from mine. I find something about it so endearing that I reach over and slap my hand on his shoulder.
“Okay,” I say, cheerfully, “we took the first step. Pity. We got it all out. Now let’s—”
“Party?”
I hop off the stool and link my arm through his, my smile wide. “Until we can’t see, think, or walk straight.”
3.
It’s been so long since I’ve been hungover, my first thought when I wake is I’m dying. This wonderful thought continues as I rip the sheets off my body, dash to the bathroom, and hurl into the cool toilet.
By the fourth time, I’m sure I’ve thrown up something important. Some vital organ has to be missing at this point. Holding my breath, I flush, then lie on the floor. Yes. It’s the only thing that slows the salsa-dancing walls. I could stay like this forever, on the cold tile.
There’s this nagging in my skull, like I’m forgetting important things.
Goddamn it, what exactly happened last night? I look down, and I’m in a giant white button-up that is absolutely not mine, my bare legs spotted with bruises.
I can’t remember anything.
My stomach somersaults violently.
Far, far in the distance, the echo of my phone ringing reaches me. I groan, my nose pressing so hard against the floor I can smell the lingering bleach. There’s a desperate need in me to remain horizontal, but I force myself to crawl out and make it to bed.
I should be grateful I’m even alive at this point. I should have been extra careful knowing where I was, what I’m here for.
My eyes shut as I make a snow angel in the thousand-thread-count sheets, feeling around for my phone.
I find it, bring it to my face. Missed call from Taina. No big deal. My fingers scroll to the other missed calls: an unsaved number. That one logged over a dozen missed calls.
The time reads 2:00 p.m., and suddenly, sense rushes into me.
Two fucking p.m., as in, half an hour till Eliza’s wedding.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
God fucking damn it.
I try to hop off the bed, but my legs tangle in the sheets, and I face-plant on the floor with a smack. But adrenaline is pumping through me now, and like a guided missile, I’m in the shower scrubbing every ounce of alcohol from me. In fifteen minutes, I’m clean, teeth brushed, and basic mascara and blush on.
Damn it, I can’t find my contacts or my backup glasses. My eyesight isn’t too horrendous, but I can’t make out faces unless they’re directly across from me, and lights become long stripes that ruin my field of vision.
But I can’t take another minute to look for them, mainly because without them, I can’t see well enough to find them. I must have been well and truly drunk because I usually leave them right beside me.
My hands frantically search through my duffel, and I pluck out a blond wig and shove it over my head. I don’t have time to secure it with pins and clips as I normally do, so I pull it down as much as I can, then dig within my bag until I feel a thin wire, and I excitedly pull up the item.
They aren’t my prescription glasses, but these are oversized round ones that make my eyes look cartoonish. I put them on and try to think. The plan failed, but I’m resourceful.
Resourceful enough to stop a wedding from happening in less than an hour? Remains to be seen.
I yank on a tiny blue dress I stole from Taina and grab my heels before dashing out the door. What the hell is wrong with me? How could I have drunk so much that the entire night is just a dark blur? This is my only source of income, for God’s sake. I let my personal business get in the way of this job, let my misery from the eviction drive me to drink, to make my pity party a priority.
Something about the words pity party scratches at my skull, but I have to keep it moving.
All right, it’s time for a wedding-wrecking Hail Mary. I’ll create mass chaos and confusion and claim I’m a mistress. I’ve only had to do this once, and it was the first wedding I ruined, and it ended with me thrown over the priest’s shoulder as I was dragged away, but at least it worked. A last resort. Something that can be disproved but disruptive enough to delay the wedding. Hopefully, it will be long enough to gain more time and really find proof of infidelity.
When I get on the elevator, I put on my heels and recall the hotel layout from memory. At least I wasn’t an idiot every day of my life; I’d already studied the hotel map, the venue attached to the back, and the gardens beyond.
God, if everything works out, I promise never to drink again. I know I said that after Taina’s wedding, and after my first divorce, and that time I bought a $20,000-winning scratch ticket and lost it while buying myself a celebratory layer cake at the grocery store, but I really mean it this time.
I make it to the first floor, and repeat the mantra while mad dashing through the lobby. It’s not a confusing layout; this place is just so damn big I’m out of breath by the time I make it to the hallway with the reception rooms.
Of course, it’s massive here too. I crane my neck up to see the stretch of ceiling, this one painted like the sky scattered with clouds, heavenly. My vision starts to tilt, and I shake it off. I should have drunk some water before leaving, but the wedding will be starting—