Page 89 of It's Complicated

I basically have no choice.

I inconspicuously fidget with my knife and fork, suppressing another gag reflex as I impale the whole chicken breast on my fork.

Now I only need to pick my moment and be decisive. As if on cue, Kirsten stands up, clicking a fork on her champagne glass toget everyone’s attention. In response, all heads at the table turn to the bride. No one’s looking my way.

Now or never. I loosen the grip of the fork on the meat a little, and with a powerful swing of my arm, I execute the perfect throw right through the center of the open window.

Except the window isn’t open. Apparently, I’m just sitting next to the cleanest flipping window in the history of hotel windows. Or at least, it was the cleanest one until my chicken breast slams up against the glass and slowly slides down, leaving a trail of marsala reduction in its wake.

Of course, the window isn’t open. It’s forty degrees outside. If the window were open, we’d all be freezing.

At the loud chicken-on-glass thud, Aiden’s mom turns, her jaw dropping as she takes in the smeared window. Next, she stares at my empty plate and finally at me like I’m a two-headed, three-eyed, alien from outer space.

Her gaze turns back to the window disaster one last time to then settle on me. With an inquisitive, puzzled look, she asks, “What happened, dear?”

I stare at her for a second before my gaze flickers toward Jace. He’s looking my way—like the rest of our table, I should add. His eyes dart from me to the chicken breast now sitting on the windowsill, the sauce trail, and my empty plate. I can practically see understanding dawning on him as his lips curl at the corners.

Aiden’s mom is still staring at me, waiting for an explanation when I really have none to give. I feel like I’ve been keeping silent forever while in reality, it must’ve been only three or four seconds, tops.

“S-sorry,” I stutter. “I’m such a klutz… I-I was… mmm… cutting the meat… and, I don’t k-know, I must’ve hit a bone… it just slipped off my plate… I mean these plates are so slippery…”

“Totally slippery,” Jace’s voice booms from across the table. “I almost just threw my meat right across the room as well.” Jace gives me a quick, I’ve-got-you stare before turning all his charm on Mrs. Collymore. “It must be the fine china. I’ve never seen a finer set in my entire life.”

Among the still-perplexed stares of the other guests, Aiden’s mom seems mollified. “Oh, yes, you know this is the original Bertha Palmer 1879 Havilland bone china place setting. It’s valued at over thirty thousand dollars.” Aiden’s mom touches the rim of her plate. “The trim is actual gold.” Then, covering her mouth with a hand as if she was telling a secret, she adds, “We had to pay extra to get it.”

Still looking very perplexed, Aiden’s father waves a server over, then pointing at the window Armageddon, he says, “I’m sorry, we’ve had a little flying chicken incident.”

The server raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look too shocked—as if this wasn’t the craziest thing he had witnessed at a wedding.

I watch, mortified, as the poor fella smears the sauce around the window with a cloth napkin, attempting to clean the glass.

That window will never be the same.

Another server comes to my side, asking, “Would you like a replacement brought out for you, miss?”

“NO!” I yell, earning a few other she’s-just-escaped-from-the-looney-bin side glances. “I mean, no, thank you.” I theatrically rub my belly. “Everything else was so delicious. I’m full. Totally full. Except, I’m saving a little space for dessert because it’s terrible luck to leave a wedding without having tasted the cake. Did you know?”

Lori, please stop talking.

If I had to diagnose the server’s expression, I’d call it a case of being on the receiving end of TMI ramblings from a crazy wedding guest.

Ever the most polite, he replies to me with a simple, “Very well, miss, enjoy the rest of your meal.”

I quietly keep my head down, staring at the white tablecloth in front of me for a long time before I dare raise my gaze again.

At once, my eyes dart to Jace’s, and he winks at me.

A wave of relief washes over me. We’re okay… we’re going to be okay.

37

JACE

Lori’s eyes are locked on mine. I’m drowning in her gaze. In her brown irises.

The people around us are a blur, and I can’t hear what anyone is saying. I only have eyes for Lori. My eyes, my mind, my heart, my body, and my soul are all focused on her.

There’s a smile on her lips, and I can almost see the love reflected in her stare.

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