Save Me

by Cecy Robson

  CHAPTER 24

  Seamus

  The circus extends into the ceremony. I just don’t mean the theme, I mean all the crazy. The moment everyone finds a chair, the lights go off, causing people to gasp with confusion or gasp out their “What the fucks?”

  “If Valentina rides in here on a zebra, we’re out of here,” I mutter.

  I’m trying to get Allie to laugh, but she barely cracks a smile. Instead, she looks to the row in front of us where her mother is struggling to get it together. It’s just a taste of what Allie has put up with all these years, but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.

  The regular circus lights don’t come back on. Instead there’s an explosion of gold and whirling lights as Britney Spears’s Circus erupts from every direction.

  The trapeze performers cut loose. “Oohs and Aahs” surround us. I’m not sure where to look until two “dragons” spit fire on either side of the aisle, pulling our attention toward the entrance.

  There’s no procession. Not in the traditional sense. The aisle becomes a runway for the first bridesmaid in this fashion show from hell.

  “Christ,” I mumble, blinded by flashes of what seems to be an army of photographers and the dragon’s stupid fire. Orange and yellow flames spew as the bridesmaid strikes a pose and the trapeze people flip over her head.

  I have to give it to the model. She doesn’t blink, keeping that deadpan expression even though she has enough hairspray to catch fire or to die by gravity if one of those swinging bodies crashes on top of her.

  The next model struts forward, striking a different pose as more fire and more flipping erupts. It goes on and on. Every model is close to six feet, their dark purple dresses long in the back, short in the front, and tight around their skeletal frames.

  The last model appears. My guess is she’s the maid of honor based on the tiny matching top hat pinned into what has to be a two-foot wall of hair. “So, was that the dress you were going to wear?” I ask Allie.

  Allie raises her brows, taking in the statuesque brunette. Man, it’s like all the models were cloned in some twisted up fashion lab. “Funny you should say that,” Allie says. “I wasn’t told about the runway walk. Valentina bequeathed me the honor of carrying the end of her train. My dress was the same color and fabric of the tent, and the exact duplicate of what my mother is wearing.”

  I don’t think Allie means to be as loud as she is, but her aunts hear her and so does her mother. The dress Allie’s mother is wearing is better suited for an eighty-year-old woman who’s given up on life. Long-sleeved, boxy, with some sort of fishtail at the bottom, Mamacita isn’t dressed to look good. She and Allie were dressed to make Valentina look good.

  “You did yourself a favor by not being a part of this,” I say. “It’s like a wannabee Tim Burton threw up in here.”

  “No,” Allie disagrees. “Valentina did me a favor by making me not want to be a part of it.”

  She sure did. I wonder how Allie and Trashy Tina could be cut from the same cloth. There’s dumping on someone, and then there’s this. “Can I ask you something?” I ask, playing with her hand.

  “Of course.”

  “How much did you shell out for that dress?”

  Allie shakes her head. “You don’t want to know.”

  The club remake of Circus slows, alternating into a bed thumping, throaty beat as the maid of honor takes her position in the front,

  We stand. Here comes the bride, and God-Almighty, look at her.

  I don’t want to flat out say Valentina is naked. But Valentina is pretty much naked.

  What looks like the same material they make women’s hosiery from flares out to create Valentina’s gown. Don’t worry. Whoever designed her dress was nice enough to bedazzle all the important parts with small diamonds. Valentina’s nips, happy place, and butt crack are well concealed. Oh, and look at that. As a bonus, the diamond-studded top hat she’s wearing covers her head, nicely

  “So, do you think it’ll be a Catholic ceremony?” I whisper to Allie.

  Allie turns slowly to me. I can’t be sure what’s more wide open, her eyes or her mouth. I’m going to go with eyes. She starts to say something, but she’s cut off by applause—not by Valentina’s mother or aunts, they’re too busy crossing themselves—almost every person in attendance is on their feet, clapping like this is the greatest moment ever. And it is.

