Page 41 of Bitten Vampire
“The groom,” I reply, taking a healthy gulp of juice. I need alcohol for this. It’s a shame that Jay’s dad is on damage control.
“Fred dated Jay for a few years,” Hamish supplies, trying to help.
Charlie’s eyebrows rise. “He was punching above his weight, wasn’t he?”
He laughs. I don’t.
A deliberate cough sounds behind me.
I turn—and freeze.
Jay stands there, dressed in a dark grey tuxedo and fancy pocket square, a single white rose pinned to his lapel.
My heart does something awful and traitorous. Every muscle tightens, and I instinctively edge closer to Hamish.
Coming here was a very bad idea, my inner voice whispers.
I replay the night I chose to leave him. I see that woman cowering in the kitchen, silent after he caught her with his elbow in the hallway.
When I was younger, I would have pushed him back, told him off, said something. Instead, I swallowed every slight, every cruel word. Not once did I fight back, and the thought disgusts me.
When did I become so pathetic? It must have taken years, so many small moments that chipped away at my self-worth.
The woman I was would have never come here today.
Jay looms over me, and even in four-inch heels I still feel small, tiny, in fact, compared with him. His dishwater-blond hair brushes his collar, longer than it used to be; he has skipped yet another haircut. I wonder whether his mother has already berated Melissa, as she used to do with me, as though it were my fault he could never remember the appointment.
His gaze skims over me, and the smile falters into a frown.
“Fred, you’re looking well. Very well.”
Yes, I turned into a vampire a couple of months ago. No biggie.I focus on breathing slow, steady. No one must see that I am panicking.
Of course I knew I would meet him—itishis wedding—but part of me had hoped to float through unnoticed by him. No such luck.
“Yeah, you definitely traded down, pal,” Charlie says, elbowing Jay in the ribs. “I can’t believe you dated this girl, let her go, and she still turned up to your wedding. Burn.” He wiggles his fingers, as though casting some smug ‘bro hex.’
Jay does not rise to it.
“Nine years,” he says, still staring at me. “We were together for nine years.”
I shake my head. “Ten. You forgot the last one while you were cheating on me with Melissa. You must not have noticed I was still around.”
Silence.
I can feel the attention of everyone within earshot. Did Ireallysay that aloud?
I’m not sorry.
I came here for a reason, and these people are smart enough to add two and two together and realise my account makes far more sense than Theresa’s ‘I embezzled money from the company’ excuse.
“Don’t you think you had better get ready for your bride?” I ask, recovering quickly. “If you will excuse me.”
I turn on my heel and walk—deliberately, gracefully—away. Behind one of the massive floral arches, thick with roses and baby’s breath, I release a long sigh.
I hear Maristella mutter, “I want to be Fred when I grow up.”
I cannot decide whether to scream or laugh.
