Corey merely shrugs, tapping his foot with impatience. I don’t really care because at this point, we’re better off not talking. Sure, it would be nice to have someone to chat with, but sometimes silence is better than a confrontation, and I don’t want that to happen here. Taking a long swig of champagne, I ignore the way he’s impatiently bouncing his leg while jutting his lower lip out.
Meanwhile, I try to picture one of the penthouse suites upstairs. Gold curtain swags fill my imagination, along with an enormous bathtub with spray jets, and the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. My family isn’t poor, but we certainly don’t have the money to stay at a place like this, and between my salary at the Frosty Freeze ice cream parlor and Corey recently being fired from his position as a waiter, we definitely won’t be checking in anytime soon.
“Here comes the bride!” I hear someone exclaim. “Oooh!” A hush descends over the crowd, and for good reason too because my friend Zora looks almost magical as she floats down the hallway towards us. Her black hair is as dark as night, intricately pinned, and that gown--wow.
I wish I looked like my friend because Zora’s slim, toned figure looks model-perfect in a mermaid-style gown with a long v-shaped train. With my generous curves, I’d just look like a sausage stuffed in a too-tight casing, with rolls of flesh hanging out over the strapless bodice. Ugh, gross.
Meanwhile, her new husband raises a hand in apology as they approach.
“Sorry we’re late, everybody,” Tim says cheerfully. “We hit some traffic, but now it’s time to eat! Is everyone ready?” The crowd nods, and right on time, the ushers open the ballroom doors, revealing a cavernous dining space, also done up with no expense spared. The Greek revival columns are wrapped in colorful festoons, and each table is laid with twelve sparkling place settings, in addition to decanters of wine, water, and an amber liquid I can’t identify.
We retrieve our table numbers and then wander around, looking for our seats. Finally, we come upon table 38.
“What the fuck?” my boyfriend asks under his breath, eyeing the location with disgust. I know what he’s thinking. We’re right next to the kitchen doors, which is slightly annoying because waiters are coming and going constantly. Each swing of the door splashes us with light as well as the heat and clamor from the kitchen. But honestly, it’s fine. Someone has to sit here, and I don’t mind that it’s me.
“Do they really need a candle on every table?” my boyfriend pouts.
I force another smile to my face and take a deep, calming breath, noticing how a couple already at the table has stopped talking to listen to Corey’s dissatisfied complaints. “It’s just a decoration. Don’t you think they’re pretty?”
“No, and the smell is giving me a headache.”
“I don’t think they’re scented, honey,” I reply, my voice pointed, hoping to communicate that now is not the time for this. “All I smell is the delicious food from the kitchen.”
“Which we’re way too close to,” he retorts, his blue eyes practically shootings sparks of frustration and rage.
“Well, everyone has to sit somewhere, right?” I ask reasonably. Then again, logic never works with Corey, and I don’t know why I try anymore. I should have learned by now, but nothing can calm my boyfriend when he’s in a snit like this.
At least he looks good in his suit, I sigh as my eyes roam over his handsome form. His trips to the gym have doubled ever since he got fired, so at least he’s got the physique of an athlete. His chestnut hair is thick and full, and the young man’s got a strong jaw that makes women swoon.
My eyes trace over those mobile lips. God, Corey’s so hot when he’s not talking. Is that why I’ve stayed with him this long? Am I that shallow? There’s no way I’m that girl. Well, at least I don’t think so. We used to have something when we first got together, and I’m still clinging to hope that we’ll find it again.
With an aggrieved sigh, Corey flops down in his chair and I take a seat next to him.
“Hi,” our dining mate introduces himself. He’s a middle aged man with a paunch and thinning hair, but he looks friendly enough. “I’m Miles and this is my wife, Leanne. How do you know Zora and Tim?”
Corey launches into a long speech about how he doesn’t know them, and how he’s just my plus one. I don’t even try to interrupt because at least his attention is directed away from me. Instead, I try to enjoy the party. Again, the ballroom is a veritable bower of flowers, and the light is romantically dim. I’ll just pretend I’m floating around in a magical wonderland as my boyfriend whines.