  For Valentina.

  “She . . . I can’t . . . Oh, my God,” Allie says. “I was going to be behind her.”

  “Behind her behind? Yeah, that sucks,” I agree.

  “Why would she . . . my God,” Allie says, watching the way the twirling lights cause Valentina’s nipples to sparkle.

  “We should have fed the giraffes,” I remind her.

  Allie doesn’t bother correcting me this time, gasping when Valentina strolls past her mother and aunts without acknowledging them. I think my woman still can’t come to terms with how selfish Valentina is being. But Valentina isn’t done yet.

  Valentina reaches the altar where a strong man wearing little more than gothic tattoos and a smile steps forward to preside over the ceremony. I didn’t even notice Andres appear. The strong man dwarfs Andres, making Andres appear shorter than he is, yet somehow drawing more attention to Valentina in their collective nakedness. Never mind, the guy’s wearing some kind of man thong. My bad.

  Andres is dressed like a ring master, top hat, funky jacket, even a whip cinched to his side. But instead of looking like he’s a part of this whole thing, he looks out of place and more like the little guy in the Monopoly game.

  I shit you not, conjoined twins resembling crazed Mad Hatters step forward, each holding a velvet pillow with the wedding bands.

  There’s not much to the vows. Just the standard, “Do you take him. Do you take her,” plus the “I do’s.” Not that it stops the epic climax.

  Cannons on either side of the stage explode, erupting glitter in conjunction with the start of Madonna’s Ray of Light and the doves flying across the room. The conjoined twins are flippity-flopping down the runway. Oh, and look at that, there go the trapeze and dragon guys again.

  One by one, the models strut down the aisle, following the conjoined twins. It allows Valentina to bask in the attention a while longer. Applause, hoots and hollers, and cheers of “Bravo, Bravo” are everything Valentina wanted and something she can’t get enough of.

  As the newlyweds begin their walk down the aisle, I expect Andres to gloat. Just a little. After all, he got the prom queen and the last laugh at everyone who considered him a loser. So then why does he look over at us? Specifically, at Allie and the way I’m holding her against me.

  Probably because Valentina was the only one who really got what she wanted.

  And Andres damn well knows it.

  CHAPTER 25

  Allie

  We sit down to dinner, the feel of Seamus’s hand in mine giving me strength to remain in place. To my surprise, Valentina sat us in the middle of the ballroom, almost directly in front of her and Andres. She hasn’t spoken to me. Worst of all, she hasn’t spoken to my mother or aunts. I can’t see them from where we’re sitting, and I can’t be sure they’re still here.

  My poor family. As rude as they were to me, they’ve always counted on Valentina’s attention. Now, they don’t even have that.

  “Do you want to dance?” Seamus asks. “The tigers are all gone.”

  “True,” I agree, squelching a smirk.

  The theatrics didn’t end when Valentina and Andres walked down the aisle. We were escorted to the reception and given 3D glasses. As Valentina and Andres took to the dance floor for their first dance, tigers raced around the perimeter of the room and leapt over our heads while lions jumped through hoops of fire on the dance floor. It was all part of the show. We couldn’t see the animals or the fireworks exploding around us without the glasses. What we could see was the awkward dance between the bride and groom.
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br />   Valentina wrapped her arms around Andres, curling her long body into his dwarf figure, as if she is as in love with him as she so adamantly claims. Andres stiffly followed suit, his blank expression reflecting only his numbness.

  I wondered briefly if the 3D showcase was to distract the audience from the deportment of the newlyweds. Regardless, I saw them, the entire experience churning my stomach.

  Seamus, bless his perpetually famished disposition, ate his surf and turf with enthusiasm. “Mm. Good steak,” he said. I barely touched my salad when it was served and only had a few bites of my lobster.

  “You sure you don’t want to dance?” Seamus asks. “It’ll give us something to do besides hang with these assholes.” He smiles and waves when the guests at our table look up.

