I shook my head. “No way. I’d never go for someone like him. Even if Grey and I weren’t ….” I trailed off, my words hanging suspended in the air. I realized I didn’t know how to finish my sentence. I didn’t know what Grey and I were anymore. I sighed and blew out my smoke. “Anyway, I’d never go for someone like him.”
“Yeah.” Charlie nodded. “Once you go bad, you can never go back.”
“Something like that.” I stamped my cigarette out on the table and then dug through my purse until I found what I was looking for. What I needed desperately. I brought the scoop to my nose and did some cocaine, super quickly—I was such a pro now that it barely took any effort.
“Are you sure you should be doing that now, Mac?” Charlie wondered sceptically.
“Yes.” I snorted deeply. “Want some?”
She shrugged and took the coke from my hand.
By the time we headed back into the party, it was time for us to eat. I took my place next to Whitney since we had to sit in wedding party order, and Charlie found a place at a table not far from mine. I felt pretty good, better now, I had a nice combo of wine and blow going for me. I actually smiled and talked a bit to the people around me.
The food was delicious; I took my time with a beautiful filet mignon done to a medium-rare perfection. It was the most I’d eaten in a long, long time. I finished it up with a large glass of wine, but no one seemed to care that I was underage.
Whitney and Marie were sizing up the groomsmen, trying to decide which one they’d be paired with at the wedding. I leaned forward curiously to look, I hadn’t even thought about that awkwardness yet.
“Maybe I’ll get Colin.” Whitney whispered. “I hear he’s going to be a surgeon.”
“I think you will. I think Derek is my partner, the married one.” Marie frowned.
“Who’s mine?” I interrupted.
“Oh, um,” Whitney glanced over. The other bridesmaids were still kind of awkward around me since the whole dress-day fiasco. “Oh, right. You’re with Greg’s brother, Craig.”
“Greg’s brother’s name is Craig?” I giggled.
“Yeah. Why?”
“They rhyme. Like, Julia Gulia.” I laughed. “Don’t you find that funny?”
They just stared at me. I began to wonder if I was drunker than I thought. I cleared my throat. “So, which one is he?”
“That one, there. Next to Greg.” Whitney pointed for me. “He’s a stunner, huh? A total catch, he’s in finance. Totally loaded.”
Of course he was. I looked with disdain at Craig—A.K.A Smitten—Greg the dick’s brother. I should’ve known he was related to Greg. His superior countenance should’ve given that away immediately.
“Great.” I stated sourly.
“I’d trade with you in a heartbeat.” Marie decided.
“Yeah, I’d take a piece.” Whitney agreed. They giggled like girls at a school dance. I rolled my eyes at them. They could have him, as far as I was concerned.
The night drew on. There were a few speeches, but nothing overly dire. I left my table as soon as dinner was officially over so I could join Charlie back at the bar. She was going to stay the night with me at the hotel, but had to depart early the next morning to get back for work.
I tried to think of a good excuse for us to leave the shindig so we could go and actually party. The crowd was thinning out, and we probably could’ve gotten away with it, but then Greg cornered me.
“Hey there, little sister.” He joined us at the bar, leaning heavily on the counter.
“Oh, hey, Greg.” I forced a smile. He seemed pretty drunk, his eyes were bleary and a ridiculous smirk curved his lips. “This is my friend, Charlie.” I introduced.
“Hey, Charlie, I’m getting married tomorrow.” He announced.
“That you are.” She lifted her glass to him.
“Woooh.” He cheered, raising a limp hand upright in celebration.
“Woah. Don’t over do it now.” I smiled wryly. Charlie laughed behind me.
“Say, Mackenzie, have you met … my brother?” Greg was looking past me and beckoning him over. “He’s in finance, you know.”
“So I hear.” I glanced over my shoulder as Smitten made his way towards us, swaggering in his finely tailored suit. I sighed.
“Craig, this is the beautiful Mackenzie. Marcy’s little sister. Soon to be my little sister.” Greg grinned. He actually pinched one of my cheeks. I slapped his hand away.
“Mackenzie.” Craig held out his hand. I nodded and shook it.
