Page 39 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“True,” I say. “It pays great but it’s boring as fuck and a little beneath me, to be honest—”
“Good to see your ego is still intact,” she interrupts. “Unjust though it may be.”
“Which leads me to the biggest reason why I’m doing this.” I pause for effect. “Revenge, baby. It would behoove you to be nicer to me. I’m in total control of how you’re going to look on your big day. Memories are fleeting, but pictures are forever.”
“You wouldn’t,” she gasps.
“I would, I am, and I will.”
“Pax, please don’t do this. Just let it go. Walk away.”
“You begging me, Tabs?”
“Would it work?” She looks up from under her lashes, her eyes pleading and her face soft. A long-practiced look I’ve seen her use many a time before. She’s playing me. Problem is, it’s damn effective.
Must stay strong.
I shake my head in response, not trusting myself to speak.
She looks down at her shoes and shuffles her feet.
I watch her, waiting to see what she’ll pull out of her magic hat next. I need to be prepared. She knows all the ways to get to me.
“I just . . .” She pauses and wipes at her nose with her finger, while sniffling.
Oh, she’s good.
Rarely can I handle crying. Fake or otherwise.
“You know, you and I never had a wedding. I always felt like I missed out on something big. Something important. And this is my chance. I know it’s silly, with it being a second marriage and all. But I’m excited about wearing a dress and going through all the pomp and circumstance. And I want beautiful pictures to capture the day, you know?”
She keeps her gaze down.
I tilt her chin up with my fingers, half-expecting to see tears in her eyes, even knowing all the while this is a ploy. The look she gives me confirms my theory.
She’s faking it.
“That was almost convincing, Tabs.”
“Fuck off, Pax.” She turns to head back into the venue.
I grab her hand and pull her back to me. She stumbles into my chest.
“Must you?” she asks.
“Must I what? Be so irresistible? Used to be a time you liked your body pressed up against mine.”
“Hardly.” She scoffs.
“You aren’t that good an actress, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.”
“Got it.”
“And don’t call me Tabs.”
“Yup.”
