Page 17 of Rebel Revenge

REBEL

Vaughn Weston dropped his invisible mic and strode on into the wedding like he knew they’d be waiting for us to arrive. I stared, dumbstruck, as he strode up the short aisle and embraced an older man who thumped him on the back and hugged him close.

“Belly!” Mom came down the aisle to meet me in a slinky white gown, but wobbled a little, teetering toward the chairs set up for any attending guests.

I caught her arm, straightening her before she could go careening into them. “Whoa.” I took in her bloodshot eyes. “Are you drunk?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No! Not at all. Haven’t had a drop.”

I wasn’t sure that was true, her words were slightly slurred. But she was sober enough for me to tell her off. “That’s Bart’s son?”

Miranda glanced over her shoulder at the two men embracing, and then looked back at me to shrug. “I guess so! I haven’t met him. He lives in California.”

I clutched her arm. “You told me he was cute in a nerdy way!”

“He was in the photo Bart showed me. Maybe it was old?”

Christ Al-fucking-mighty. “It must have been from a land before time if you thought that man over there was just cute and dorky.”

There was no way Vaughn Weston had ever been either of those things. While I’d had a very embarrassing, awkward teenage years stage, I doubted Vaughn had ever had braces and acne. He’d probably been the bad boy smoking pot behind school buildings and fucking the head cheerleader behind her all-American boyfriend’s back.

“Come meet Bart before the judge gets here, okay?” Mom tugged me up the aisle, but she could barely walk a straight line, zigzagging until I grabbed her arm and did the guiding myself.

“Okay,” I whispered to her. “So we’re doing this drunk.”

“I swear, I’m not, Bel.” She shook her head a few times and then forced a smile for her fiancé. “Hey there, handsome. I want you to meet my daughter.”

Bart stumbled forward, only to be caught by Vaughn who’d lost his casual smirk and had replaced it with a frown of deep concern.

“Hi. Reb-b-el,” Bart stammered, like his tongue was too thick for his mouth.

“They’re smashed,’ Vaughn said quietly to me. “That’s my mom and her husband over there. She said they’ve been like this since they got here.”

“Fuck,” I muttered and nodded to Vaughn’s mom and stepdad when they introduced themselves as Riva and Karmichael.

They perched on seats in the front row, watching on with worried expressions.

“They can’t get married like this,” Vaughn said softly. “We’re going to have to tell the judge.”

“No!” Bart bellowed, lurching forward to clutch my mother’s hand. “We’re fine. I’m marrying her, no matter what anyone says.”

“Exactly what he said,” Mom agreed. “This is our wedding. We’re not leaving until we’re married.”

I frowned, but then an older woman entered the room, her big voice booming. “Ready to get hitched? Is everyone here?”

Vaughn looked at me, and I shrugged.

“There’s no doubt in my mind she wanted to do this. Did your dad say anything to you?”

“We aren’t exactly sitting around, drinking tea, and hashing out our feelings with Dr. Phil, but I doubt Dad would have proposed if he didn’t want to marry her.”

I sighed. “Then I guess we’re letting them do this?”

“Guess so.”

Mom kissed my cheek. “Love you, Belly. And I love him. This is good. I promise. We’re fine. We haven’t been drinking.”

I left her at the altar, clutching Bart’s hands. I sat on her side of the room, the only guest because I was the only family she had. While Vaughn sat next to his mom and stepdad.

---