Page 7 of The Wedding Season
So. That pretty much says itall.
Now we’re dining herein the courtyard under heat lamps and fairy string lights, the speeches have been given, we’re onto dessert, we’ve all named every movie and TV show we can think of that was filmed here at Greystone Mansion without looking it up on our phones (There Will Be Blood, The Big Lebowski, Spiderman, The Prestige, The Bodyguardand my personal favorite—it served as Chilton Academy inGilmore Girls), and I’ve managed to keep from throwing up in my mouth—despite having to watch Maya and Sam act like they’re the newlyweds, and having to sit next to Braddock, who acts like we aren’t arch enemies for some annoyingreason.
“You’re half-Scottish?!” Maya puts her hand on Sam’s forearm and leans in my direction. “If you put on a kilt, Erin will probably propose to you. She’s obsessed withOutlander.”
“Oh yeah?” says Scott, jumping in and perking up. “The books or theshow?”
I let Maya answer for me. “Both.”
He smirks. “I didn’t know you were into that kind ofthing.”
“What kind of thing would thatbe?”
“Time travelromances.”
“Uh oh here we go,” says Maya, rolling hereyes.
My hand slaps down on the tabletop, startling everyone. “Sorry,” I say to the B-list relatives. I sit up straight, lower my voice, and hiss at Scott. “TheOutlanderseries is so much more than that! The books and the show—the writing is high caliber and it’s entertaining and it’s about history and loyalty and honor and yes there is time travel but it doesn’t rely on the tropes of that genre—it’s an epic romance most of all with two incredibly strong characters and a wretched antagonist and so so so much passion!” My eyes are tearing up. It’shumiliating.
He pats the top of my hand. “That sounds great Duffy I’ll check itout.”
I snatch my hand away. “Don’t bother, you wouldn’t likeit.”
He smiles and shakes hishead.
Nothing that I say ever fazes him, no matter how obnoxious. It’sinfuriating.
Maya leans over towards Scott. “Scott Braddock! Mr. Fletcher here tells me that you speak French andItalian.”
Oh fuck you Maya don’t do this tome.
“Si,” he says. “C’estvrai.”
She looks at me when she says: “Say something else inFrench.”
I had also conveniently forgotten that he speaks sexy foreign languages. His mother is French and Italian. He has that deep European kind of voice. Too bad he always says such stupid idiot annoying things with it. He holds up his wine glass and starts saying something in French, a poem probably, or a quote from Jean Paul Sartre. I take that moment to pull out my phone and listen to a voicemail from my Mom. She butt-dialed me. I can hear the car radio and my dad telling her where to park, but I pretend that I’m listening to something very important. Maya is frowning at me and I smile at her—nice try, I am not falling for this, my fake smilesays.
“Now say something in Italian.” Her wicked smile saysoh yes youare.
He starts reciting a monologue fromCinema Paradiso, which has been one of my all-time favorite movies since high school, and he knows this. It’s Alfredo telling the story of a soldier who falls in love with a princess. I don’t want to hear it, but it’s such a beautiful monologue, I don’t dare interrupt. I actually start to feel something deep in my belly, like the beginning of an orgasm, but it may also be cramping from food poisoning. Please let it be foodpoisoning.
“Amazing,” Maya croons, still looking atme.
“One of my all-time favorite movies,” hesays.
“It’s one ofmyall-time favorite movies,” Isay.
“Oh that’s right, I forgot you’re the only one who’s allowed to loveCinemaParadiso.”
“I love that movie,” says Sam. “Have you seen it?” he asksMaya.
“I haven’t. Erin’s always telling me I have to watch it and that I’llcry.”
“It’s so dumb that you haven’t watchedit.”
“Well, I’ve beenbusy.”
“You have to watch it,” Sam says. “You should watch it at my place—I’ve got a hometheatre.”