  I ignore the glares and look toward the empty dancefloor where that odd carnival style music continues to play. “This isn’t exactly my jam,” I admit.

  “How do you know it’s not mine?” he asks.

  I laugh, not knowing what I would have done without him these past few months, especially tonight. I don’t know anyone at the table, but they seem to know each other. No one bothered to speak to us even when we said hello. Well, except for one woman who asked me how I knew Valentina.

  “She’s my sister,” I explained.

  The group exchanged glances as if they didn’t believe me. “She never mentioned she has a sister,” the woman said.

  That was the last bit of conversation we bothered initiating. Well, unless you count Seamus’s “asshole” remark just now.

  “I’m not trying to be a dick,” Seamus says. “But how much longer do you want to stay?”

  In all honesty, I could leave right now. But I adore the feel of his arms around me and I’m not certain I’ll feel them any other way tonight. “How about we leave after one dance?” I ask. “To a semi-decent song, I mean.”

  Seamus has been more than patient, wonderful, and kind. The deadline for our agreement ends tonight. I want to hang onto my make-believe boyfriend a while longer and in any way I can.

  He smiles softly, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “All right. We’ll do whatever you want.”

  By some miracle, lights illuminate the dance floor and real music, sweet, slow music begins to play. I turn to Seamus, grinning. “Imagine that,” he says. “They’re playing our song.”

  It’s not really our song. It’s merely a slow song that couldn’t have come fast enough. As we rise, I glance at Valentina. She’s left her table and is laughing with her bridesmaids and a man I believe is a producer. Andres sits by himself, drinking what appears to be scotch.

  Married for less than an hour and he’s already miserable. I don’t want that for me. I want something better. I look up at Seamus and the way he holds me as he guides me forward.

  I want Seamus. God help me, he’s everything I desire.

  The song the band plays is one I remember from college, Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars. I always felt a strong connection to the words, they’re so lovely. But as Seamus wraps his arms around me and his broad chest draws closer to mine, those lyrics become that much sweeter, fragile, and sexy.

  We melt against each other in a way we haven’t quite managed, ever. It’s not forced, it simply happens as if this might well be our final goodbye.

  I don’t want to say goodbye. I want to welcome something better. Something real that has nothing to do with our families and everything to do with us.

  I lift my chin to better see him, smiling wider when he returns my grin.

  “This is nice,” he says, his hands wandering from my waist and further down.

  I swallow hard. “Yes,” I agree, wishing I could find words that mean more.

  He curls forward. I think he means to kiss my mouth, instead his warm breath reaches my shoulder and his lips touch my skin. My breath hitches and the tips of my nipples tighten. This is it, my moment to kiss Seamus for real. Not for others to see, but for us to experience.

  As Adele’s Someone Like You begins I find my courage, only to be denied.

  “May I cut in?”

  I’m stunned to see Andres beside me, the heavy glass that holds his drink clutched tightly in his hand.

  “No,” Seamus answers for me. His anger is palpable, surging his body temperature.

  Andres laughs, bitterly. He glances down, staring at his almost empty glass, but when he looks up, I see it, the true extent of his misery. “Please, Allie. Please,” he says.

  I’m troubled by how lost he seems, how utterly demolished he appears.

  “I don’t want him touching you,” Seamus says, his response surprising us both.

  “Allie, please,” Andres begs. He’s no longer looking at me, he’s staring down at the floor as if he wants to be buried far beneath it.

  It’s disturbing and hard to witness. I’m not a cruel person who can simply walk away from anyone hurting. Seamus knows it, not that it makes my words easier to say. “I think I need to,” I tell him.

  Seamus isn’t happy and I can’t blame him. Yet he releases me, watching Andres closely as he moves forward.

  Andres drops his glass onto the tray of a passing server, this one dressed like a demented Harley Quinn. He walks toward me, reaching for my hand and placing his arm around my waist.

  “Stop,” I say when he attempts to draw me to him. “That’s as close as you get to hold me.”

