Not that I blame them. The cake is coated in frosting that I want to slather on her and lick off inch by inch.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, emphasizing the slender column of her neck. I want to bite the tender flesh just to hear her whimper again.
“I’m sorry I was rude earlier.” She smiles. “Thank you for being kind, but I’m used to my family. It’s what we do, and it’s not that bad. They love me, and I love them.” She pats my upper arm and drops her hand back to her side. “Thank you again. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Daisy!” Her mom yells from across the room. “Julia needs you to hold her skirt as she passes out the cake.”
And just like that, she’s gone, and the itchiness returns. I should go because I only know a handful of people, and she’s dismissed me. I shove my hands into the pockets of my dress pants. But I’m not going anywhere.
Chapter Three
Daisy
Two Hours Later
“Can you grab my shoes?” Julia points at the patent leather flat-heeled shoes with imitation pearls on them. They’re a foot away from her chair.
“Sure.” I hang her veil on the hook beside her dress and walk across the tile floor to retrieve her shoes. Each step feels like shards of glass are being jammed into my feet. Unlike Julia, I didn’t think to bring another pair of shoes besides the tennis shoes I wore when I came to the church twelve hours ago. I’ll be lucky if my blisters don’t get blisters.
I snatch the closed-toe flats off the floor and hand them to her.
Without looking in my direction, she slips them on her feet. “These are darling, aren’t they?” She lifts one leg into the air and waves her foot in a circle for us to see.
“Yes, they’re beautiful,” Heather says as she tugs a skintight mini dress over her head.
“Thank you.” My sister beams at us and drops her foot to the ground.
A thank you for hanging your dress and your veil and retrieving your shoes would be nice. But I won’t get it. At this point, it wouldn’t even enter her mind to say anything. Who’s going to grab her underwear at her new house? Wyatt?
I giggle, and heat floods my face. “Sorry.” I sober and grab a bottle of hair spray. I shouldn’t have had that last Blue Hawaiian or listened to Alexander’s pep talk. I’ve become so used to following Julia around. It’s a habit.
“I can’t believe you’re married.” Heather stuffs her boobs into the top of her dress and shoves them around until everything but her nipples are peeking out the top. The woman is the epitome of vain.
“Me, either. It’s so amazing. The presents, the honeymoon, the new house, it’s all too much.”
“Ri-i-ight.” Bridgette laughs and piles her hair high on her head. The slender lines of her neck look even longer with her hair up. “Like you’re going to take any of it back.”
“Well.” Julia’s eyes twinkle. “I will take everything back that’s cheap or gaudy and get the money. I’m not putting one thing in our new house that’s not worthy of our neighborhood.” She braces her hands on the arms of the chair and propels upward. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
Does she even love Wyatt? Or was this all about the presents and the attention? If I ever get married, I don’t care if we have a big wedding. The only thing I care about is that the man is head over heels in love with me. I want to be swept off my feet and worshipped for eternity.
My shoulders sag. And that’s why I’ll never get married. No guy will look at me the way their eyes follow my sister. Or any of the girls, for that matter.
“Daisy, stand up straight. Your back is going to curve,” Julia says. “You know mom hates it when you do that, and it’s bad for your posture.”
“And no guy will want to screw The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” Heather laughs until tears fill her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” She is such a cunt. I stiffen my back and throw back my shoulders. I need another drink. "If you don’t need me, I’ll walk back to the reception hall.”
My sister scans the room. “Oh, before you go, can you grab my handbag?”
“Of course.” And toss it into a city street and watch you dodge traffic as you chase after it.
What is wrong with me? She’s not being rude. She’s just doing what she’s always done. It wouldn’t enter her mind that I’m offended by having to follow her around.
***
The second I’m out of the dressing room, I speed walk across the street to the reception hall and make a beeline to the bar. The bartender slings a towel over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”