The Real Show
(Liam)
I steer Darcy away from the group of people, on the pretense of needing some fresh air. I do, actually, need to get away from the poisoned atmosphere.
“Why are you dragging me away? I haven’t had enough of my father’s insults yet.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t tell him to fuck off.”
“Been there, done that. It’s more hassle than it’s worth.”
“You’re a saint to put up with him.”
“Is your family just as crazy?”
“I don’t really have any family. Just my parents, but they’re both in a retirement home in Florida.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“About not having family?”
“No, that part sounds ideal. About your parents.”
“They’re both still in pretty good shape for being their age. Their building is more like an all-inclusive resort than a depressing place people go to die. They love it.”
“Sounds like my kind of place.”
“Not mine. I’d rather live on my own. They’re in each other’s businesses all the time.”
We stand on the lawn, mindlessly watching the wedding party having their photos taken. People Darcy knows come and go, and I smile and make small talk.
I hate it.
There are few places I can think of that would be worse than right here, right now. Every time I want to bolt, away from the people, the small talk, Timothy. I look at Darcy and remember why I’m here. She needs her father to think she has a boyfriend.
Someone calls everyone’s attention and announces dinner.
We approach the seating chart and I hope to hell we aren’t on the same table as Timothy. If we are, I’m leaving. And I’ll take Darcy with me.
As luck would have it, we’re on a table with friends and co-workers of the bride.
“Are there no other cousins?” I ask as we find our table.
“Yeah, but I RSVP’d so late the seating plan was already finished. I think we’ve been tacked on the stragglers’ table.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
I suffer through speeches and small talk with people I don’t know and don’t care about. What do I do for a living? I fucking own this place, and a hundred other types of businesses.
Instead I say my standard spiel about being a business consultant. Over and over and over when all I want to do is talk to Darcy. I want her to myself. But the other people here are preventing me from talking to her at all.
At last the meal ends and the lights dim. Banal music plays while we have to watch the couple dance, then the bride dances with her father, then the wedding party. And if that wasn’t enough, the entire room, save our little table of misfits, fills the floor in a pseudo-choreographed “Dancing Queen” followed by “The Locomotion”. Who planned this torture?
The music’s too loud to talk to Darcy. My eyes glaze over and once again, I start thinking about peeling her dress off and revealing what’s underneath.
“Is this better than the chocolate exposition?” I have to shout to be heard over the music.
She shrugs and shouts, “I think chocolate would’ve been more fun. Tastier, at least.” Her lips are so close the heat of her breath folds over my neck and sends shivers down my spine.
“So you regret coming?”
“I do, to be honest. I should’ve gone to Austin. But…” her voice trails off.
“It was good of you to support your cousin at least.”
“I’ve hated Collette since I was four years old. She’s a mean, nasty woman who hasn’t changed since she was a mean, nasty kid.”
My brow furrows while I process the statement. “Your father really wanted you to come then?”
“He did, but I’ve kinda stopped caring what he wants lately.”
“I don’t blame you.” Why did she come to the wedding? Must be family duty or some other family obligation thing I’ve never had to deal with.
“I think it’s socially acceptable for us to leave now.”
The upbeat songs end and “Unforgettable” starts. The dance floor clears. I guess this isn’t a roomful of Nat King Cole fans. Fine with me.
“In a minute. Shall we?” I ask, my voice relaxed for the first time since the cab ride. Darcy looks surprised but smiles, and without waiting for an answer, I take her hand and lead her to the dance floor.
I stop in the smack center of the dance floor and draw her into me. The rest of the room fades away, the same way the restaurant faded away the first night I’d met her.
I hold her body close against mine, amazed at how perfectly we fit together. Her jasmine scent dances through my nostrils and I fight the urge to taste her.
One of my hands rests in the small of her back, and my other runs up her side until I find her hand and lace my fingers through it. I bring it up, and hold our hands close against our chests.
I start thinking about finding an empty room or quiet hallway in this clubhouse and fucking her against the wall. I want to watch her eyes roll into the back of her head when she comes. Is she a screamer or a whimperer? I’m dying to find out.
My dick twitches at my thoughts. I don’t know what it is about her that’s doing this to me. Attending weddings. Making small talk with people I don’t care about. Losing control.
I kiss her forehead, using my lips to tilt her head to mine. Her blue eyes shine up at me, and stare back into them with an intensity that causes the air around us to buzz. She blinks, and her full lips part ever so slightly as her gaze locks again with mine. Unable to resist, I brush my lips against hers.
Fuck it. I close my mouth over hers. She gasps into my mouth.
I push my tongue into her mouth. She’s reluctant at first, but I press my hand more firmly into her back and she lets out a low moan that only I can hear before twirling her tongue, dancing with mine.
Our mouths locked together, our kiss deepens and our dance becomes a mere standstill. Unforgettable is right.
The song ends. I become aware of the fact that we are the only two people on the dance floor. And that all eyes in the room are staring at us.
“Don’t You Want Me” starts and people flock back onto the dance floor.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” I say wrapping my arm around her and leading her away. I hold onto her as she grabs her purse, and I lead her out of the room.
Fortunately a cab is sitting at the front of the club. I open the backdoor for her.