Wet

“Yeah, I missed you.”

Her expression softens. “I missed you, too. But we’ve got the night ahead to have fun.”

I stand up and straighten out my jacket. “Let’s do it!”

When we pull up to the Ebell Club off Wilshire Boulevard, the valet takes the car. Elle links her arm through mine as we walk through the Mediterranean courtyard looking for the wedding group. The coordinator approaches us and explains to Elle where the bridal party is with Stella. She also lets me know that some of the men are at the bar.

“You don’t mind if I leave you for a while? They want to get pictures of us helping Stella get ready.”

“Yeah, you told me about that. No problem. I’ll hang with the guys.”

As I search for the bar I wonder if I’ll find her ex, Daniel, there. Of course he doesn’t need to know who I am in relation to Elle . . . not yet, at least. I plan to show him later in a very vivid way.

But apparently Daniel and some other friend are helping the groom get ready, so I get a beer and chill with Jack and Erik. These dudes aren’t as happy to be here as I am, and they’re taking away my mojo with all of their complaints about wearing tuxes and that they’re missing some movie screening. I’m relieved when Elle finally comes to find me, and the energy from the party starts amping up as more and more guests arrive.

“Isn’t this place cool?” Elle asks as she takes my hand and pulls me into one of the empty ballrooms with the carved ceilings, huge arched windows, and antique chandeliers.

“Yeah, very cool. I looked it up the other day. It was built in the twenties as a social and philanthropic club. The architectural style is impressive.”

“And I’m finally free to enjoy it with you,” she says.

“So what were you girls doing all that time?”

“Oh you know girls, we like to make a big production of these things. We fawned over her make-up and hair, and helped her get dressed. We may have had some champagne.”

I smile at her. “You seem a little buzzed.”

“It was Cristal.”

“Fancy.”

She steps closer to me and pulls at my lapels. “So are you going to dance with me later?”

“I’ll dance with you now.” Grasping her hand, I lift it up and guide her so that she slowly twirls full circle.

“Ooo,” she gasps as I pull her back into my arms.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Ma. She told us that all young men should know how to dance. She taught Patrick, too.”

She presses her hand to her cheek. “That’s so sweet.”

“She intended to raise fine gentlemen.”

“Well I think she succeeded.”

While being serenaded by the faint melody from the ballroom next door, I take Elle for several spins around the room. We move smoothly together like we were meant to be in each other’s arms and dance. I don’t say anything as I look at her, but something about being here with her to watch two people get married makes me want to tell her everything. I want her to understand how she’s turned my life right-side up, and how I’ve never been happier than when I’m with her.

Maybe tonight she’ll agree to more with me and we could finally start writing our own dramatic romance novel. Our prologue would be part comedy, part tragedy, crossed-wires, friends to lovers, and everything in-between. I’m sure the main part of the book will be full of steamy erotica and obsessive devotion. Finally, I’ll make sure we finish our novel our way, with a happily ever after.

When the music fades we wander back into the smaller room that is set up for the ceremony with large overflowing flower arrangements and ornate candelabras. This shindig is fancy as all hell. People are starting to take their seats so we do the same. When the minister, groom, and best man file in I get a firm elbow in the side.

Elle didn’t need to alert me. She should’ve figured out by now that meeting her ex was near the top of my list for reasons to come to this wedding. I’m disappointed as I study him and realize there isn’t a whole hell of a lot to make fun of with the man I’ve been calling an idiot. He’s good looking and has that confident air. What an asshole for being more impressive than I’d been counting on.

I mean come on, universe, give me something to work with here: ears that stick out, acne scars, a soft jawline, or at the very least he could be bowlegged. But no. I’ve got nothing but Mr. Tall, Dark, and look at me, I’m handsome.

I glance over at Elle as she watches him with narrow eyes while pretending not to. When his gaze starts to scan the seated guests she turns toward me and takes my hand.

“That’s him, right?” I whisper.

She nods. It bothers me that she looks nervous. Where’s the pissed off Elle who never said anything nice about the guy?

I give her a smile and squeeze her hand. “You okay?”

She shrugs. “This is really awkward for me. I may be drinking a lot later.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Can you imagine if you hadn’t come with me? I’d be a wreck.”

My eyes grow wide. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

The ceremony is okay if you don’t mind a bride that looks more like a Vegas showgirl. Her dress has so much sparkly shit on it that she’s blinding as she wades through the rose petals littering the aisle. I’m half expecting her to slip and land on her ass, but her dad is holding onto her tight. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.

Meanwhile I’m willing to bet money that the bride’s tits are going to make an appearance. The sparkly dress probably weighs so much with all that fancy crap on it that it can’t help but droop down bit by bit with each step until the girls are almost clear to break free.

Good thing Ma isn’t here as she went off at my cousin’s weddings about her sagging dress. I overheard her drilling into my sister that there’s a reason for straps on bras. Have wedding dress designers lost sight of that?

Meanwhile the groom looks scared out of his mind. Well I would too between my bride’s tits about to flash our entire posse, and being bedazzled by her damn dress. This is no way to start a marriage.

Like church services, I pretty much tune out the vows. Instead I watch Elle as she listens. The way she reacts to everything is fascinating, her expression shifting one moment to the next from sad to happy, and inspired to confused. I guess girls really pay attention to this stuff.

After the kiss, which goes on so long there are cat-calls and whistles, the happy couple leaves the room and we file out behind them for cocktails and hor d’oeuvres on the patio. I’ve just stuffed an oversized meatball in my mouth when Dashing Daniel, the ex, and his poor replacement for Elle, step up to us. I decide to refer to him from now on as DD. His woman looks like she’d rather be at the bar getting a lemon to suck on.

“Elle,” DD says with a fake smile.

Elle lifts her hand and gives him a little feeble wave. “Hi, Daniel.”

I can’t help but be irritated. Come on, Elle! For fucks sake, you can do better than that.

“I’d like you to meet Veronica.” The woman with the tight smile nods her head and gives Elle the once over. All I can think of is that she reminds me of the Veronica in the Archie Comics that my sister used to read.

“Nice to meet you,” Elle says with a false sincerity. I suspect that she’d secretly like to push the sour-faced bitch who just hooked her arm through DD’s into the fountain right behind them.

Dashing Daniel holds out his hand to shake mine. “And you are?”

“Paul McNeill, Elle’s boyfriend.” I shake his hand firmly—really firmly.

I don’t even need to turn to Elle, I can feel the delight come off her in waves. She loops her arm through mine. “Paul’s a landscape architect,” she states proudly.

Yup. Sprinkler man has left the building for good.

DD pulls a card out of his tuxedo pocket and hands it to me. “Excellent. I do property development and I have a project coming up that may interest you.”