Watching the woman you love marry someone you're less than fond of is never easy. It doesn't get any easier the second time.
Neither does the limo ride across town with them in the center, and me squished up against the window by Cam. Apparently taking up space is a common trait among the Mariani men. Which is interesting, because their cousin Marla seems perfectly normal. She shoots me a sympathetic smile from across the limo.
Why can't she be my seat partner?
I shoot Carlow's a death glare as we pull up to the reception hall again. When I don't exit the car immediately, Cam reaches over me to open the door, and the only thing keeping me from being squeezed out of the seat disappears. I grab the open door for balance and pull myself upright, letting out a sigh that just gets carried away by the breeze.
When we enter the hall this time, I expertly avoid the floor vents erupting their icy air. Cam doesn't stand a chance against time travel. Or afterlife witchery. Or dysfunctional dreams. I still haven't decided.
But until I find out for sure, I'm going with time travel. Way more epic.
Yep. I time traveled and it still didn't change a thing. So epic.
We parade into the dining hall where the guests are already seated. My name is announced alongside Cam's, and as we walk I watch Nessa's back. She has the prettiest hair. It stands out like fire against her porcelain skin. I used to think she dyed it, but four years under the same small roof taught me better.
No wonder Connor fell for her the second he saw her. I can't even blame him.
Cam leans down. "A picture lasts longer," he whispers in my ear as we reach our table. I shove him toward his seat and then fold myself into place between the two space-hogging brothers. Him and his stupid jokes. Is it so unheard of for people to look in front of them as they walk forward? I can't help it that Nessa happened to be walking right in my line of sight.
This time, I'm prepared for the toast. And by "prepared," I mean fortified by a brimming glass of whatever wine the waiter was carting around. And then a few trips to the open bar in search of a shot that'll hit me like the ones next door. No such luckâbut I'm still hammered enough that I can't see straight by the time I'm called on.
I glance at Connor and Nessa. They seem to have morphed into one personâa blob of flesh somehow wearing a dress and a suit at the same time. I look to my right. Cam is also merging with the bridesmaid next to him.
These Marianis, I swear.
I decide to ignore it and let a huge whoop into the microphone. "Connor and Nessa, am I right?" I shout.
Polite, pitying chuckles rise from the assembled guests.
"If you're wondering why we're here," I stumble on, my voice dragging and slurred, "it's my fault. I apologize. Profusely. I've never forgiven myself."
I bow my head for a moment. It probably looks like a lament, but I'm actually just trying to make the floor stop spinning because you can't make a toast if you're not standing, and you can't stand on a spinning floor. Why do they make them like this? Who would want their floor to move?
I manage to slow it down to a crawl, and I look up again. "Have they ever told you the story of how they met?" I ask rhetorically, then nod. "Yeah. See I met Nessa"âI point to herâ"the first day of college. And then I met Connor"âhe gets a finger in his face, too, even though they're the same person to my eyesâ"at a party in sophomore year."
I catch Connor-Nessa's pinched face, warning me to stop.
"And then they met each other," I continue more loudly, "the next morning as he was getting dressed."
The guests are murmuring to each other now, a satisfying buzz on top of the one I've already got going. Their eyes cut furtively toward our table, and I can't tell if they're judging me or the happy couple.
Nessa and Connor separate for a brief moment, long enough for me to see that their faces are identical anyway. Eyes wide as their dinner plates, lines carving canyons at the corners of their mouths. It's a good thing they appear to be in too much shock to get up, because I think they'd punch me.
A foggy mountain rises to my right, and I stare up at it in confusion. What kind of place is this? Moving floors. Morphing humans. Moving mountains. Magic happens in this reception hall.
"Okay," the mountain says. It has Cam's voice. "I think that'sâ"
"What's wrong with the truth?" I ask the room, my voice still booming through the speakers. "Why be ashamed of the truth? I'm not." The irony tastes bitter on my tongue. "Because you know what? I slept with Connor. I've slept with a dozen other guys. I've slept with a dozen other girls. And the only one I regret is him."
I sidestep Cam as two of his right hand reach for the microphone. God, now extra limbs are in play? That's so not fair!
I speak directly to Connor now, or at least what I think is Connor. "And I guess the maid of honor title is some kind of thanks for letting you walk into my life and take the only thing I love."
His mouth opens.
I raise my arm in front of me and drop the mic. It lands on my dirty plate with a wet slap, splattering sauce all over my dress.
"Huh." I stare down at the mess for a second, then decide I don't care. I already know I'm not sticking around. I'm clearly not welcome here anymore, so I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and march right out the door.
I twist my ankle and almost fall on the way, but I don't care about that, either. Stupid heels.
The air outside is somehow refreshing, even though it's at least twenty degrees warmer than the reception hall. I break out in a clammy sweat. My stomach rolls. I barely make it to all fours before I start spilling my guts in a whole new way.
"Hey!" Someone grabs me from behind, yanks me to my feet, and spins me around, and somewhere in the whirling chaos I recognize Connor. "Are you insane?"
He really should lower his voice. And take a step back. I might throw up all over him, too.
I laugh maniacally at the thought.
"Connor." That's Cam, and he seems remarkably calm. "Go find Nessa. I'll deal with this."
"No!" he objects. "She justâyouâIâ"
"Connor, your wife is hysterical," Cam says. "Go."
I sink back onto the pavement next to my own half-digested dinner, closing my eyes. I hurt Nessa. Again. Why can't I control myself when it comes to seeing them together? What's so different about holy matrimony, versus eternally dating?
I guess it's just the finality of it. Husband and wife. Total commitment.
I hear receding footsteps, and then a single sigh. "Alana," Cam murmurs. He doesn't even sound angry. More like sad.
I wish I'd never come here. I wish I'd never booked the flight. Or that it had crashed on the way. It would have saved me and Nessa the pain.
Of course, I could always spare Nessa the pain by keeping my big mouth shut, but it always reaches a point where that becomes impossible.
"Hey, is everything okay?"
I almost collapse with relief at the familiar voice. It's the bartender from Carlow's.
"Are you okay?" she asks, but all I can do is groan. "Let's get you inside, I'll get you a glass of water."
Two pairs of arms lift me off the ground, propelling me toward Carlow's.
"No," I manage to protest; my voice is scratchy and my throat abused. The world is rippling in ways it shouldn't. "The orange bottle...."