“Not that I’m aware,” I smiled back at him.
“I get so jealous…” a young woman’s voice sounded humored but honest when she and four other young women sat with her at this wedding guest reject table.
“Calm down, Beck,” a stunning redhead said, sitting properly at our table. Her eyes slid around the table, falling on me and the guy who’d sat before the girl-pack showed up in their super revealing, high dollar gowns. “Hey there,” she said, eyes meeting mine.
“Hi,” I lifted my chin with a smile. “I’m Ashley,” I used my thumb to point to the guy sitting to my right, “I don’t think you mentioned your name?”
“I’m Dave,” he said, seemingly enamored to be the only guy at a table of beautiful women. “I guess I’m the luckiest man in the room.” He chuckled.
“You might second guess that after being with us single and very desperate ladies by the time they open the dance floor,” a beautiful woman said. She had chestnut eyes and a chocolate skin tone I would give my right arm for.
“Yeah,” he sipped his wine.
It didn’t take long for their conversation to blow up in gossip. The girls started in with snarky remarks about my cousin’s ceremony from the décor to this beautiful reception. I was appalled, uncomfortable, and at a loss for words. How anyone could go out of their way to be so nasty was beyond me. It was apparent I was at the invited because we have to table. Fuck my life.
By the time we finished the five-star meal, I was ready to get out of here, Mr. G or not. So what, we met randomly three times now. There was no relationship, it was surface fun, and I wasn’t tempted in the slightest to stick around any longer than to find the family who’d helped mine, giving them my best wishes, and leave. Strange how such a beautiful environment could become toxic with jealous women who had nothing better to do than degrade a bride on her special day to make themselves feel better about being single.
I went to stand up and head toward the Johnsons, who were seated in front, but the lights flickered, and instantly, the room was transformed. It was now dark, spotlights pointing toward the empty space on the dance floor. The bride was seated in a chair on the stage, and the music changed to some hip tune.
A spotlight blinded me when it turned to beam at the back doors that opened into the vast room. Blinking a few times to get the stars out of my eyes, I noticed the groom leading a choreographed dance—his groomsmen following in step behind him.
The men had tossed their jackets to the side to reveal white shirts and suspenders. I covered my mouth when I saw Mr. G had some sexy dance moves amongst the others. His smile was devious as his body moved in step to entertain the bride for her groom.
This guy was ripped to perfection. The guy’s muscles were pressing against his button-down shirt, and unlike the others, his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his chiseled forearms.
I pulled out my phone to video the dance that the guys must have worked on for weeks to make this impressive presentation for the bride. I was pretty sure the superficial haters at my table would have something shitty to say about it, but I loved it. It was romantic, corny, and cute all in one. I’d seen stuff like this on social media, but to see it in person was quite another thing.
I turned my focus from Mr. G to my cousin, who cheered as the men danced around her. She was a beautiful bride—a very pregnant beautiful bride, I might add. The white dress was cut perfectly to show the flattering swell of her belly. I could only dream of looking so radiant when I was pregnant. Her long black curls bounced, and the diamonds placed the pinned-up part of her veil twinkled as the spotlight followed the groom and his men up to her.
The hate talk resumed once the show was over, but thank God the wedding planner had moved the reception forward quickly. The next thing we knew, the cake was being cut, then my worst fear came into play—the traditional bouquet toss. I was lined up with countless young women and took residence next to a fun, gray-haired lady with bright red lips.
“You going to catch it for me, kid?” she asked in a salty voice.
I smirked at her, “I tend to repel these sorts of things.”
“Watch those bridesmaids. I hear they’re vicious.” She nudged me.
Without warning and not even looking, the bouquet miraculously landed in my hands. Three women tried to rip it out of my grips before they were practically cuffed and dragged out by the wedding planner and his minions.
“Jesus,” I said, running my fingers over the nail tracks on my arms from the claws of desperate women trying to take the flowers. I turned to the elderly woman, “Here,” I smiled at her, “caught it for ya.”
I tried to bow out, but she stopped me with a solemn gaze. “It’s yours.” She arched an eyebrow at me, “You have the battle scars, honey.”
I loud group of men’s voices erupted from behind me, but I walked briskly back to my table where the gossip girls eyed the bouquet as if I’d ripped the jewels from the bride.
“You guys want this flower arrangement that badly?” I asked, pushing it toward them.
A blonde with glossy lips reached over and snatched it up. “Thanks,” she said as I frowned at her immature, yet snobbish behavior.
“Here he comes, here he comes. Act fucking normal, Mellie,” the redhead said.
Where the fuck is Mr. Johnson? I can’t do this wanna-be Housewives of San Fran another second.
“I believe I’m confused.” Mr. G’s velvet voice sliced through my irritated thoughts, bringing my attention to his approach.
“Why?” the girls all nearly said in unison, faces flushed under his stare.
He looked at the blonde who stood with the bouquet in her hands. “I was never so thrilled to catch the garter so I could be in a photo with my future wife.”
She exhaled confidently, walking over to his sexy smirk. “I guess that’s what it means, right?”
He grinned. “That’s exactly what it means. Allow me,” he pulled the bouquet from her hands. “This doesn’t particularly belong to you whether it was handed down or not.”
Oh, great! After being at the table with these girls since the beginning of the reception, I had a feeling they were capable of putting a hit on me if this guy did what I had a pretty good feeling he was about to do.
“Annie?” he arched a brow at me and held out the bouquet. “You and I are needed for pictures together.”
“I’m good.” I tightened my lips, feeling gazes of fire on me and wanting no part of any of this.
“I disagree.” He pinned me with a stare that had me locked into a trance. “You can give it to one of these ladies after, but for now, you and I are the ones who are under the wedding folklore of the next ones to get hitched. I can’t think of another stunning woman in the room I’d rather be with in this situation.”
“Go,” Dave said. “Sheesh, you’re pissing off the entire table.”
I looked at him with a stare of disbelief as I stood. “Sorry.”
“Let’s go take our pictures,” I said, linking my arm in the guy’s arm.
“How in the hell did you get seated with the bride’s oldest enemies?” he asked while pulling me away from the group.
“My future husband,” I played along, seeing his smile, “he’s part of the wedding party and didn’t ensure I was seated with the groom’s guests.”