Page 2 of Prince Charmless
“Uh, no. Tomorrow.” The woman turns to point to the mop of blond curls on the opposite side of the room. “Julien is—” I walk away before she can end her sentence. “Over there,” I hearher finish behind me. Right now, I couldn’t care less about the indignation in her voice.
“Taylor! How’s it going, man?” My friend puts a hand on my shoulder when I approach. I’ve known Julien Thibeaux all my life. He’s a little annoying, but so am I.
“Since when is this wedding thing happening at my house?”
He tilts his head. “Since...months ago? When Rachel and I were looking for venues, you were like, ‘Why don’t you have it at my place’ and I was like, ‘Really?’ and you were like, ‘I don’t care, just no cameras’.” Julien mocks my low voice as he recaps.
“I don’t remember that happening. And I don’t sound like that.”
“You sound exactly like that, and Rachel remembers it happening.” He cocks his head towards his soon-to-be-wife, who is talking with a group of what I’m assuming are decorators. “You’re one of my groomsmen. Rachel sent you a suit a couple of weeks back.”
Things are piecing together now. I suddenly remember my private secretary slapping a save-the-date on my desk and saying something along the lines of ‘Don’t forget about this.’
“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” he says. “I thought you’d care to meet someone.” Julien beckons the pink binder woman over. “This is Melina Ramirez. She’s our maid of honor.”
Why would I care about that?
“Mel’s making our website for the charity.”
Ah. That’s a bit more interesting.
“Hi,” she says and fidgets with the charm on her gold necklace.
I must’ve glossed over what she looked like while she was showing my name card. Of course, this is the web developer he picked. Julien always has to surround himself with beautiful people. With an hourglass figure, full lips, and a height that almost rivals my friend’s, the woman looks like adamn supermodel. Not that all web developers are inherently unattractive. I guess what I’m saying is if you line up all the web developers in the world by attractiveness, she would be near the top of the list.
Julien gets my attention again by holding up his finger and fishing for something in his back pocket. “There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he says. I lean back when he gets down on one knee and presents a small velvet box. “We’ve known each other for a while, and I just want to say—” He opens it to show two matching gold bands. “You complete me,” he says slowly. “And I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to be my ring bearer.”
Huh?
“I didn’t know you were such a fan of romance movies,” the woman says.
I stare down at my friend for a moment before saying, “Why me? Isn’t a child supposed to do that?”
“That’s why it’s funny.” He closes the box with a snap. “My brothers are already doing the speech. We thought you needed a job. There are no kids at the wedding.”
I hum. “I thought my job was giving you my house.”
Julien looks up at me with stupid puppy-dog eyes. He knows I’m going to say yes. He and sometimes my brother are the only people left living who can get me to do things I don’t want to do. Even so, it’s hard to say I followedallof Mom’s orders when she was still around.
“Get up,” I order as I swipe the box from Julien.
“But it’s tomorrow!”
All of us turn to Rachel, yelling near the entrance of the foyer. Now that she’s dyed her hair blonde, Rachel and Julien look more like brother and sister than fiancé and fiancée. She covers the bottom of the phone with her hand, groans into the ceiling, and then places it back on her ear. “All of them?... There’snothing they can do?... Of course, I want a refund!” The walls are very tall in this room, so her unpleasant sound reverberates throughout the space.
“What’s wrong?” the web developer asks after Rachel hangs up.
What was her name? Julien called her Mel, I think. Melanie. Yes, that’s it.
Rachel’s eyes go glassy. “They’re all dead,” she says like a kid in a horror movie.
“What?” Melanie grabs her hands. “Who’s dead?”
She bores her head into her friend’s shoulder. “The flowers.”
Julien puts his hand on her back. “Our flowers for the wedding?”
“No, Jules, the flowers for my funeral.” Rachel gives him a sarcastic smile before dropping it back to a glower. “That was our planner. She said the floral shop’s refrigeration turned off in the night, and none of the gardenias made it. What the hell kind of deranged wedding doesn’t have flowers?”
