How To Ruin Your Ex's Wedding: A Romantic Comedy

by Denise Wells

  “I can walk,” she slurs.

  “It’s fine,” he snaps.

  And with that, they disappear into the house. I watch until I see the lights downstairs turn off, and those upstairs turn on. Then I climb back inside the limo and let the guy drive us to Gregor’s. It isn’t until we are halfway there that I realize I left my heart with Tabatha.

  Where it belongs.

  23

  Tabatha

  “I can’t believe you are getting married tomorrow!” Crystal cries.

  “I know! It feels like it’s happened so fast and so slow at the same time.”

  “What time do you want me there tonight? Is Maisey doing our hair and makeup tonight too?”

  “Yes, so maybe be here around three o’clock if you can swing it, and we can have a relaxing afternoon, just us girls before the rehearsal dinner,” I say.

  “Perfect,” she says. “See you then.”

  We disconnect the call and I lie back on my bed.

  I’m getting married tomorrow.

  To Hunter.

  A decision I’ve gone back and forth on all week. His weirdness only got worse after Pax and Gregor brought me home drunk. I don’t remember a lot of the night, outside of having a great time dancing, and feeling safe and comforted with Pax. He held my hair back when I puked.

  Oh god, I puked.

  So embarrassing.

  He was fine about it. Supportive even, whereas Hunter was pissed. Which only got worse when some pictures surfaced of me dancing on the table in the VIP area. They are grainy, and obviously taken from far away with a camera phone. But it’s still clear that it’s me. Big hair, bigger smile, short shorts, high heels, eyes closed, arms raised, hip cocked to the side. I look happy. Slightly possessed. Genuinely happy.

  Part of me is tickled to have such a photo of myself. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen me as me. Since I was a child, I’ve always been some version of me based on the situation. But this, this is the pure essence of Tabatha Ann Seton. And she is loving life.

  Is it possible to be that happy normally?

  Crystal is.

  Crystal is the anomaly.

  Hunter has only spoken to me this week if it’s been directly related to the wedding. And even then, he’s been terse and short. I’m interested to see how he acts tonight at our rehearsal dinner, where we are to be the happy couple tying the knot tomorrow. He won’t want anyone in attendance to think there is something wrong, so my thought is he will be the doting fiancé.

  I’m just not sure how much that bothers me. Oddly, I’ve not missed him this week. The five days leading to today—rehearsal day—where we should be in our pre-wedding-honeymoon phase and deliriously happy. Or so I would imagine. I’ve spent most nights on the couch, and he’s spent all his days at the office. I was still on set through Wednesday, longer than I’d originally intended, but it didn’t seem to matter since he was upset anyway.

  Yesterday—Thursday—would have been the day for us to spend together, discussing last-minute items for tonight or tomorrow, or even just hanging out and having fun. But instead, he was gone all day. So, I spent the day pampering myself. I got a massage, gave myself a facial, deep conditioned my hair, painted my toenails, read gossip magazines about myself, and coveted my picture of me.

  Today, he was gone before I woke. I’m assuming he’s at his office, and I’m fine with it. I’m trying not to dwell too much on the fact I don’t miss him and that I’m not bothered by not seeing him all week. What kind of monster am I that I’m not even affected by his absence? Which leads me to the wisdom in my decision to marry him. I remind myself that I love him, he’s a good guy.

  My go-to phrase for him: good guy. But these last few weeks, he hasn’t been. He’s been a judgmental and controlling guy. And as far as loving him goes, how do I love someone who wants me to be different? Further, how does he love someone who he wishes were someone else? I take two antacid pills to try and calm my stomach.

  Crystal and Maisey will be here in a few hours, that will cheer me up. In the meantime, I check my email, update a social media account, and speak with Liza to make sure she doesn’t need help with anything. All of which takes about twenty minutes.

  Okay, Tabatha, tomorrow you are going to marry Hunter. Pledge your love in front of six hundred people. Promise to be with this man forever.

