Mirabelle did as she was told. She smiled at her reflection, apparently pleased with her appearance. Or she was pleased with the experience. She reached up and patted one of Sophia’s hands. “Thank you, Mom. For everything.”
For the smallest space of time, while I watched as this mother and daughter shared a seemingly ordinary moment that was anything but ordinary, I sensed that there was something to life that I was missing. A color adjustment, perhaps. A flavor that I simply hadn’t been introduced to. A sound that hadn’t found its way to my ears. Something…more.
But that was mumbo jumbo too. If I needed proof, I only had to look back on the results of my experiments. How I lived—emotionless and free—that was all there was that was real. There was nothing more.
I discovered that evening that rehearsals were as draining as actual weddings. Though I’d attended a few out of obligation, I’d never been involved in them as Mirabelle had involved me. She’d convinced Adam to make me the best man. I was in the damn wedding party. It was the most hypocritical situation I could imagine myself in. All night I was asked, “Aren’t you so happy for Mira? Doesn’t she make a lovely bride?”
As happy as I can be and she’s lovely all the time could only be said so many times before responding grew wearying. In between the fake conversations and polite smiles, I imagined the schemes I could work. That one in the too-tight skirt—would she still be drooling over the dick who’d brought her if I convinced her the best man was into her? The waiter who kept flirting with Adam’s sister—would he cheat on his wife (he clearly wore a wedding ring) if she returned the attention? I knew I could get Mirabelle’s bridesmaid to slip away with me—we’d fucked occasionally in the past—but could I arrange for her fiancé to catch us?
It was maddening how many times I had to remind myself that Mirabelle’s wedding was off limits for my experiments. So many times, in fact, that I stopped listening to myself. And when the bridesmaid in question took a seat next to me, the tug to attempt my play was too strong, the buzz overwhelming all reasonable thought.
I placed my hand on the back of her chair and leaned in. “You wouldn’t have chosen that seat, Melissa, if you didn’t mean to get something from me.”
She twirled a ringlet of hair around her finger and sat forward so I could easily peer down her dress. “And what exactly would I want from you, Hudson?”
“From the way you’re shoving your chest at me, I’d say you want me to fuck your tits in the pool house.” Under the table, I slid my hand up her skirt. “But don’t worry. I’d give your cunt proper attention as well.”
Her breathing picked up, and her eyes dilated. “I’ll go out first. Wait five minutes to follow.”
Perfect. “Be naked when I get there.”
I waited until she was out of sight before I tracked down Timothy, her fiancé. He was an intern in a law firm that would fall all over themselves to get Pierce Industries business. “Timothy, I have some off-the-record legal I might want some help with,” I told him. “Would you mind meeting me in the pool house in fifteen minutes?” An image of Melissa pushing her porn-size tits together while my cock thrust between flashed in my head, and I amended my request. “Make that twenty minutes.”
He agreed. Of course. And I was off for a night of what I loved best—scheming and sexing. My dick stiffened as I snuck away from the stage where dinner was soon to be served. I’d barely made it five feet, however, before a familiar voice called to me.
“Hudson?”
I spun right around at the sound of Mirabelle’s voice. “Uh, yeah?” Even though she couldn’t have any idea what I was up to, I felt guilty all the same. Thankfully, it was dark enough here that she couldn’t see the bulge in my pants.
She stood just at the edge of the stage. “Where are you going?”
“Just stepping away for a bit of a breather.”
“The fuck you are.”
If I didn’t catch that she was angry from her swearing—Mirabelle rarely said anything coarser than asshole—then I’d surely be able to tell from the bright fury sparking from her eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Like hell you don’t. I’ve been watching you. I saw you talking to Melissa. And I know you’ve been with her before. Then she goes off, and you get all whispery with Tim? This is my wedding weekend, Hudson. I can’t even look at you right now.”
She knew, she had to. There was no other reason for her to be outraged. Honestly, attempting to play her friend was shitty on my part. But, like any addict, I continued to deny. “Mirabelle, I really don’t have any idea what this is about.”
“You know what? Fuck you.” Her small frame shook as she crossed her arms in front of her. “Fuck you, and I don’t want you here anymore right now. I want you to leave.”
The pool house counted as leaving, right?
“But so help me God, if you fuck with my friends tonight or tomorrow or during any of my wedding stuff, I will never be able to forgive you.”
“Seriously? I—”
“Yes, seriously!” Her voice cracked. “I don’t want you here right now. Go.”
I wanted to argue more, but what exactly could I say? She’d pegged me correctly. And it wasn’t my intention to ruin Mirabelle’s rehearsal. “Fine. I’ll go.”
She kept her eyes on me, so heading to the pool house now was out of the question. I pushed past her instead and snagged a bottle of Scotch from the bartender before storming toward the house. I didn’t allow myself to think. Not until I got far enough away that I didn’t do anything I’d regret.
Getting off the premises, however, proved problematic. The driveway was too packed to get my car out, so it looked like I was on foot. There was nowhere for me to go if I went toward the highway. So taking a path on the side of the house opposite from the party, I crept down to the gazebo at the edge of our land. Though it had a nice view over the ocean, it was rarely used. Too far from the convenience of household help, I supposed. Mirabelle and I had used it a lot growing up though. It had made a nice escape when Sophia grew too difficult—or drunk—to tolerate.
It seemed fitting that I ended up there.
The stairs creaked as I climbed in the rotunda. I settled on the wood bench and undid my tie. The breeze came in and out like the waves of the ocean below. I nursed my Scotch and let the shit settle in my mind.
God, Melissa with her double G’s and tight pussy. Right about now, she was probably pissed and about ready to throw her clothes back on. Then Timothy would show up. They’d likely think I set it up that way, for them to find each other and fuck each other’s brains out. I’d never thought I’d be jealous of that prick of a guy.
But disappointment and irritation at the forced end of my fun didn’t last long. Their disappearance left space for a heavier emotion—shame. I felt certain that Mirabelle wasn’t aware of the extent of my games, that she thought she’d just caught me fucking around with an engaged woman. It wasn’t really the biggest of deals. Except I’d let her down. I’d hurt her. That realization was not one I wanted to dwell on. It was too raw, too uncomfortable. Like an ice-cold wind slicing across my skin, stinging and chafing.
I let the Scotch burn through the chill and searched for something else to occupy my mind. Soon I found my thoughts returning to the disclosure from my mother earlier. It was strange to think about what her life had been like once before. That she’d been a happier woman. That she’d believed in her future with my father. Was it so simple to say that her entire life had been ruined because her father had wanted her betrothed to prove himself? That, in turn, Jack—out of love for his new bride—threw himself into doing just that? That the time apart the work caused led to the estranged relationship, the drinking, the cheating?