A Girl Walks Into a Wedding Page 14

  Declan slumps slightly, and you look more closely at him. The shadows under his eyes tell a story of long fatigue. ‘I’m not sure you realise how ironic it is, you asking me for advice on doing the right thing,’ he sighs. ‘I’m having a bit of a spiritual crisis myself – that’s why I’m lying awake at two in the morning.’

  ‘What? Do you mean you don’t believe in God any more?’

  He laughs. ‘No, that’s not the problem.’

  ‘Is it, er, the celibacy thing?’ you venture. Secretly you can’t help hoping he’s about to renounce his vows.

  ‘Strangely enough, no. Although when a beautiful woman shows up barefoot in a tight dress in my bedroom … ’ He smiles that devastating grin, and your stomach swoops in spite of everything.

  You find you’re leaning up against his shoulder, so close you can smell the warm, slightly spicy scent of his skin. He goes on, ‘No, it goes deeper than that. I question my usefulness. These days, I feel like a puppet that gets trotted out whenever someone needs a ritual performed. Meanwhile surely God would want me fighting real evil: human trafficking, the destruction of the environment, civil war, that sort of thing.’

  He sighs. ‘Look, I know I serve a very real purpose when my parishioners are sick or dying, or they need to get something off their chests. But do you know what the real sticking-point is for me?’

  You’re riveted. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘It’s the weddings. In the last fifteen years, I’ve married nearly a thousand couples. And nearly a quarter of them are already divorced or separated. I don’t mind that they stand before me, making vows to a God they don’t believe in. I don’t care that they’ve been living together. It doesn’t even bother me that they probably won’t darken the doors of my church again until they want their first child christened.’

  He turns to you, propping his head on one hand. By now you’re loosely holding his other hand. ‘Go on,’ you say.

  ‘It’s that they make such terribly serious, important vows without thinking through what they’re doing. Everyone gets caught up in the wedding fever of dresses and menus and a perfect day, with no idea what it means to share a life together for the next fifty years. I hear couples swearing to love each other “for better or for worse” without the slightest idea of what “worse” could mean.’

  Wow. You hadn’t thought of it that way. Lucky Cee Cee isn’t hearing this.

  Declan goes on, ‘And then there’s the expense. Young couples going into debt, sometimes filing for divorce before they’ve even finished paying off the wedding.’

  He squeezes your hand. ‘But here I am, going on about myself, and you’re in a crisis. Are you feeling any better?’

  You’d almost forgotten about Jane, but now your dilemma rushes back in full force. ‘You’re really not going to tell me what I should do?’ you say.

  ‘You know I can’t. She’s your oldest friend – I have a feeling you already know the best way forward. You can’t go wrong with the Golden Rule.’

  ‘The Golden Rule?’

  ‘“Do unto others as you would be done by.” Translation: be kind.’

  ‘Thanks.’ You give him a wobbly smile. ‘I do feel a bit better.’

  ‘Funnily enough, so do I. It seems I’m the one who’s done the confessing here.’ He crinkles his eyes at you again, and then they darken with something stronger than friendly warmth.

  He picks up your hand and kisses it very gently, and goosebumps break out all over your skin at the warmth of his lips.

  ‘You’d better go. Or I’m going to have enormous difficulty with that vow of celibacy on top of everything else.’

  You slip off the bed, and then turn back – you can’t stop yourself – and bend to kiss him on those beautifully shaped lips. Your mouths linger together for a long moment, and while you know you’ve had more passionate kisses, you don’t think you’ve ever had more tender.

  You wrench yourself away, and out the door. Jane needs you. Your stomach knots. Golden Rule, you repeat. What would be kinder: to confront her right away, or pretend you saw no evil?

  If you decide to tell Jane you know, go to page 235.

  If you decide to pretend you didn’t see anything, go to page 238.

  You’ve decided to tell Jane you know

  You take a deep breath and tap gently on Jane’s door, hoping she’s back. She snatches open the door, her face streaked with tears.