“Craig. This is my friend Charlie.” He shook her hand as well, but his eyes never left me. I tried to avoid them.
“Now, Mackenzie,” Greg leaned in, like he was about to tell me a very important secret. “You be nice to young Craig, you see, because he’s absolutely perfect for you.”
“Is he?”
“Oh yes.” Greg nodded.
I flipped my hair behind my shoulder. Even if Grey and I weren’t together anymore, he would serve as the perfect excuse, for the moment. “Well, I already have a boyfriend, and I happen to think that he’s perfect for me.”
To my astonishment, the brothers laughed, like I had just told them a hilarious joke or something. I crossed my arms and glared at them.
“Right, right. The rock star, right? Motorbike, the whole shebang.” Greg chortled. “He sounds like a real winner.”
“If he actually even exists.” Craig grinned.
“Oh, he exists.”
“So, where is he then?” Craig held up his hands, looking around the room.
“He’s in the studio, actually, with the band. They’ve got a record deal, and right now they’re recording their album.” I bragged.
“Oh, wow, an album, he’s practically famous.” Greg mocked. This made the two morons laugh harder, and they leaned against each other with mirth. I shook my head and began to gather my things from the bar. I was not in the mood for this bullshit.
“Come on, Mackenzie.” Craig grasped my arm. “Think about it. He’s obviously not that smart. If you were my girl, I’d lock you up; at least, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. You guys can’t be that serious.”
Wow. I really didn’t need this. I could do without a play by play of my exact thoughts and fears, especially coming from this dickhead. I pulled my arm from his grasp.
“You don’t know anything.” Angrily I stepped down from the stool.
“Uh oh, you hit a nerve, brother. I think you’re onto something.” Greg grinned.
“I am, aren’t I Mackenzie?” Craig persisted, smiling smugly. “Come on, are you guys even together?”
“Of course they’re together.” Charlie came to my defence then, her blue eyes flashing smartly at Craig. She put her arm around me. “They’re inseparable.”
“Oh yeah? Well, if they’re so inseparable, where is this guy?”
“I told you. He’s in the studio!” Fuming, I pushed roughly past the two men in their matching expensive cologne and disappeared through the dwindling crowd beyond. I didn’t stop to talk to my mom or my dad or Marcy or anyone. I rushed out of the room and stormed through the exit, not stopping until I was out on the sidewalk. There, I paused to gather myself and wait for Charlie. The cool night air felt good against my heated cheeks, the general city noise helped somewhat to drown out the angry thoughts swirling through my head. The traffic rushed by on the busy street, horns were honking, a car alarm was sounding somewhere in the distance.
“Hey Mac,” I heard Charlie’s heels clipping on the sidewalk as she came to join me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I lit a smoke. “Sorry. I just had to get out of there.”
“I don’t blame you. What a couple of dicks.” She scoffed in disbelief.
I nodded. “Right? I mean … ugh … idiots.” I crossed my arms and wordlessly we started walking down the sidewalk towards the hotel; it was only a few blocks away. I pulled my cell phone from my purse but the screen was blank—no messages, no nothing, just infuriating
ly silent like always. I sighed.
“You know what the worst part is, Charlie?”
“What’s that?
“They’re right. Greg and his brother. About Grey and I.” I looked up at the sky, but I couldn’t see the stars from the bright city lights. “I don’t know what I thought we had, Charlie. But I think, whatever it was, it must be over now.”
Charlie didn’t have anything to say to that. She slung a comforting arm around my shoulders and we walked in silence the rest of the way.
CHAPTER 36
I did my tenth line of the morning, grinning as soon as I felt the sweet burn, and leaned heavily against the bathroom counter. My heart was pounding furiously in my chest, hammering against my ribs—the blood was racing through my veins. I managed a shaky smile, invigorated by the spasms of happiness and pleasure the cocaine gave me. I needed this. There was no way I could act the chipper, ever-helpful bridesmaid all day without a little help.
