“Baby!” The little nymph with curls of copper gold framing her cherubic face dove right on her, pushing through other guests, bear-hugging her, smiling like a jubilant child. “Ya made it!”
Beatriz returned a smile to the smaller woman. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.” She meant that.
Tiffany Lee Ray, known as Tammy “Calamity” Jane in the world of professional wrestling, is truly a lovely bride, radiating unadulterated ecstasy. She bounces up and down, her dress fluffs up with every ecstatic leap.
“Ah’m married now, can ya believe that?!”
“He’s a lucky guy.”
As if summoned, the lucky bridegroom, Chris Riddick, joins his wife by her side with a flute of Cristal. He regards Beatriz silently. Her smile wilts slightly. Tiffany is still golden.
Beatriz would like to smash in this asshole’s skull, she’s still just a little sore about his betrayal, but today belongs to Tiffany, it’s her own holiday, Beatriz has no right to spoil it.
She instead puts forth her hand with a smile fueled by memories of the good times they shared. He takes it, his eyes searching hers.
“Congratulations.” She says as they shake.
“Thanks.” He returns with a smirk, then pulls her close for a hug. “Bygones be bygones?” He whispered to her.
“All sins forgotten.” She answered, tasting bile.
“Good to hear.” He pecked her on the cheek and they let go.
Tiffany smiled and grabbed him for a kiss. Beatriz had to admit, they were a very perfect, beautiful pair. That bastard better not break her heart. Tiffany was genuinely sweet and never caused Beatriz any grief. She’s heaven-sent.
She wished them good luck before walking away, leaving them to their bliss.
She was in the middle of talking with Peggy Butcher when she happened to look around and catch a familiar set of eyes, pale and blue. Blood blushed across her face when those eyes held her, a smile in them, hauntingly. She broke away, she had to.
“I dunno ‘ow ya can stan’ i’.” Peggy said.
“Stand what?”
“Stan’in’ ‘ere watchin’ ‘im wit’ ‘er.”
“Her?” She looked only at him; she didn’t see a “her”.
She looked again, subtly. On his arm was a very young woman, at least nineteen. Her features suggested she was a model, European perhaps. She spied a sparkling stone on the girl’s finger. Coldness rushed over her.
She excused herself, wasn’t feeling at all sociable anymore. She felt numb. She escaped from the party, didn’t feel well.
In the powder room there was solace. She leaned against the door feeling dizzy, her hands trembled. Before she realized it, she was hunched over the sink, relieving her sickness. She rinsed the sink and then her mouth, not quite cleaning out that unpleasant aftertaste.
She felt better, but there was still awfulness. She went into an empty, hidden corridor and smoked, listening while the others had a ball.