  ‘I’ve been so stupid! I’ve done something terrible!’ she wails, pulling you into her room.

  Overwhelmed with relief that you won’t have to confront her after all, you sit down next to her on the bed, and hand her the box of tissues from the bedside table.

  Jane opens her mouth and the whole story falls out in a tumble of tears. After she returned from the karaoke bar, she was on her way up to her room when she bumped into a very drunk Mikey. They got chatting, she went up to his room to fetch something, and then …

  ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ you demand.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she howls. ‘I’ve never been with anyone else, I wasn’t sure, I just wanted to see what it was like.’

  ‘So you slept with the best man?’ you ask, trying your hardest to keep cool, but not succeeding.

  She stops mid-sob and stares at you. ‘Are you crazy? I didn’t sleep with him! I’d never do that. We kissed a bit, and then somehow I touched his dick … ’ Jane wipes her nose with her sleeve.

  You’re tempted to jam your fingers in your ears, but she goes on, ‘That was when I came to my senses. It was just so tiny!’

  ‘Really?’ This you did not expect.

  ‘I mean chipolata-small! Really, reeeally teeny,’ Jane says, lifting her little finger and wiggling it around. ‘To be honest, I didn’t know they came that small.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Yes way. Talk about all bark and no bite. That was when I thought, what the hell am I doing? And I got out of there. Cold feet banished for life. I’m so lucky I found Tom. I know you think he’s boring, but he isn’t, not really. And even if he is, he’s my boring.’

  ‘Are you going to tell him?’ you ask.

  ‘Probably,’ Jane says, suddenly serious. ‘Maybe he did something bad at the stag party, and then we’ll be quits.’

  ‘You know that’s highly unlikely, right?’ you say.

  ‘I know. That’s why I love him.’

  Jane looks off into the distance and you catch her expression. You realise, possibly for the first time, just how much she does love him. You put your arms around her. ‘It’ll all be fine in the end,’ you promise her. ‘You just have to remember the Golden Rule.’

  ‘Golden Rule?’ she asks.

  ‘Be kind.’

  Go to page 241.

  You’ve decided to pretend you didn’t see anything

  Everything is dead quiet as you make your way back to your room. Typically, you discovered that your key was in your jacket pocket all along. You’re shattered. Part hangover sneaking up on you, part emotional exhaustion.

  There’s someone waiting at the end of the corridor, sitting with her knees up against her chest, her head down. It’s Jane. ‘Where have you been?’ she says, scrambling to her feet. ‘I have to talk to you!’ She shepherds you back to her room.

  ‘I need your help! I’ve made a terrible mistake!’ she says, sinking onto the floor, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  ‘I know,’ you say, unable to stop yourself. ‘I saw you with Mikey!’

  She looks up at you. ‘What do you mean, you saw?’

  You explain about losing your room key and blundering into Mikey’s room, but something stops you from telling her about your encounter with Father Declan.

  Jane starts weeping again. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking! I’ve been having cold feet, and I was worried that I’d never been with anyone else … ’

  ‘And now that you’ve been with someone else?’ you snap.

  ‘What? Are you nuts? I didn’t shag him!’

 
‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No, absolutely not. It was just kissing, and then I touched his dick … and I completely freaked out. I had to get out of there! It just felt so wrong.’ She scrubs her cheeks with a sodden tissue. ‘And … Mikey was kind of small, too. Very small, in fact!’

  ‘Oh reheaally?’ you say, raising your eyebrows. ‘Tiny, hmm?’

  ‘Like a monkey’s finger!’ Jane says. You sink onto the floor next to her and then you both roll around laughing until you can’t breathe. Eventually Jane blows her nose and looks at you seriously.

  ‘It turns out that what I already have is just right. I really fucked up. Do you think I should tell Tom?’

  ‘What? That you love his penis? Yes, I think you should tell him that repeatedly for the rest of your lives. The rest we should probably keep to ourselves.’

  Jane nods dreamily. ‘I think we’re going to live together happily ever after.’

  ‘I think so too,’ you say. Grinning at the thought of Mikey’s teeny, tiny, iddle-widdle penis.

