wear…what would I wear? I didn’t want to be too obvious but I wanted to look great.
Maybe I would wear—oh, idea! I would wear my snuggy favorite jeans with some sort of funky top, depending on the weather.
He would wear… I didn’t really care what he would wear. He would look good in a potato sack as long as he kept that hair and those eyes. Those lovely, lovely eyes.
I paused for a minute, mentally zooming in on those eyes again.
Hm-mm. Hm.
We would probably not get to speak until after rehearsal, but then he would come over to me and say something like, here’s looking at you, kid. Oh, a movie quote! I shivered with excitement and glee. How subtle. I hoped he had the speaking voice to match.
And he would take my hand and without awaiting my consent—in fact, knowing that I would agree to pretty much anything—he would whisk me away for dinner somewhere.
Uh.
“Somewhere” wasn’t good enough. It needed to be somewhere special, yet close. Or perhaps not close, maybe that didn’t matter. But it definitely couldn’t be anywhere where I had been with Dan. Or with Tim.
Well, that would rule out most London restaurants, wouldn’t it.
Hm.
He couldn’t very well take me home, that would be too forward. Too fast.
I sighed. Darn it, he would just have to know a charming little restaurant that was virgin territory as far as I was concerned. He would come up with something. I was sure of it.
So, we would go for dinner and—
What, then, Sophie?
I let some more hot water into the bath, but then decided that I would rather get out. My fingers and toes had turned all pruney. Grabbing the fluffy white towel from the heated rack, I wrapped myself up tight and lay on the bed.
Staring at the ceiling, I realized I couldn’t take this any further. For one, I really couldn’t imagine what Steve’s body might look like. And for another, I was starting to feel all…lonely. And needy. And uncomfortable in my skin. I had daydreamed myself into a hot spot.
Chapter Nineteen
“And this is Sophie, my awful ex. Bitch!” Tim took a sip of his drink and adjusted his buttonhole ever such a tiny amount. Then he continued. “She dumped me for a rock star. The stupid cow! Yes, take a good look, that’s what an adulterous bitch looks like. I’ve invited her so that I could say it to her face, after all this time.”
Tim went on and on, and I stood there with my face burning. I couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t speak out to defend myself. For starters , I wanted to shout, I didn’t dump you for him! I dumped him before I ended it with you. Because we weren’t right for each other .
But I couldn’t get the words out. I was clutching my glass of champagne so hard that I was in danger of snapping the stem.
Now it was Dina’s turn to speak. Bizarrely, she had acquired an awful, squeaky voice that made my skin crawl like somebody scratching fingernails on chalkboard. “Lies, lies, lies, that’s what Sophie told my poor, lovely Tim. It took him months to get over her cruelty and mistreatment.”
Gathering up her absurdly long train in one hand and still holding a glass in the other, she left the dais and walked up to me in tiny, hoppy steps. She looked like a mouse in heels.
“I spit at you,” she declared, and followed through right away.
Her glob of spit was well aimed and hit me on the forehead. I could hear the other wedding guests gasp in horror but still I couldn’t move. Her spit, viscous as nasal snot, slowly ran down my forehead, down my nose and eventually dripped, ever so slowly, into my drink.
I wanted to die.
I—
Somebody was at the door, and I woke up with a start, heart racing, forehead wet with sweat. I rushed a hand up to my face—was it sweat? Or was it spit?
Sweat. Had to be. I was soaking all over. And I had no idea where I was.
Somebody was still knocking at my door and calling my name. Shakily, I got up from the unfamiliar bed and discovered to my great surprise that I was
Maybe I would wear—oh, idea! I would wear my snuggy favorite jeans with some sort of funky top, depending on the weather.
He would wear… I didn’t really care what he would wear. He would look good in a potato sack as long as he kept that hair and those eyes. Those lovely, lovely eyes.
I paused for a minute, mentally zooming in on those eyes again.
Hm-mm. Hm.
We would probably not get to speak until after rehearsal, but then he would come over to me and say something like, here’s looking at you, kid. Oh, a movie quote! I shivered with excitement and glee. How subtle. I hoped he had the speaking voice to match.
And he would take my hand and without awaiting my consent—in fact, knowing that I would agree to pretty much anything—he would whisk me away for dinner somewhere.
Uh.
“Somewhere” wasn’t good enough. It needed to be somewhere special, yet close. Or perhaps not close, maybe that didn’t matter. But it definitely couldn’t be anywhere where I had been with Dan. Or with Tim.
Well, that would rule out most London restaurants, wouldn’t it.
Hm.
He couldn’t very well take me home, that would be too forward. Too fast.
I sighed. Darn it, he would just have to know a charming little restaurant that was virgin territory as far as I was concerned. He would come up with something. I was sure of it.
So, we would go for dinner and—
What, then, Sophie?
I let some more hot water into the bath, but then decided that I would rather get out. My fingers and toes had turned all pruney. Grabbing the fluffy white towel from the heated rack, I wrapped myself up tight and lay on the bed.
Staring at the ceiling, I realized I couldn’t take this any further. For one, I really couldn’t imagine what Steve’s body might look like. And for another, I was starting to feel all…lonely. And needy. And uncomfortable in my skin. I had daydreamed myself into a hot spot.
Chapter Nineteen
“And this is Sophie, my awful ex. Bitch!” Tim took a sip of his drink and adjusted his buttonhole ever such a tiny amount. Then he continued. “She dumped me for a rock star. The stupid cow! Yes, take a good look, that’s what an adulterous bitch looks like. I’ve invited her so that I could say it to her face, after all this time.”
Tim went on and on, and I stood there with my face burning. I couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t speak out to defend myself. For starters , I wanted to shout, I didn’t dump you for him! I dumped him before I ended it with you. Because we weren’t right for each other .
But I couldn’t get the words out. I was clutching my glass of champagne so hard that I was in danger of snapping the stem.
Now it was Dina’s turn to speak. Bizarrely, she had acquired an awful, squeaky voice that made my skin crawl like somebody scratching fingernails on chalkboard. “Lies, lies, lies, that’s what Sophie told my poor, lovely Tim. It took him months to get over her cruelty and mistreatment.”
Gathering up her absurdly long train in one hand and still holding a glass in the other, she left the dais and walked up to me in tiny, hoppy steps. She looked like a mouse in heels.
“I spit at you,” she declared, and followed through right away.
Her glob of spit was well aimed and hit me on the forehead. I could hear the other wedding guests gasp in horror but still I couldn’t move. Her spit, viscous as nasal snot, slowly ran down my forehead, down my nose and eventually dripped, ever so slowly, into my drink.
I wanted to die.
I—
Somebody was at the door, and I woke up with a start, heart racing, forehead wet with sweat. I rushed a hand up to my face—was it sweat? Or was it spit?
Sweat. Had to be. I was soaking all over. And I had no idea where I was.
Somebody was still knocking at my door and calling my name. Shakily, I got up from the unfamiliar bed and discovered to my great surprise that I was
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