  He regards me as if struck, but nods, keeping several inches between us. I didn’t sense Seamus’s approach until I see him back slowly away to the edge of the dance floor.

  I try to offer Seamus a reassuring smile. He doesn’t return it. His warning glare is fixed on Andres.

  The space that separates Andres and I, and the first awkward moves we make to the music, are more akin to middle schoolers at a 70s dance. We must look ridiculous to those watching, but I don’t care. There’s only one man I want against me.

  “You look gorgeous,” Andres says.

  If he expects me to thank him, that thank you doesn’t come. I don’t find his remarks on my appearance appropriate, especially now that he’s married to my sister and with Seamus standing mere feet away.

  “I didn’t understand what you were doing with him,” Andres says. “I didn’t want to believe it at first. You being with someone like that, and him being with you.”

  “How dare you?” I say. “You don’t know anything about us.”

  It should be absurd that I’m growing this defensive about a relationship that doesn’t really exist. Still, Andres has no right.

  “I’m not trying to insult you, Allie, or him. But you’re smart.”

  “So is Seamus,” I tell him flatly.

  “But you’re also good. You have morals. Jesus, do you have any idea how many women he’s fucked?”

  “Oh, my God, Andres. You have so much nerve bringing up who Seamus has had sex with!”

  Andres squares his jaw, quieting. I’m not certain he considered this perspective until I pointed it out. But he should have.

  “I’m sorry,” Andres says.

  “You should be. Seamus means everything to me,” I say, the truth sharpening my tongue.

  A line of red rims Andres’s eyes. “I mean, I’m sorry about everything.”

  This is the moment I once spent months dreaming about. The one that never came, and that he never bothered with when I needed it most. But the peace I thought his apology would bring doesn’t arrive.

  “You’re drunk,” I say. I’m not certain he is. I just don’t believe him.

  “I’m not, Allie,” Andres insists. “It’s something I’ve wanted to say long before this. But how could I? How could I ask for forgiveness after everything I did to you? Valentina was every guy’s fantasy. One I never thought I’d get to live out.”

  “You’re living it now.” I only point it out because it’s clear, he wants a refund.

  “I know,” he says. He shakes his head, his expre
ssion breaking as silence stretches, filling the broad space between us.

  “You know I told you, you looked gorgeous?” he asks what feels like minutes later.

  I barely nod.

  “I didn’t just mean tonight. Allie, you were always beautiful. I’m only sorry I never told you.”

  I break away from his hold, disturbed by the outpouring of emotion the very night he married my sister. I start toward Seamus, stopping in place when I see Valentina licking her lips and dragging Seamus down to her for a kiss.

  CHAPTER 26

  Seamus

  I’m barely listening to Valentina yap away, too busy trying not to storm forward and ram my fist in Andres’s face. I don’t like the way he’s looking Allie. It’s like this dimwit finally realized what he let slip away.

  It takes Valentina digging her claws into my neck and trying to kiss me for me to notice she’s still there. “What the fuck?” I ask her.

  She tilts her head, appearing confused. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Don’t you want to dance with the bride?”

  Wow. She’s good. To anyone watching, I look like the asshole being mean to the bride on her wedding day.

  Allie steps between us. “What are you doing?”

  I start to tell her nothing. That her witch of a sister was pulling this crap on her own. But Allie isn’t asking me. Nope. She’s staring right at Valentina.

  Andres, who looks like hell, because that’s where he’ll reside from now on, edges forward. Valentina places her long, skinny arms around him, cuddling him close as if he means everything to her even though anyone can see he doesn’t. He’s a prop she’ll pose with as long as this charade of a photo shoot lasts.

  “Just talking to your beloved,” Valentina says, keeping her voice sweet. “Well, at least as long as he sticks around.”

  “Shut up, Valentina,” Allie tells her.

  Allie’s reply shocks the shit out of me. I’m ready to fist bump my woman. Except Valentina isn’t done digging her claws.