  Go to page 241.

  You head back to your room

  As you wander back to your room through the magnificent old manor house, with the birds starting to stir and the dawn light approaching, you hear giggling coming from a room at the end of the corridor. You tiptoe towards it.

  It’s part laundry, part store room, the door slightly ajar. You hear more giggling and shuffling and you peep in.

  You see Cat sitting on one of the heavy-duty washing machines, with Lisa standing between her legs. They’re kissing passionately, their eyes closed. Lisa is holding Cat’s face and Cat’s fingers are trailing down Lisa’s spine. You tiptoe away, dazed and shaking your head. Is everyone getting it on tonight?

  Back in your room, you think about everything you’ve seen. Between the wild karaoke, catching Jane with Mikey, and getting to know Declan a little better, it’s been a whirlwind evening. And you don’t even know how to begin processing what you’ve just seen in the laundry room.

  Poor Bruno, even though you can’t stand him, you feel a little sorry for him. And then, as you sink onto your bed, you can’t help thinking about Declan. Father Declan. No, you prefer him as just Declan.

  You shake off the thought of that lilting accent and that sexy mouth. You’re going straight to hell at this rate. And the weekend has hardly begun. It’s the rehearsal dinner tomorrow tonight – no wait, it’s already tomorrow.

  But what will you do for the day? You need to get out of the hotel, that’s for sure, or Cee Cee will rope you into wedding-planner hell. Jane is spending the day with Aunt Lauren, so she won’t need you. You could sleep late and then maybe head over to the spa for a bikini wax. Except those are always so painful – a massage would be a lot more relaxing. You yawn – you’ll decide when you wake up.

  To go for a wax, go to page 243.

  To get a massage, go to page 244.

  You’ve gone for a wax at the spa

  You sip gratefully at your glass of ice-cold lemon and mint water as you wait for the beauty therapist. It’s a shame you’re here for a bikini wax, and not something a little less excruciating. But you took a hard look at what was going on downstairs before you got in the shower this morning, and decided your George Bush was starting to look like Donald Trump.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ drawls Olga, the glamazon beautician, clopping in on high heels. ‘No vaxing this veekend – the heating machine caught on fire. But ve have a cancellation, if you vant a massage instead.’

  If you have a massage, go to page 244.

  If you head back to the hotel, go to page 251.

  You’re getting a massage

  You lie on your stomach on the massage table, naked under a warm, fluffy towel. The door opens and a man steps in.

  ‘Hello,’ he says, smiling politely. ‘I’m Claud.’

  You smile and greet him back. You’ve never had a male massage therapist before, but you’re quite looking forward to it. It feels like a modern and mature thing to do. Claud is slim, with the kind of complexion that suggests a lifetime of eating wheatgrass and vitamin smoothies. His arms are muscled in a way that makes you think he’s probably a yoga buff too.

  He opens a bottle and the smell of pine and eucalyptus fills the room. Through the hole in the massage table you can see Claud’s legs, clad in a pair of white linen trousers, as he moves around the table.

  ‘So, just tell me if the pressure is too soft, or too hard, okay?’ he says, and you nod as you feel his hands on your back, the oil warm on your skin, his fingers soft, but hard and probing at the same time. You breathe out deeply, sighing with pleasure as he gets to work on the knotted muscles in your neck and shoulders. Then he works down either side of your spine in long, even strokes.

  You feel his fingers roving lower and lower down your back, and then he folds the towel down further, so that the top of your bottom is exposed to his fingers, which are working their magic, kneading, stroking and rubbing away every single tension you ever had. As his fingers massage the tops of your buttocks, you feel your pussy responding, which takes you by surprise. You can’t remember ever feeling turned on during a massage before. You wonder if it’s because your masseur is such a good-looking guy, or whether it’s his fingers, which should be insured for billions.

  ‘If you could turn over now,’ Claud says, laying a fresh, warm towel over you so that you can turn without flashing your naked body. Then he pours more oil into his hands and gets to work on your front. You feel those clever fingers on your shoulders, and then he drops them down, so he’s massaging the top of your chest.

