Page 97 of How to Break My Heart 1
There are twenty of us here. Some of Maddy’s friends from work and college, Myles’s cousins, and family friends, too. Billie canceled at the last minute as her mom isn’t feeling the best. I really wish she could be here but didn’t want to make her feel guilty.
The dress code is all white, making it easy for everyone. Most women have turned up in dresses, except for Maddy, the star of the show, wearing a white pantsuit. Beneath the low-cut blazer,she has nothing on, exposing the middle of her chest and the curves of her boobs. The gold necklace she has hanging between her cleavage, with a diamond cross lying flat against her olive skin.
I opted for a two-piece—a cropped lace corset with a matching skirt. The skirt’s slit runs up to the top of my thigh, showing my leg in my sparkly knee-high boots. I brought my coat but thoughtfully organized plush blankets for everyone to place on their laps to keep them warm if the outdoor heating isn’t enough.
“You’ve done an amazing job,” Carolina, one of Maddy’s college friends, says out loud. “And to pull this off in less than a month. Are you sure you don’t want to plan my wedding?”
I smile proudly. “Think I’ll stick to running Donuts Ever After.”
The server pulls out a chair for me to sit beside Maddy, who is sitting at the head of the table. With my shoulders back and a knowing grin, I take in all my hard work.
It looks spectacular.
The table is decorated with gold-plated china and cutlery, and white linen napkins are embroidered with Madelina’s Bachelorette in pink. Centered on the table are hot-pink roses in these gorgeous mosaic vases next to candles burning inside lanterns. Everything has come together just how I envisioned, including the male servers who are supposed to be shirtless. At the last minute, I felt sorry for them and suggested they wear a bow tie with a jacket so at least you can still see their abs, but so they won’t suffer in the cold.
We have a professional chef from Brooklyn cooking dinner for us and a bartender who concocted signature cocktails. They are pink, of course, and taste very feminine. That’s if it is possible for a drink to taste feminine. I guessfruitywould be the more appropriate term.
After everyone has arrived and is seated, I stand and raise my glass. “To Maddy, the bride-to-be. May this night be as wild as you were back in high school.”
All the women laugh, including Maddy, who quickly disagrees playfully. “I’m still wild, thank you very much. Who else would get married a month after being proposed to?”
While this is Maddy’s night, I’m quick to observe she’s had a number of drinks already.
The servers march out of the house carrying gold platters with plates of food. Since Mediterranean is Maddy’s favorite, serving all the dishes she loves to eat made sense. Aston knows the chef at a restaurant Maddy visits often in the city and paid him to cook tonight.
We start withZeytinyagli yaprak sarma, as pronounced by Maddy. It’s made from vine leaves with a rice filling and slightly sweet cooked onions, then seasoned with fresh parsley and dill. They are so yummy, but I make sure not to overindulge and leave room for the other courses.
Next, we are served lamb shish kebabs with bell peppers, tomatoes, and onions. On the side, there is a simple Greek salad. The food tastes amazing, and even though I promised myself not to overeat, I devour everything and leave no room for dessert.
With my stomach full, I turn to Maddy and say, “Are you having fun?”
She hesitates, then drinks her cocktail before requesting the waiter serve her another. “It’s what I wanted, right?”
“Yes,” I answer with raised brows, questioning her tone. “You did want this.”
Maddy becomes distracted by the girls seated across from us telling a story about another friend’s wedding. Apparently, the bride’s ex showed up right before the vows and made this long speech about how he never stopped loving her. All hell broke loose, and then the groom and ex got into a fistfight. It sounds like a reality television show.
When the story ends, Ramona stands up with a grin on her red-stained lips. “Did somebody say dessert is next?”
This is the code forWatch out, some dick is gonna flop out.
The girls all look at each other in confusion until “Pony” by Ginuwine plays loudly, and three men wearing togas walk around the table.
I want to crawl into a hole and die. For them, not me.
Maddy surprises me by raising her napkin and swinging it around. I’m not sure how much she’s had to drink at this point, but I can tell by the way she’s dancing that it’s more than I’ve had.
The men circle Maddy, practically shoving their crotches in her face. Since I’m sitting next to her, one of their butt cheeks rubs against my arm. I shudder at the contact, removing myself from the table to give them more space.
The cocktails keep coming, and by my fourth one, I start to loosen up and have more fun. The togas eventually come off, much to my surprise since I wasn’t expecting to see so muchmanhood. At least they are wearing thongs, but the teeny piece of gold fabric isn’t enough to hide everything. One guy’s balls accidentally slip out, but I think he’s more embarrassed than we are.
Ramona is a loose cannon, rubbing her body up against one of the strippers, who keeps eyeing me. It wouldn’t surprise me if she goes home with him at this stage, if that’s even legal. I have no idea what the stripper code of conduct is these days.
We play games, dance to music, and laugh so hard I nearly pee my pants.
Maddy is blind drunk, slurring her words and talking crap about the wedding. As soon as I hear her mention how she wasn’t sure about walking down the aisle, I know she’ll pass out soon.
Thankfully, Myles’s cousins don’t hear, as they are too busy trying to flirt with the servers, who seem to have let loose, too.