I sucked in a quivering breath and stared at myself in the mirror a moment. This was actually happening. I was a full-blown ballerina. The hairdresser had done my hair up in a loose French knot, with curly tendrils falling down my shoulders and my back, as if I’d just finished dancing at an intense recital or something. I’m not sure if that’s what she was going for, but that’s what it looked like. There was actually a tiara in my hair, perched upon the crown of my head, glinting in the bathroom lights. My dress was on in all its pink, sequined, crinoline splendour; my shoes resembled real ballet slippers, tied up with pink ribbons and all. I didn’t look bad, the beautician had done a great job on my make-up, giving me catty eyes in dark liner and bright red lips, so I actually looked really good. But still, I was a friggin’ ballerina.
I put the drugs back in my pink bejewelled clutch—a bridesmaid’s gift from Marcy, who had given each of us one—and snapped it shut. My eyes were still a little red and puffy from the previous night, it had been hard to stop the tears of despair once they’d finally forced their way through, once I finally felt the pain I’d tried for weeks to ignore.
I pushed the sadness away with a shake of my head and stepped out of the bathroom, eager to get this day done and over with so I could stop faking cheerfulness and revert back to my depressed state of mind. The cocaine gave me some much-needed energy. I ran around the room in shaky acceleration, taking care of last minute details, helping Whitney with her shoes, fixing Marie’s hair that kept falling from its pins. When the bridesmaids were finally ready, we crossed the hall to Marcy’s suite where she was getting dressed with my mother’s eager, helpful hands. Dad was sitting in the living room area of the suite, dressed in a stiff dark blue suit, his hair neatly combed and gelled. He looked nervous, flicking randomly through the channels on TV. He ignored me.
Marcy was a sight. I stopped in my charged walking and just stared at her a moment, locked in a drug-induced stupor. There was a flush of nervous excitement in her cheeks and her eyes twinkled happily as she looked in the mirror. Her hair was dark and sleek, straightened in a perfect bob; a simple veil was pinned in her hair with tortoiseshell combs. Her dress fit to a tee, accenting her narrow waist and toned arms; a turquoise tear-dropped silver necklace emphasised the neckline of her gown and brought out the perfect evenness of her tan. The wedding dress cascaded around her frame in layers of silky white and sparkling embellishments, pleasing to the eye.
A few emotions flitted through me at that instant—happiness, jealousy, sadness. I stood there, resigned. Never in this lifetime could I ever compete with Marcy. I would always be second, no matter what.
“What do you think, Mac?” She asked me carefully. We hadn’t really spoken since the big fight, and she was still guarded around me—actually they all were, like I could just fly off the handle at any moment.
I smiled quietly, reconciled to the fact. “Marcy … you’re perfect.”
I made it through the ceremony without tripping or fainting or anything else that might ruin a wedding. My bouquet of creamy white peonies shook violently while I made my way up the aisle, unaccustomed to all the eyes on me. The room was packed with people dressed in suits and gowns—at least three-hundred of them filled the wooden pews. The church was gorgeous and old, with stained glass windows and dark, impressively carved wood. Lit candelabras hung from the ceiling, giving the sanctuary a soft glow, a romantic feel. White flowers were everywhere, lining the aisle, overflowing the stage, hanging from the archways.
I avoided Craig’s eyes as I made my way up the aisle, focusing on the Pastor, who smiled at me in a friendly way. I wondered randomly how terrible it was to be lit up in a church.
People may have been looking at me, but it didn’t last for long. The moment Marcy stepped into the flower-strewn aisle, all eyes were on her. Mom was on one side of the blushing bride, looking regal and stately in a dark blue dress suit, her dark hair curled perfectly. Dad was on the other side of Marcy, absolutely beaming in his pride. The pianist was playing Apachabelle’s Canon and the beautiful song floated softly in the air as they walked slowly towards Greg’s love-soft face. I bit my lip and watched the perfect moment, deciding that when it came time for me to get married, it’d be at a chapel in Vegas or something. A rushed, drunken elopement complete with poker chips and cheap beer, followed by a hasty divorce once we finally sobered up.
