“As we see our happy couples off to the honeymoon, let’s give them a big cheer!”
I managed a halfhearted wave as I grabbed Chris by the wrist and practically dragged him out of the reception hall. The other couples lingered and did little exit dances for the cameras.
I, however, wanted to get the fuck out of this dress and eat a burger and chili cheese fries.
“I’m so glad that’s over!” I exclaimed to Chris, pulling at the fur stole.
“The limo is waiting downstairs. I have us booked for two weeks in Paris, but really”—Chris shrugged—“I can tell the pilot to take us wherever we want.”
I side-eyed him. “Take us where? Why?”
“For our honeymoon,” Chris said, impatient.
“I’m not going on a honeymoon with you!” I scoffed.
“That’s what people do after weddings. The show booked honeymoons for all the couples in some non-climate-controlled Caribbean resort, which I refuse to be caught dead at,” Chris continued. “So if you don’t like Paris, I’m fine with London. Or I suppose if you really had to, we could go to the Caribbean. I have a private island near St. Bart’s, though the place does have an iguana problem.”
“I have to work,” I said.
“Work?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, “because some of us have jobs and aren’t spoiled trust-fund babies.”
“I work! I run a hedge fund,” he protested. “We do billions in investments.”
“Sounds like you sleep all day and gamble,” I told him, starting to remove my grandmother’s costume jewelry. “But if you want to take a random vacation, be my guest. I’m certainly not your new ball and chain.”
“I can’t take a honeymoon without my wife,” he said, digging his heels in.
“Whoa, whoa!” Gunnar ran over. “Grace, you have to go on a honeymoon; you just got married! We need the footage. Everyone else is going to be at the seaside resort.”
“We’re going to Paris,” Chris said, “not whatever claptrap you booked.”
“We aren’t going anywhere.”
“Dana!” Gunnar wailed.
The tall brunette came over, elegant in her four-inch heels. I felt dumpy and sticky beside her.
“In the contract…” she began.
“I read the contract,” Chris retorted. “It does not explicitly state that we have to go to the tacky seaside resort for the honeymoon.”
“Fine,” Gunnar grumbled. “You can go to Paris.”
“Working,” I reminded them as I tried to detangle my hair from the crown without damaging it.
“The contract states…” Dana said, tapping her Louboutin.
“I mean, have fun suing me,” I replied. “You can take my grandmother and her parrot, but you have to feed them.” From the reception hall, Gran’s voice echoed with the punch line of a filthy joke.
“I guess they could just have a honeymoon in the city,” Dana said begrudgingly.
I opened my mouth to protest.
“Just one night,” Dana said, cutting me off. “Fancy hotel. We’ll spin it like Chris has to work.”
I snorted.