  You murmur a little and open your legs slightly underneath the towel. He’s standing just to your right, and your head is exactly at waist height. You can even see the shape of his cock through the light linen of his trousers. Is that an erection, or is it simply the way the light is falling?

  As his fingers rub across your chest, you wonder if you’d want him to take things further. And would that cost extra, or is it simply a win-win situation for everyone? And if you did want a happy ending, how would you let your masseur know? Is there some sort of code word for this kind of thing?

  If you want to say something suggestive, go to page 247.

  If that is most definitely a bad idea, go to page 248.

  You propose a happy ending

  You feel bold. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you flutter your lashes at Claud. ‘Any chance of a happy ending?’

  ‘What the—!’ Claud snatches his hands away and backs off.

  ‘I’m sorry, for a second I thought you were … I thought this was … ’ Your mouth has gone dry.

  ‘How dare you? I’m going to have to ask you to leave!’ Claud shouts.

  ‘Shh … shhhh … ’ you say, worried someone might hear him. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean … it was a misunderstanding … can’t we just pretend it didn’t happen?’

  ‘What kind of establishment do you think this is? And what kind of masseur do you think I am? I trained in Sweden, you know! You should be ashamed of yourself!’ He reaches for a tissue and angrily wipes the oil from his fingers.

  ‘Wait,’ you call as he storms out the door. ‘I’m sorry! Don’t go! I’ve still got fifteen minutes left!’

  You’re massaged (more-or-less) and ready for the rehearsal dinner. Go to page 251.

  You don’t propose anything improper

  Even if you really wanted to say something suggestive, you couldn’t possibly be that forward. You keep your mouth shut as Claud begins to work on your legs. He kneads at your ankles and then up your shins, squeezing at your calves, then working at the skin above your knees with strong, agile fingers. Next he moves up your thighs slowly, first one and then the other, stroking at the muscles, applying just the right amount of pressure.

  You can feel your pussy pulsing under the shield of the towel, his fingers just inches away from it. You have to concentrate to stop yourself from shifting your hips to force him to touch you higher. You imagine hi
s long, deft fingers straying from their course, slipping under the towel, slipping inside you one by one, and at the thought of it, a little moan escapes you.

  ‘Does that hurt?’ Claud asks, stopping what he’s doing.

  You have to clear your throat. ‘No, it’s perfect,’ you say huskily and he continues his fingers’ journey, using his thumbs like rollers against your skin.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s time,’ Claud finally says, and you open your eyes slowly, feeling disappointment surge through your body. You’re not at all ready for this to be over.

  ‘Be careful not to get up too fast, you may feel light-headed,’ Claud says from above you. ‘And take your time getting dressed. Come out whenever you’re ready, there’s no hurry.’ Then he leaves you alone in the dim light of the treatment room.

  You remain on your back, breathing slowly, every muscle relaxed and at ease, but every nerve-ending alert. You stroke your hand along your stomach, feeling the slip and slide of the oil on your skin. Then you trail your other hand down your side and over your hip, tossing the towel to the floor. You lay your palm over your mound and apply the slightest pressure. You roll your hips a little, aware that you don’t have all that much time.

  You squeeze your thighs together and contract your pussy, and it sends sharp waves of need shooting through your body. Then you slip your hand between your soaking wet pussy lips, your fingers sliding between hot skin. You find your clit with your middle finger and push down on it, then slip that finger further down your slit, then up again, first flicking it over your clit, then scissoring your clit between two fingers, and you have to stop yourself from crying out. You slip two fingers into your pussy, the walls of it hot and eager, sucking you inside. You grind your hips up to push against the top of your palm, which is pressed down on your clit, then slip a third finger inside yourself. You raise and spread your legs so that you can move your fingers inside you, until at last your orgasm begins to explode with a rare intensity. Your clit feels on fire as you pulse your palm down on it, every feeling amplified as your body spasms, your eyes squeezed shut.