Shopping for a CEO (Page 94)

“I—what?”

Jason shoots Declan a sly look.

“We’re behind schedule! The ceremony starts in forty minutes. You need to get with the program,” Declan adds, giving Shannon a secret wink.

“What is he—he’s the one who—I wasn’t delaying anything!” Marie sputters.

“Then get moving!” He spanks Marie on the ass, the slap making a snap! sound that echoes all the way to Pinterest.

And with that, he saunters out of the room.

Like a boss.

* * *

The ceremony starts like any other wedding ceremony happening on that same Saturday in July across the United States. The classical pianist begins the pre-ceremony music, giving guests the chance to settle into their spots. From the glass doorway I see familiar clusters along the fifty rows of twenty white chairs, each row decorated with festive flowers that Jordan has lovingly created, the Scottish feel evident.

Each row of twenty white chairs is bisected by the aisle, and as the ushers lead people to seats, with the bride and groom guests all mixed together, the wedding takes on a beauty and order of its own.

There are Shannon’s distant relatives from the midwest. Marie’s yoga students are all together, Agnes in beautiful, bright-red glory with a hat attached to her pin curls that might well have been original when Jackie Kennedy wore the same kind. Corrine is next to her in a Coco Chanel inspired get-up, too. A ton of Anterdec employees dot the crowd. Some high school friends. Greg, his wife, Josh and…is that one of the strippers from the piano bar with him, in a suit?

And hundreds and hundreds of people Shannon and Declan don’t know.

Declan’s at the altar with the minister, Terry next to him. James is in the front row, and I see my mom right behind him, obliviously sitting next to Jessica Coffin, who is admiring Spritzy and talking animatedly to my innocent mother, who appears to be inviting Jessica to take pictures.

Great. That’s like asking Dorothy Parker to write a poem about you.

Someone sets Chuckles on the ground at the back of the large garden display, right in the center of the aisle he needs to walk down. Like a game lion, he takes large, slow steps, scanning the crowd to the left, then to the right, as if to say, That’s right. You people are my subjects.

And then he hisses.

And then a dog barks.

And after that? Five minutes of my life just disappear.

Muffin, who is in Jordan’s arms, shoots across the laps of all the guests in his row and tackles Chuckles, who takes the direct hit of a two-pound vibrating teacup chihuahua with what appears to be a bad case of psoriasis as an attack on his sovereignty.

The cat and dog begin a tumbling log roll that takes them back towards us, and various members of the crowd stand to see the source of the ruckus. The pianists, bless their hearts, keep going.

“Chuckles!” Jason grunts, trying to pin down the exact location of the Muffin-Chuckles fleshfest. Out of the corner of my eye I see my mother come running over with James.

The barking and hissing make it impossible to understand the human commands people are delivering, and then an animated purse make its way into the melee.

“Don’t hurt my Muffin, you vile cat!” Jordan screams as Muffin sinks her teeth into Chuckles’ back leg, Muffin’s leash tangling with the flower basket attached to Chuckles, tying the two together in a kind of cross-species bondage that is just so wrong.

“Don’t ruin the kilt!” Marie shouts.

Spritzy, who is so tightly zipped into the purse that only his head pokes out, yaps and barks until Chuckles attacks him, Muffin’s leash tangling all three into one big mess.

They make their way right past me, and I drop my flowers and bend down, running in almost a bear walk to catch them, oblivious to the large metal hook embedded in an enormous cement planter.

The cheery display of peonies and geraniums—a flash of red, white and purple—blurs as a significant portion of my dress catches on the hook at the same time as I watch the clump of two dogs and one furious cat roll through the open pool gate and into the deep reflecting pool.

I try to run faster but in my panic, I just pull and pull, fighting against whatever hand is holding me back, determined to get to the animals, who are now sinking. One of the heels of my shoes snaps off and my ankle leans to one side, making me lose my bearings as all my weight pulls and I fall.

RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP

I stand and run to the edge of the pool, looking at the thrashing water, then stop as I feel a cool breeze in places where one normally does not.

A thousand gasps and a hundred giggles fill the air like bubbles in a swimming pool.

I am naked to the waist.

Completely naked.

In public.

“Amanda!” my mom shouts. Her voice sounds like it is coming from under water. Two thousand eyes are on me, eyeballs reaching across the courtyard to slime their way along my skin, blinking like headlights, chanting like gnomes. Someone has flayed me, scraped all my skin clean off, leaving blood vessels and tendons, fat and muscle, flesh and bone exposed for the world to critique and catalog, to condescend and shame.

Worse.

To look at, then walk away, a silent judge without comment. Without explanation.

Being frozen in place means prolonging the humiliation, the horror cloud of the crowd lingering over me like the storm no town wants, but every town eventually gets.

Jessica Coffin just holds up her phone and taps.

And taps and taps and taps.

There is only one thing I can do right now.

I jump into the water to save the little beastly mammals who cannot save themselves.

Sinking down to their level is no problem. Holding my breath is. I’ve forgotten to take in a huge gulp of air and now I feel the weight of that mistake as thirty pounds of dress sink me down, down, down to a scratching furball of pain.