There’s no going back.
CHAPTER FIVE
ANTOINE
The room is everything you’d expect from a French city hall that doubles as a wedding venue. It has the requisite ornate moldings on the ceiling and walls, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and massive arched windows that flood the space with light, and the revolutionary tricolor.
I feel like a total fraud.
Wait until you have to look into her eyes and say, “I do!”
Shuddering at the thought, I adjust the sleeve of my ridiculous yellow tuxedo. The fabric scratches. The white tee beneath it clings to my body. It’s much too tight for my taste. I’m sporting unkempt stubble that’s supposed to be cool. There’s some disgusting gel in my hair.
Anything to please my bride!
My earlobes are itchy where piercings that dig into my skin. I’d begged for fake ones, but Pedro was adamant they had to be real. The tattoos on my upper arms are real, too. As in, permanent, unless I get them burned off when this is over. The alternative is to wear long sleeves for the rest of my life.
Aren’t I lucky?
To my right, Henri shifts in his seat. He looks stiff in the ill-fitting suit he borrowed from his housekeeper. Henri’s fiancée,Gigi, sits next to him, a picture of dimmed elegance in her deliberately unremarkable dress and plastic jewelry. If you don’t know her, you wouldn’t guess she’s a royal princess.
Gigi and Henri are here to represent “the Bellays”—without the particle. Gigi gives me a faint smile. I return it, even though I doubt the grimace I manage qualifies as a smile.
Across the aisle, the bride’s side is livelier. Madame Hua Yang and her sister-in-law Mei Yang sit front and center, flanked by a cluster of Laura’s friends. The production didn’t expect Laura’s family to show up, but it looks like her mom and aunt took pity on her. The other person I recognize from Laura’s file is her bestie Denise, with her bright red lipstick and matching hair.
In the back, the show’s loyal fans stir restlessly. They paid to watch this live, and they’ll rewatch it on TV next week.Unbelievable.
Isabelle picks up the mic. “Ladies and Gentlemen, viewers at home, this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for!”
The live audience claps enthusiastically.
“Will the next bride and groom say yes to each other?” Isabelle inquires of the universe. “Stay tuned to find out!”
The room erupts in applause once again. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as Isabelle gestures to the camera crew for a commercial break. Some intern scurries forward to offer me a glass of water.
I wave him off. “No, thank you.”
“Isn’t this exciting, brother?” Henri whispers with an evil gleam in his eye.
I don’t deign to answer. Right now, all my mental energy is consumed by fighting the urge to tear the piercings out of my ears and scratch the spots like the world ends tonight.
In a manner of speaking, it does.
Gigi smothers a laugh behind her hand.
Well, at least someone’s enjoying this.
The commercial break is over. I am told to stand near the altar. The music changes to some orchestral nonsense that’s supposed to sound romantic.
Isabelle shrieks into her microphone, “Here comes the bride!”
All eyes turn to the double doors at the back of the room. They swing open. I brace myself.
I’ve studied the file. I know exactly who’s walking toward me—a silly Parisian chick whose breasts are as full as her skull is hollow. I’ve read a copy of her application letter in which she describes what she’s looking for in a man. In short, the few neurons this woman has are fixated on finding the worst possible husband material so she can marry him.
You go, girl!
Laura is being walked to the altar by an Asian man I recognize instantly. It’s her father, Zhou Yang. His face is stoic, resigned. If he has more sense than his daughter, which doesn’t take much, then I sincerely pity him.
