“How about this one?” I asked, coming out of the bathroom.
Evan nodded. He seemed distracted.
“Is it too sexy?” I asked. “You look like you’ve just been electrocuted.”
Evan blinked and looked away.
“Everything all right?” I asked. I was about to ask if I’d done something wrong but then caught myself. I was an adult. If Evan wanted to shut down right after sex, that was his problem. I hadn’t invested all that much in this relationship. It was supposed to be about sex after all.
But Evan had promised something more.
Yes, but I should have known that was never going to happen. I felt bitter for a brief moment.You were never going to have the fairy-tale ending. That does not happen to girls like you.
My mom and the rest of Evan’s family were waiting in the living room when we returned. My mother wore a skin-tight leopard-print dress and impossibly high heels.
“Might find myself a man!” she said with a giggle. Her hair was teased up a foot high, and she was wearing fake lashes, bright-red lipstick, and gobs of eye shadow.
Mika looked uncomfortable in her short shorts and blouse.
“She didn’t want to wear a dress,” Imogen complained.
“You look cute, Mika,” I told her. “Evan’s going to have a hard time keeping the guys away from you.”
“They like us curvy girls here!” my mom said, hugging Mika.
“I should have brought a shawl,” Mika said as we went downstairs.
“I should have brought one too.” The air was chilly when we walked the few paces to the limo, but it was nothing compared to Evan’s icy demeanor.
Ivy:I think I screwed up.
Grace:Did you finally punch Imogen in her entitled face?
Sophie:Please don’t punch the bride!!!
Ivy:I think I must have done something wrong with Evan.
Elsie:Ditch the bridal party and come hang with us. We’re all piled on Grace’s bed watching The Witcher and doing shots every time Henry Cavill says Fuck.
Ivy:As much as I do like to watch Henry Cavill grunt out one-syllable words, I am in Miami.
Grace:OMG did Evan kidnap you. Help! Someone call the police!
Ivy:I wish it was just Evan.
Brea:Imogen the Entitled strikes again!
“Stop texting!” Imogen snapped, snatching the phone from me and shoving it into my purse. “This is my bachelorette party. I want everyone to do what I want to do. You have to look like you’re having fun!”
Evan was clearly not having fun though. Once we arrived at the club, Evan sat in the VIP booth, staring at the ceiling and drinking. Imogen dragged all the women to the dance floor.
“It’s whatever,” she said. “He can watch our bags. That’s all he’s really good for—that and paying for things.” She and her mother giggled.
“Dance!” Imogen ordered as salsa music blared. “Take a video of us, Tiffanie! Woo! We’re having fun, ladies!”
After ineptly dancing to salsa music, during which I tripped over my own feet not once but twice, my mother dragged me off of the dance floor behind a column.
“You’re not sealing the deal,” she said to me.
