Page 591 of Rock Me All Night
"I pitched the idea," Tom says. "She wouldn't budge."
"We can't get married without you, Ophelia. Or Pete. Or Drew. Or Kara. Okay, I'm going to stop listing people in case I leave someone out." She takes a deep breath. "We checked flight prices. They're reasonable. The ceremony is on a Saturday and Monday is a holiday, so it will be a nice chance for everyone to get away."
"You have a dress, sweetheart?" Ophelia asks.
"I think so," Willow says. "I… uh… I'm asking Drew to be my maid of honor." She turns to Pete. "Will you be the best man?"
"Of course," he says.
Her face fills with relief. "Okay. Good. I know it's really sudden. We should have done it in Malibu. It would have been easier for everyone."
"Sweetheart, it's your wedding. Hopefully, the only one. You're allowed to have it in paradise," Ophelia says. "It will be perfect. I promise."
Willow smiles. She turns to me. "Of course, you have to come too, Jess. Will that be okay with school? Tom told me you're starting USC Law. I'm sure that's a lot of work. I understand if you can't get away."
"No, I'd love to be there." My stomach clenches. She's inviting me because she thinks I'm Pete's girlfriend, because she thinks I make him happy.
It's all based on a lie.
These people are accepting me openly and honestly and I'm lying to their faces.
I get lost in the conversation. Tom and Willow are taking two weeks off for their honeymoon. They're going to see half the Hawaiian Islands. Somehow, we get back to the topic of superheroes and their various powers. Ellie is something of an expert on phallic imagery. Ophelia teases her about the choice—it's, in Ophelia's words, a strange focus for a woman who prefers pussy.
Tom and Pete turn every shade of red every time their mother mentions the female anatomy. It's amazing to watch her make them fluster. She's funny, bold, in control of the conversation but giving at the same time.
She's amazing and real and I'm a liar.
* * *
Idriftin and out of conversation. The food is fresh and beautifully arranged—caprese salad, pasta primavera, flourless chocolate cake—but it barely makes an impression on my taste buds.
All through dinner, Pete tries to cover his frustration with a smile. He doesn't get quite there.
After dessert, we exchange long goodbyes. Ophelia whispers something about how glad she is that Pete is finally done fucking everything that moves. Apparently, he seems much happier with me.
Of course he does. That's the idea behind the lie. I should be on board with this. I know the drill. We keep up appearances so no one asks questions.
I'm good at keeping up appearances. So why do I feel like I'm going to throw up every bite of the rich chocolate cake?
I stay quiet on the drive to Tom and Willow's place. There are only three feet between me and Pete but it feels like a million miles.
I don't like it.
He pulls into a spot on the street, right between two equally expensive cars. This is where he belongs. Of course, three blocks from the beach isn't a bad place to belong.
His deep brown eyes focus on me but he says nothing. I'm tempted to make an excuse for my mood, to find a place to hide at theOMG we're getting married in two weeksparty. The other guys in the band are due any moment. Then there are all sorts of friends and peers and people who should be focused on the bride and groom to be.
There are a million reasons to ignore the frustration in his eyes and the knot in my stomach.
But I can't do it.
"You're not supposed to lock me out," I say.
He stares back at me. "And what is it you were doing all through dinner?"
"Trying to play by the terms of our agreement. You?"
"I'm not gonna upstage my brother and his fiancée."
