Page 101 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

jeanie

Bride of Dracula

All of us, sans the bride of Dracula, arrive at Vizcaya thirty minutes before the wedding starts. It’s a historical Italian Renaissance mansion on the intercoastal waterway south of downtown Miami.

For anyone getting married, it’s the perfect dreamy location, complete with lush tropical gardens, priceless sculptures, and ornate water features.

For me, it offers a lot of places to hide a dead body. I guess I’m sabotaging the wedding by stealing the groom after all. If stealing means murdering. At least, that’s the current daydream playing out in my mind.

Sophia may not forgive me, but after all that’s transpired, I’m feeling protective of her. But also, I’m ticked.

How dare Roman do this to her? She revirginized herself for this marriage. For him! Her level of commitment reaches far beyond anything he deserves.

Guests mingle between the coral walkways and serene palms. A string quartet plays in the distance. Suited waiters deliver hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Mom hijacks a mimosa from a passing tray and takes a sip.

“Let’s separate,” she says when we’re unable to locate Roman.

I scowl. “If he’s not hiding, he should be.”

Dex tugs Mom by the arm. “We’ll search the ceremony area.”

“I’ll check the second floor of the mansion. Maybe there’s a groom’s suite or something.” Nathan gives me a peck on the cheek and leaves to investigate.

As he struts away, I hope he doesn’t find Roman first. I’ve sensed he’s been on the edge of introducing Roman to his very large and powerful fists for some time, though I could say the same about most people.

In a Mediterranean courtyard, tables are being set by staff for the forthcoming dinner party. I weave around the chaos of clanking china and silverware, then cross to a large gallery with tall stained-glass doors. Beyond, they open onto a wide terrace where bay waves tumble in the distance.

I pause at the top of the steps, take out my phone, and call Roman for the tenth time. This would be so much easier if he would answer.

There are several messages from Elsie and Amelia, but I ignore them. I know what they want. The bride is missing, and I was the last person to see her.

From this vantage point, I can visually follow the bridesmaids’ bright pink dresses around the property. When Natasha, the new mayhem of honor, spots me, I hustle back inside.

“Jeanie, where’s Sophia? The wedding’s about to start,” a voice calls.

But it’s not Natasha who’s cornered me, it’s Roman. He’s wearing a tux and his hair is slicked to the side.

A flashback hits me. The last time he was dressed this nicely was for our wedding.

I expect my emotions to run wild at the memory, but I still feel nothing but disgust. Or maybe I’ve finally kicked the legs off his long-held pedestal. Right now, I’d kick him under the refrigerator like a dropped ice cube if no one was watching.

“She’s not coming, Roman.” I don’t bother easing into the issue. He’s fully aware of what he’s done.

“You told her I kissed you, didn’t you?” He crosses his arms.

“I told her you were cheating on her with someone else.” I glance around the guests, wondering if the woman is here.

He laughs. “Now you’re making up lies?”

“Why would you marry someone you don’t love?” I shake my head, truly curious what his answer will be.

“Who said I don’t love Sophia?”

“You don’t cheat on someone you love.”

“I cheated on you for years and that worked out fine.”

I’m taken aback until he sniffs, wrinkling his nose. The small tic is one of his tells. He’s lying. When you’ve known someone for so long, you learn some things.