  Unless we divorce.

  You can’t think about divorce before you’ve even gotten married. Though, that’s essentially what the prenuptial agreement does, which we signed weeks ago. Even though Hunter assured me it didn’t mean he was anticipating the breakup of our marriage. The pragmatic side of me sees the wisdom of a prenup. But the romantic side of me thinks they are evil. A precursor of doom. Admittance of impending failure. How do you go into something, a commitment until death do you part, anticipating it won’t last until death. That it will end much sooner than that.

  The more emotional side of me began to have my first niggling of doubt that day. Who would I be if I were twice divorced? And if my second marriage lasted as long as my first, I’d be twice divorced before my mid-thirties. Does that put me on the path of Elizabeth Taylor? Or any number of other actors who have married multiple times?

  Because, if Hunter can think about the demise of our marriage so easily, then I should be able to as well. Which brings me to today and wondering about whether marrying Hunter is the right decision. Even if it’s not, how do I call off such a large production on such short notice? I can’t do that to him. I’d rather get married, realize it’s a mistake, and be twice divorced than hurt or embarrass Hunter. He doesn’t deserve that.

  Listen to yourself, Tabatha. Ridiculous on so many levels.

  Instead I concentrate on summoning excitement for tomorrow, but instead, all I feel is apathy. Which, in itself, is funny.

  Do I love Hunter?

  Yes.

  Am I in love with Hunter?

  I don’t know.

  Is Hunter in love with me?

  I don’t know that either.

  Hunter is definitely not in love with this version of me. The version that is closer to the real me than I’ve been in a long time. I think back to the night that Pax and Gregor brought me home, and the longest conversation that Hunter and I have had in almost three weeks. He’d carried me into the house, then set me down and helped me up the stairs to our bedroom.

  “You need to take a shower. You smell like vomit and look like hell,” he’d said.

  So, I did. I took a hot shower first, then blasted myself with cold to help me wake up and sober up. I had a feeling Hunter wanted to talk.

  “What is going on with you and Pax?” he’d asked when I exited the bathroom.

  “Nothing is going on. They happened to be at the same club we were. I had too much to drink and Pax helped me get home.”

  “I’m going to be honest, Tabatha. I don’t know whether to believe you or not.” He’d sounded more like a father scolding a delinquent child than a man speaking with his intended.

  “Why would I lie to you, Hunter?” I’d asked.

  “You tell me.”

  “If I wanted to be with Pax, I would be. I wouldn’t sneak around behind your back. Especially not when we are about to get married.”

  “You’ve changed.”

  “Changed how?”

  “Your attitude, the way you dress, taking the role in the movie, not helping me with the wedding, to name a few.”

  I’d looked down at my feet, feeling ashamed. Because he was right, I hadn’t helped with the wedding, and I did take the role without talking to him about it first. But I’m also a little mad too. It’s a mini-series, not a movie. Like he can’t even bother to get it right.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “Well, I am,” I snapped.

  “From here on out, can we just go back to normal?” he’d asked.

  I’d answered yes, even though I wasn’t quite sure what normal was any longer. Because he was
right, I have changed. The problem is, I like the changes. And I don’t know what to do if he doesn’t feel the same.

  “Ohmigod, Maisey, you are a miracle worker!” Crystal enthuses. “I can’t believe how pretty I am.”

  “Shut up,” I say and backhand her lightly on the arm. “You are always gorgeous and you know it. If Maisey did anything, it was just enhance your natural beauty.”

  Crystal does look amazing. She has a new dress on for tonight—a sleek, black, long-sleeved mini-dress with a deep V in the front and ruching around the middle—that she’s paired with knee-high, stiletto-heeled boots. Maisey has given her very natural-looking makeup with a deep red lip. It’s striking.

  My dress is a blush colored body-con, with sleeves that fall just off my shoulder, a tiny bit of ruching in the middle, and a ruffled bottom. I’ve paired it with gold-colored, strappy stilettos. I don’t know what I would do without strappy stilettos, to be honest. I must have a million pairs, in different colors and heel heights. They go with almost every outfit, and I love them.

