Page 66 of Bridesmaid to Bride

And just like that, the Senator collides with Mom’s outstretched arm, and her Bloody Mary goes airborne, a crimson geyser erupting all over his custom-made suit. The Senator gasps, his face turning a shade of puce. His eyes bulge, surveying the damage as if Mom had just dumped a bucket of acid on him. Which, given it was tomato juice, isn’t actually that far off.

Double fuck.

The crowd pauses, the air sucked out of the place.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so very sorry, Senator.” Mom’s voice shakes.

He swivels on his Italian leather loafers toward the bar to grab a handful of napkins, hissing, “Damn hillbillies.”

I feel a surge of indignation, hot and fierce. My jaw tightens, and there’s a burn in my chest. I stalk over to the Senator, ready to tell him where he can stuff his schedule—and it won’t be through his secretary.

The guests and camera operators have congregated, and there, in the epicenter, are my parents. Mom’s face is purple, and Dad’s mustache is ready to fly.

“Hillbillies?” Dad chokes out. “That’s rich, coming from you. You tax the hell out of us little guys while letting big corporations pay nothing.” The vein on his neck bulges. “Those CEO bastards have you in their deep pockets. Clearly, there’s a reason they call you Shitweasel!”

“Shitweasel” echoes off the walls, and gasps and whispers follow. This could end with more than just bruised egos, and I move in.

Senator Easel’s face goes from tomato-red to atomic. “Excuse me?” he sputters, outrage puffing up his stained suit.

Then Neil gets up in my dad’s face, diplomacy forgotten when he seethes, “Get out. Now.”

Skye grabs Neil’s arm. “Back away or I’ll spill all your dirty little secrets.”

He flashes her a glare but steps away.

“Christ,” I mumble, my cheeks burning hot.

“It’s okay, Skye. We’ll go.” Dad spins on his heel, taking my mom’s hand as they start walking toward the steps of the patio.

“Mom, Dad… wait.” I can’t see them leave—not like this.

“Okay, everyone, let’s take a deep breath.” Eva jumps up from the bar holding her hands high. “The drink was spilled by accident, clearly. There’s no reason anyone should have to leave—especially guests who are very important to the groom.”

“Eva—” Neil shakes his finger at her.

“No, Dad! It was an accident, clearly, and the senator owes them an apology.” Eva darts toward my parents.

A vein pops on Foster’s forehead. “Eva, be respectful to my father.”

She ignores him. “Mr. and Mrs. Quinn—please. Don’t go. There’s no reason why we all can’t go back to having a nice evening.” She puts her arms around them and pulls them back. “Senator Easel, I’m sure you didn’t mean what you said, now did you?”

I can’t help but wince as Schmidt straightens his tie with foolish pride before he blows out a jagged breath. He grits his teeth before he finally mumbles, “I apologize. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get out of these clothes.”

He stomps off, and Foster follows him. Not seeming to care about the Easels, Eva ushers my parents back onto the patio. “Now. The groom will be devastated if he finds out you two aren’t enjoying this very rare vacation you’re having. I will be too. So let’s get you another drink at the bar.”

“Thank you, darling.” Mom’s voice quivers. “It has been years since Buck and I’ve had a trip like this.”

I smile at Eva, never loving her more than I do right at this moment. This is why I can’t get her out of my mind and heart. This is why she means everything to me.

And what can I do about it? Absolutely nothing, and that kills me.

“Eva, a word.” Neil waves at her to join him on the beach, and she follows. The air’s still thick with tension, and it hits me that the party’s still dead silent, all eyes on us. It’s written all over their faces: we’re not like them. And the worst part? They’re not wrong.

32

The Clash

EVA

---