Page 58 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
“¿Y a dónde vamos a ir,Dani?”
“Where?” Daniel turned back, his voice quiet but certain. “Nos vamos a casa, hermanito.”
We’re gonna go find someplace we can finally call home.
* * *
Everything was perfect. The bride looked beautiful in bespoke Dior, her six-foot train of handmade French lace trailing behind her down the rose petal-strewn aisle of the huge marque. The groomsmen all looked handsome in their tailored suits, the groom wiping away a tear as his bride approached. Proudly watching from the front row, the mother-of-the-bride wore a custom Versace gown, while the stepfather-of-the-bride looked regal in his kilt. Five hundred impeccably dressed guests filled the remaining marquee space. A string-quartet played Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love”.
Julia stood stiffly on the dais, clutching her bouquet of pink roses to her chest and trying very hard not to cry. It was only when Natalie was gazing lovingly into Carter’s eyes and saying “I do” that she couldn’t hold back the dam any longer.
She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of a tissue, hoping everyone would just assume they were tears of joy. The main thing was to not ruin her makeup. It had taken two hours to apply and if she wasn’t careful, it would be dripping off her chin before the ceremony was even over. Her mother was already eying her from her seat in a way that seemed to say,pull yourself together. The wedding had cost a small fortune—actually, quite a big one— and no one wanted it ruined by one bawling bridesmaid.
Finally, they signed the papers, and the ceremony ended. The reception was being held in the house, with a live band performing in the newly renovated gazebo. Julia made a beeline for the champagne table. She hardly ever drank alcohol. After that boozy night out in the city that had ended so disastrously, she’d quit the stuff altogether.
She was now reevaluating that decision. Double-fisting flutes of Dom Perignon, she looked around for a quiet spot where she could get drunk in peace.
Her studio seemed like the perfect place. She could curl up on the couch and cry properly, without worrying about her makeup. That was all she had been doing these past three days, anyway. Sleeping in his sweatshirt and crying in her studio. Stirring only when she heard a loud car engine. Then, when realizing that it wasn’t the ’Cuda, sinking back down into her depression.
She wished now that she’d never found out what she had about him. That she’d never gone prying into his things. Gone opening boxes in her mind that she’d vowed to keep sealed shut. Her ignorance had been bliss. And now she could never get it back.
Gripping her glasses, she started making her way out to the pool area. But it was like being stuck in one of those video games where obstacles kept popping up to block your path. Distant family members kept accosting her, telling her how beautiful she and her sister looked. Complete strangers came up to her, feeling it was their sudden duty to inform her that one day she, too, would get to walk down the aisle in a big white dress. A photographer stopped her to take her photo, which she wished she’d refused. She didn’t want Natalie’s wedding album to contain a snap of her standing there with smeared mascara and holding two empty champagne flutes like a lush.
A groomsman intercepted her and tried to start a conversation. He might have been flirting with her, but she wasn’t paying enough attention to be sure.
By that point, both her glasses now being empty, she realized she need the bathroom. Glad for the excuse to get away from the groomsman, she diverted her course to one of the downstairs guest bathrooms.
She bent over the sink, washing her hands, when a wave of crippling pain hit her again. She missed Daniel more than she thought she could miss anyone. And it hurt, physically. It ached in her bones. Even her skin hurt; it was like all those pheromones had soured into neurotoxins and were now poisoning her from the inside out.
She wondered if he had been thinking about her as much as she’d been thinking about him. Or if he’d moved on already. He’d told her he loved her. But then, she knew nothing about love. Except that she sucked at it.
She turned off the tap and stood there, head bowed over the sink, tears dripping off the end of her nose.
The bathroom door opened, and someone came in.
“Oh, excuse me,” said a woman’s voice.
Julia straightened, hiding her tear-stained face. “I’m all done here now.”
She didn’t want to go back out there looking like this, but now she’d have to. She grabbed her clutch bag and tried to leave, but the woman was blocking her way. In her hand was a pack of tissues.
“Weddings always get me going,” she said.
Julia forced a smile and took the offered tissue.
The woman put the pack back into her leather satchel bag. “Although, I feel like those ain’t happy tears.”
Julia swallowed but said nothing. With the tissue, she dabbed her face and studied the woman more closely. She was Black, fiftyish, with short graying hair. Her attire was not exactly wedding appropriate. She had on a crumpled jacket, a white shirt with a faint pink stain on the right side and black pants. The leather satchel on her hip. She looked like she was on her way to a very boring business meeting.
“Boyfriend trouble?” she said.
Julia continued to say nothing. A feeling of uneasiness crept over her. There was something not quite right about this woman.
She seemed to sense Julia’s disquiet and smiled. “My name’s Belinda,” she said, pulling something out of her satchel. “I’m a Special Agent with the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration.” She held open a leather wallet containing an ID that confirmed that fact. “And if you don’t mind, Julia, I’d like to have a little chat with you.”
“With me?” Julia shook her head. “Why?”
That small smile again. “It’s about your boyfriend.”