  Maisey and Crystal got to my house separately about forty minutes ago, and I opened the champagne right away, wanting the mood to be festive. We’d put on music and so far, the afternoon has been lighthearted and fun. The rehearsal dinner is at one of Gregor’s restaurants, the upscale one. I don’t remember the name of it. Hunter was quick to change the location and take advantage of his new friendship when Gregor offered to shut down the whole place for him.

  At a price.

  I don’t know if Gregor will be there or not. He has no reason to be, outside of his capacity as venue owner. Unless Hunter invited him, for some reason. If he did, that will certainly make Maisey happy. She said she and Gregor have been texting this week. She was just as busy as I with the wrap of the mini-series, then spending some time with her daughter. And now she’s helping me prepare for tonight and tomorrow.

  I pour us all some more champagne before I settle in the chair to let Maisey do my hair and makeup. She’s got rollers in my hair now, big ones that will temper my natural curls, turning my hair into something a bit more glam than my normal look or when I straighten my hair.

  “So, tell me about Gregor,” I say, careful not to call him Igor. I haven’t told her about my feelings toward him. One, I don’t want to sour her opinion since she really seems to like him. Two, Crystal says he’s a really great guy and I’m just choosing to remember an immature punk, which is probably true. I googled him—he is quite the humanitarian and philanthropist. And he’s not afraid that Maisey is a single mom.

  “Ohmigosh.” Her face reddens. “He’s so funny. And kind. And smart. And, good lord, can that man dance. Holy moly!” She fans her face with her hand, and I laugh. “Do you think he’ll be there tonight?”

  “I don’t know, I was just wondering the same thing myself. Crystal, do you think Gregor will be there tonight?”

  “I think if how he was with Maisey last weekend is any indication, then he will be.” She steps away from the mirror where she was literally just admiring herself. “I’m sure he’ll be there to supervise.” She air quotes the last word.

  Maisey squeals. “I’m so happy I brought a dress,” she says.

  “You could have borrowed something,” I tell her. “We are almost the same size, you’re just taller. Still could.” I gesture to my closet. “Help yourself.”

  “I’ll peek and see,” she says.

  I’d invited Maisey to the rehearsal dinner last weekend. We all got along so great, I thought it might be fun for her. Plus, Crystal will have Michael, and I’ll be busy with Hunter, so she and Angela can hang out a bit.

  But the more I think about it, I hope Gregor is there and that Maisey gets the chance to see him. I like them together. Well, really, I like her reaction to him. It reminds me of how Crystal is with Michael.

  And how I wish I was with Hunter.

  We arrive at the rehearsal dinner about ten minutes before it’s due to start. Hunter sent a town car to bring us, and let me know, via text, that he would meet me there. Crystal and Maisey both stay outside for a bit. Maisey needed to call her daughter and mother and Crystal wanted to check in with Michael to see when he planned to arrive. I notice when I walk in that Hunter is already there and off to the side, talking to Liza. In theory, we are supposed to have a practice run-through of the ceremony at the rehearsal dinner, hence the “rehearsal” part. But Liza says it’s not necessary, that we all know how to walk down an aisle, and with such a small wedding party, we’ll be fine. She will be there tomorrow to tell us all exactly what to do and when.

  She has a number of assistants with her, all wearing those little headsets so they can talk to one another. We have over fifty people here tonight, close associates and friends. Mostly Hunter’s. I’m not sure what she and her assistants do during the dinner. Maybe they eat?

  Hunter sees me walk in and excuses himself from Liza. “Tabatha.” He takes my hand and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” I smile at him, and it feels fake. He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  Why are we doing this?

  “We will have tray passed champagne and hors d’oeuvres for the first hour, along with the toasts, and then they will begin seating everyone for dinner. The staff has been instructed on the table seating plan.” Liza appears from behind Hunter and begins talking.

