Rusty nailed(28)

“Hmm,” I said.

And as I watched their story unfold from up on the dais, their communications were very clear.

First Sophia realized that while they were technically at different tables, her place card put her directly behind Neil’s chair. And when she approached the round table and pulled her chair out herself (way to go, Barry Derry), she made sure to accidentally-on-purpose bump his chair.

Then when Neil rose to shake hands with someone and accidentally (but maybe not on purpose) bumped her chair, I saw Sophia pick up her salad fork and begin to turn, before Mimi removed it from her hand.

By the time the entrees were served, they were both jostling so much it looked like they had ants in their pants. Except that Sophia’s dress was so tight I was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing any. Panties, that is.

“Are you seeing this?” I asked Simon, nodding toward the chair bumpers.

“How could I miss it?”

Just then, Neil turned around and tapped Sophia on the shoulder. Her response was to scoot her chair back as far as she could, stand, and conveniently stomp on his foot with her stiletto as she dragged an unwilling Mimi off to the ladies’ room, leaving Neil to swear quietly into his napkin. When she reached the edge of the ballroom, she whirled, spied me spying on her, and curled her finger at me.

Damn. Powwow in the toilet.

“I’ll be back; don’t let them cut the cake without me.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to explain to the bride and groom, as well as all these good people here, that they have to wait on cake because of chitchat in the henhouse,” Simon responded drily.

I dropped a kiss on his forehead and headed in.

As I neared the ladies’ lounge, I noticed the women coming out were looking a little shell-shocked. I hurried my pace.

Once inside, I understood. The extremely imaginative blue streak of cursing that was falling out of Sophia’s mouth was enough to make my hair curl. Mimi just sat on the settee, helpless.

I came in on the tail end of “—lousy-no good-motherfucking-dickface-asshole-sonofawhore-fucking fuckhead fuck!”

“Who’re we talking about?” I asked brightly. Mimi stifled a snort.

“How much trouble would I get in for stealing the cake knife and castrating him?” she asked, two more women hustling by to get away.

“Lots. Can we talk about this without mentioning castration?”

“Doubtful; right now I want his dick in a hot dog bun.”

Oh, boy.

“If I may interject just the tiniest bit of normal here, you need to settle down, missy,” I began, putting up my finger when she started to interrupt, “because you love Jillian. And no one wants their wedding to be known as the dick-in-a-hot-dog-bun wedding, right?”

“It would make the newspaper.”

I sighed. “No more chair bumping, no more attempted forking. Just go be a polite guest at a wedding, okay?”

“I hate you,” she huffed, smoothing out her dress and checking her lip gloss in the mirror.

“No, you don’t,” I huffed back, then turned to Mimi. “And you, I thought you were going to watch her,” I muttered while Sophia adjusted her boobs.

“I was, but then Ryan had his hand on my leg under the table, and—”

“Save it—we don’t want to miss their first dance,” I replied, glancing in the mirror myself. Damn, I do look good in goldfish.

“Okay, ladies, knockers up: We’re going in. No more drama,” I instructed, and we headed back into the ballroom.

To find that the chair to Neil’s left was no longer unoccupied.

A chairful of hot blonde had taken up residence, and over her giggles and squeals, Neil made sure to catch Sophia’s eye. And wink.

Message delivered: Two can play at this game.

Shit.

• • •

The rest of the wedding passed by in a flurry of images. Jillian and Benjamin sharing a spotlit first dance. A five-tier wedding cake being cut and unceremoniously shoved into the groom’s gorgeous face. Simon toasting Benjamin with raised glasses and laughter, and more than one throat clearing.

Neil parading around a preening Blonde in front of Sophia and Hot Barry. Sophia clocking Hot Barry when he had the nerve to look at Blonde himself. Neil’s stone face as he watched Sophia and Hot Barry dancing in a very, very close way. A bemused Benjamin as Hot Barry tried to sell him additional life insurance.

And sharing my own dance with Simon, swaying under the disco ball. Which always seems like a terrible idea, but in reality bathed everything in the coolest sparkles ever. He held me close, his hand fitted into the small of my back, the other holding my hand. Weddings are romantic by nature, and I wasn’t the only one who had sparkles in her eyes tonight. The sapphires were off the chart.