She tossed my bouquet at me and I caught it. “Look, you’re always telling me truths I’m not quite ready to hear. Maybe this time, it’s my turn.”
She was right. I did do that. All the time.
And I was going to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.
I drew a long, deep breath and looked my best friend in the eye. “So, tell me the truth.”
She cocked her head a little as she looked at me, in my crocheted dress, holding my bouquet. “You’re a gorgeous bride.”
“Thank you.”
“You looked happy today.”
I tossed the bouquet on the dresser. “I did not.”
“You did,” she said.
“I was faking.”
“He looked happy.”
“Ugh.”
“He didn’t have to make this wedding nice for you, Devi. He made it nice for you.”
“So?”
“What is it about him that makes you so unable to let him win one, even once?”
“Oh, please. That man has won it all since the moment he was born. He doesn’t actually need me to let him win anything.”
“Maybe he does.”
I frowned at her.
“You’re gonna be a kick-ass wife,” she informed me.
“I know.”
“Maybe he’ll be a kick-ass husband.”
“I highly doubt it.”
Katie snickered. “You’re gonna compete with him, even in that?”
“Especially in that. I’m gunning for bride of the century tonight.”
“Whoa. Devi Davenport. Are you gonna screw your new husband tonight?”
I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t ready for the new name, even though it was already mine. It was stipulated in the contract. I was, officially, a Davenport.
“No,” I said cooly. “It’s too soon to fuck him.”
“Is it?”
“Katie. Something happens to a guy’s head when he gets his dick inside a woman’s vagina and feels her reactions from the inside-out, with that most prized possession of his. It’s like a dipstick. A divining rod. Gives up way too much information.”
“What kind of information?” my drunk best friend probed, amused.