  “Sounds good,” I tell her.

  She looks to Hunter for affirmation. He nods, and she walks swiftly away.

  “Hunter, Tabatha, welcome!” Gregor comes toward us, arms outstretched. “I’m so pleased you chose G’s for your event tonight.”

  “Thank you for having us, Gregor.” Hunter gives him a one-armed man hug. “The pleasure is all ours.”

  “Tabatha”—Gregor turns toward me and pulls me into his massive frame for a hug—“you look stunning. I can see why this guy is so taken with you.” I thank him for the compliment and he smiles. He’s a charmer, for sure. No wonder he’s so popular with fans and patrons.

  I elbow him somewhat comically. “I brought Maisey with me,” I tell him in a singsong voice.

  His face lights up. “You did? Where is she?”

  “She’s outside. She had to call her daughter.”

  “Daphne?”

  “Yeah.” I’m surprised, yet not, that he remembers her daughter’s name.

  “There she is now, excuse me.” Gregor squeezes my arm lightly and goes to greet Maisey.

  “Champagne?” The server offers up a tray of filled champagne flutes with our monogram on them.

  “Yes, thank you.” I take one and look at the monogram. It’s nice. Not the font I would have picked, but still nice. I raise it to my lips only to have it pulled out of my hand by Hunter.

  “Let’s not have a repeat of last week, shall we?” he says, looking at the restaurant and not me.

  “Hunter, don’t be ridiculous,” I say under my breath. “That was a one-time thing. It was my bachelorette party, for god’s sake.”

  “There were pictures of you dancing on a table,” he hisses.

  “I already apologized for that.”

  “Well, I’m assuming we can avoid it from happening again as long as you refrain from drinking.” He raises the glass to his lips and takes a long drink, then turns and walks away.

  “What was that about?” Crystal asks, walking up to me.

  “That was a control freak going one step too far,” I say, seeking out the server so I can get a replacement glass.

  24

  Pax

  I am fully aware of how pathetic it is that I am spying on Tabatha’s rehearsal dinner. I have no business doing so. It’s just that I’ve realized over the last couple weeks that I think I am still in love with her. So, what better way to punish myself for letting her go than by watching her move on?

  Gregor has an office in the restaurant. It’s up a half a flight of stairs, and on the way to the emergency exit and employee entrance. It has one
of those secret windows where you can see out, but no one can see in. And there’s audio. Don’t ask me why. It was already there when G bought the building and he kept it. The secret window blends with the decor so unless you know it’s there, you don’t know it’s there.

  When he told me Slippycock had changed the location of their dinner to here, that’s when I decided to come watch. So, here I am with a cigar and a bottle of Macallan, ready for the show. It helps tremendously that the space is sweet as hell. He’s got a leather couch and chairs, a big screen TV, and a Bose stereo system. There’s also an internal ventilation system so the cigar smoke gets sucked outside before it has a chance to sneak around the restaurant. I could practically live in his office.

  I see Tabatha enter alone. Wipplecock has been here for a bit already. Toby Benson, the photographer I’d referred to them, was snapping pictures of the decor and monogrammed napkin holders and champagne flutes.

  Barf.

  Monogrammed shit is lame.

  Wimpycock rushes over to where Tabs is and kisses her on the cheek. She smiles at him with, if I’m not mistaken, a smile that is disingenuous.

  Trouble in paradise?

  One can only hope.

  I puff at my cigar and sip my scotch. Gregor greets his guests, he’s so good at this crap. No wonder people love him.

  There’s Maisey. Good. That will keep G happy.

  Oh, and what’s this? Simplecock has taken Tab’s champagne away from her and walked away?

  Tsk. Tsk.

  Stupid man.

  Fury fills Tabatha’s face, which is mirrored on Crystal’s once she joins her and Tabby explains what’s going on.

  Oh, that man has no idea what he’s in for. Stupid, stupid man.

  You never take a woman’s champagne away without replacing it with something better.