Stealing the Groom

Eighteen

XVIII: Cotillion

THERE IS no such thing as good mornings; they simply don't exist. There's always okay mornings where one wakes to the sounds of life and caves into opening his or her eyelids. There's sometimes terrible mornings when you realize you've slept next to nothing but you've still got to rise. You're an adult, we reason with ourselves, so suck it up and act like one.

Then there are those mornings where you wake with tear-stained mascara streaks dried on your cheeks, your lips swollen red, and your throat raspy from crying. Almost always we wake to these conditions, as well as with dozens of tissues scattered around us, when we suffer from heartache.

All because of one person, that one individual that holds so much strength and control over us fools. They have to power to break us. And that's exactly how I felt now: broken, shattered into a thousand pieces.

All because of one person. All because of his alluring eyes. All because of my weakness. All because of our messed up past and even more disastrous future.

All because of one kiss.

                                                24 HOURS EARLIER

THE MORNING after the terribly tense double-date with Cole and the soon-to-be married couple, all I wanted to do was dive further into the bed sheets and never come out again. But of course, my body had an another idea when it let out a ferocious roar; I was starving and my stomach demanded it be fed. Letting out a groan, I rolled over and sat up with my legs dangling off the side of the bed.

This didn't need to be awkward, I thought to myself. I was a guest in his home in town for the sole purpose of attending his wedding with my sister. So what if we had a past? He made it clear the moment he saw me that that was were he wanted it kept. So why was I freaking out and hidding inside my room again?

I shouldn't be, I argued with myself. So Max had another one of his mood swings and we argued yet again? So what if we both said awful things? So what if I, on an impulse, told him I never married Dexter Arbaghast? It is none of his business; it's he who's to be wed in two and a half week's time! No, I reasoned, this isn't such a big deal. He doesn't--shouldn't--care, so why am I sitting here avoiding him?

Standing and walking out of the room, I strolled down the stairs and into the thankfully empty kitchen. Just as I was reaching up to grab hold of the Cherrio cereal box, I heard the swoosh of the kitchen door swinging open. 

I closed my eyes and breathed in a calming breath before letting it out and continuing on with my business. Ignoring his presence, I nonchalantly poured milk into a bowl and after sprinkling some cereal and berries inside, I turned to leave.

"We can't avoid each other forever, you know," his deep voice rang behind me.

"We can sure as hell try." I responded back curtly as I walked past him out of the kitchen. I let out a sigh when I heard his footsteps following behind me.

"Go ahead and run off, then. It's what you do best."

I froze and after placing my bowl down on the giant table in the foyer, I turned around to face him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You always flee when things get too intense. Ever stop and think how differently things could turn out if you'd just embrace your problems before they escalate?"

Glaring up at him with my arms crossed over my chest, I shifted my weight on my legs uncomfortably. His tone and words were easily deciphered: he was talking about the way we left things before I left to Italy and never looked back. "Shut up Max! You have no idea what you're talking about."