My breath is flowing easier, my heart not racing as quickly, and now that I’ve started, I’m not going to let them off that easy. I came to put on a show, and that’s precisely what I’m going to do, even if my father’s face is telling me to shut the fuck up and be a good little Morrigan girl.
“But darling, we’re getting to the good bit.” I don’t know who else hears what I whisper, but the groomsmen all see when I wink at him.
They don’t seem to have figured out what’s happening yet. Do they know that George has been fucking my best friend behind my back?
“Three months ago.” I turn to the crowd like I’m an actor in a play, breaking the fourth wall. “After I asked why they were texting so much. I thought it was because they wereplanning my surprise birthday party.” It’s true, I did. My birthday isn’t for a few weeks, but things like that take time, and scheming. Looking back, I feel so fucking gullible, naïve,stupid.
George: She’s getting paranoid.
Isla: She’s always been insecure.
George: I think she’s just stressed about the wedding.
Isla: Or maybe she knows something.
George: She doesn’t. She trusts us too much.
A sweat-sticky hand closes around my elbow. “Rhiannon, stop. We should talk about this.” Isla’s shaky voice fuels my surge of courage and strengthens my resolve to continue.
It takes every ounce of strength in my body not to shake her off and throw the elbow she’s holding into her fucking throat. But I keep my shoulders square, my eyes on George, and what hopefully looks like an unhinged and wild glint in my eye as I pull out the big guns.
Someone on the altar behind me sneers, “You fucking bitch,” and the hand on my elbow drops as Bláthnaid springs to her feet in the front row. My brother, Taranis, slips his hand around her wrist. I almost snicker. Likethat’sgoing to stop Blá from doing anything.
But our Taranis is a gentleman, and knows she’d jam her elbow into his nose if he dared slip an arm around her waist.
If I’d to place a bet about the scene behind me, I’d say our Aoife, Eef to those closest to her, grabbed Isla by the hair—she’s a scrapper. Clíodhna, the middle sister, probably has Eef by the back of her dress so it doesn’t dissolve into a full WWEmatch in front of the videographer and photographer’s cameras—let alone everyone else’s mobiles.
“Last night. 11:56 PM.”
A number of people gasp around the room. Someone says, “Oh fuck,” perhaps louder than they intended to. The groomsmen look like they’re about to vomit. I’d guess, behind me, my sisters look murderous. And George, the piece of shit he is, can’t look me in the eye anymore.
Instead, he’s looking over my shoulder, then to someone to my right, probably beseeching my parents with his eyes.
“Someonestopher.” His stale-coffee brown eyes that lied to me without blinking silently plead. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed and red faced, if not ashamed, and a sheen of sweat has broken out close to his hairline.
George: I wish it was you standing at the end of that aisle tomorrow.
I think it’s his ma who’s sniffling. She’s loved me from when we were children. I’ve always been the daughter she never had. It may be a little bit petty of me to enjoy, especially as I’m ruining my own wedding, but she’s always fucking hated Isla as well.
Isla: Me too.
George: One more night… and then we’ll figure it out.
Isla: I love you.
George: I love you, too.
I turn my attention to the congregation, trying to ignore the sharp stab in my chest to find Dad’s seat next to Mum empty. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The rest of the crowd’s faces are a myriad of expressionsfrom mortification to horror and disgust, to rip-them-limb-from-limb rage. Those people are generally my people, ironically including George’s still-crying mother. Is she mad at me for announcing it like this? Or is she upset at him for fucking my maid of honor repeatedly? Maybe both.
Another glance at Dad’s empty seat makes the pang in my chest grow. Maybe he got an important phone call, a sponsorship opportunity came up right at the same moment that I laid my dirty washing bare for everyone to see.
Somehow, I find my voice. “It seems that the wrong woman is wearing the fancy, white dress today, folks, and we’ve all been invited to the wrong wedding. Or at least I have.” I turn back to George. “I’m heading out, but, by all means, you and Isla stay. After more than two decades of friendship, we share the same friendship circle anyway. Yous can havemywedding, I’ll sendyouthe bill, and you don’t have to worry about me finding out—because now…” I sweep my hand out to the congregation. “Everyone important to all of us, already knows.”
I bend over, gather my skirts, and take measured, purposeful strides to the door under the green emergency exit beckoning me toward my freedom.
As the door swings closed behind me, the whole room erupts into chaos, and my usually calm, big brother’s voice can be heard above the din. “You piece of shit!”