I could do nothing but stand by and watch while Marcy married Greg the dick. It was a thankfully short ceremony. I couldn’t stand all the love talk, the sickeningly sweet glances that Marcy and Greg were giving each other, the tears in my mother’s eyes as she watched them kiss. When Marcy and Greg were officially man and wife, they ran back down the aisle to the thundering crash of jubilant applause. Stiffly I took Craig’s extended elbow and allowed him to escort me down the steps after them. He smirked cockily at me, chuckling as if he found my abhorrence amusing. I bit my lip to keep from smacking the stupid grin off his handsome face.
All eight of us piled quickly into the stretch limo that waited at the entrance to avoid a receiving line. I had never been in a limo before; I took in the rich leather upholstery beneath the soft glow of pot lights. Craig sat next to me and I pointedly ignored him, talking instead to the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, who were lively and chatty with excitement. The limo crawled slowly through the crowded city streets, the driver honking the horn embarrassingly to announce the cause for celebration as Whitney popped open a bottle of champagne from the stocked bar inside. Marcy and Grey sat together in the back, holding hands and their flutes and kissing and giggling in their newlywed bliss. I chugged back my champagne and hurriedly held out my glass for more.
We drove to some gardens in the middle of the city for an excruciating bout of posed and candid photos. It was a perfect summer day, the sun blazing hot. I felt sorry for the guys in their sweltering tuxes. Well, all the guys but Greg and Craig. I smiled in wicked enjoyment at their discomfort, welcoming the stunted breeze that blew upon my bare legs and helped to cool me off.
There were group shots, bridal party shots, sister shots, bride and groom shots. Near the end we were all sweaty and tired and I was in desperate need of more cocaine. Craig always managed to be irritatingly close to me and he kept smiling my way, though I gave him no encouragement whatsoever. He didn’t mention anything about Grey again; I think he figured that I too, had realized there was nothing there. He seemed to be waiting for my resolve to break, for me to give in to his utter perfection and finally accept his advances. The grin on his face told me he was certain of my eventual surrender to his arrogant charms. I did my best to ignore him.
We piled back into the limo, finally, the air conditioner cranked as Whitney passed around more champagne. I wasn’t in the mood to join the rambunctious conversation this time, instead I stared pensively out my window as we drove, taking in the dim sights of the city through the dark tint. The car was heading to the reception site, and as we neared the five-star hotel, us girls checked and fixed our make-up as best we could in the rocking interior. Marie�
�s needle straight dark hair refused to stay upswept but stubbornly I tried to pin it back for her. Eventually I got it somewhat how it was supposed to be. She smiled at me in thanks.
The limo slowed as we pulled up in front of The Windsor Hotel. A bellman opened the door for us; I could see my parents waiting eagerly outside. Whitney and Marie exited the car first with their escorts. Craig got out and then turned, pausing at the opened door with his hand outstretched, waiting for me. I sighed and placed my palm in his, avoiding his gaze by looking out at the front of the hotel as he helped me down.
There was a red carpet leading up to the grand glass front entrance. Huge golden letters were perched atop the awning, spelling out The Windsor in gilded extravagance. The building was made of impressive beige stone and stretched imposingly up sixty floors or more. I took in the sight with awe, but then as I looked, my eyes fell on something—or someone, rather—that I hadn’t expected to see.
He was leaning against the granite wall off to the side of the entrance, looking uncomfortable as he smoked a cigarette, his arms crossed against a crisp black suit and tie.
I honestly had no idea how to react to him. Grey turned his head towards us, and his perfect lips curved into my favourite smirk when he saw me there. I just stared at him, stunned, stock-still with surprise. He looked at me a moment, and then his expression changed, his eyes narrowing like he was angry. I realized that Craig was still holding my hand. Abruptly, I ripped it from his grasp and hugged my arms around myself, taking a deep breath in as I went to meet Grey.
I approached him cautiously, nervous. After all of the doubt and suspicion and uncertainty, I didn’t know what to do, how to feel. As I neared him, tears began to sting my eyes. God, I loved him. It’d been easier to ignore, easier to try and forget when he was far away and out of sight. But now he was standing before me, and the sheer force of the love I felt for that man was nearly overwhelming.
“Who was that?” Grey asked me when I was close enough, his voice accusing, his blue eyes suspicious. He was looking past me back at Craig, who was standing by the limo, watching us.
Life of the Party Page 29
