A Wedding Story (2 page)

Unfortunately, she only had herself to blame for the glasses of champagne they both drank that were making her dizzy and...wel , stil ful . She blamed the kids for the lack of a meal. So, here she was, alone in the back bathroom, trying for the hundred-thousandth time to reach the hooks in the back of her dress so she could relieve herself.

“No,” she final y grumbled. “I can’t—I can’t get out of this thing.”

“What thing?” Bobby asked through the door.

“This dress.”

He stayed quiet for al of a minute.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you help me?”

More silence.

“Bobby?”

“I just want to get this clear so you don’t knock my teeth in if I open the door.”

“Bobby,” she growled. Good lord, he was reasonably intel igent—nothing she would admit if he weren’t already a col ege graduate.

“You’re asking me to come in there and help you out of your dress?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Okaaaaaaay.”

“Damn it, Bobby.” She turned as he opened the door. “Hurry up, I don’t want anyone to know we’re in here together.”

“Yeah, they might get the idea I’m getting you out of your dress or something.”

“Keep in mind that I’m ready to pop here and I’m not afraid to take you with me.”

He made a face, then put his hands on her shoulders. Warm hands, rough fingertips. Probably from al the guitar practice. And violin. And cel o. He could play anything with strings, including pianos.

She was stil pondering that while he turned her away from him.

“Why do you need to take that whole thing off anyway? Don’t you just have to pick up the skirt?”

“You’d think.” She’d actual y begged. Bonnie had been insistent. “There’s under...stuff.”

The tiny hooks at the back might as wel have been staples instead of closures. Her mother had gotten a few nicks sealing up the bridesmaids and Bobby seemed to be having the same luck.

“Bleed on this dress and I’l kil you.”

“I had the strong impression that you hated this dress.”

“I do, and I want to enjoy ripping every stitch of it apart without you getting first dibbs on the damage.”

“Someone has to do something about your rage issues, Rhubarb.”

She spun around, too late realizing he wasn’t hopping along to the side of her to avoid her and that the ripping sound wasn’t him trampling her train.

“What just happened?” she asked cautiously.

“Wel , that bleeding thing is a moot point, now.”

“What?”

“Your dress kinda hooked my arm. Where’d you get this deathtrap, anyway?”

“Bonnie made them.”

“I never thought she disliked you this much,” he murmured.

“You’re the one bleeding, smart ass.” She stopped moving around and waiting for him to unhitch them. She felt the tug a few times, but nothing seemed to be happening. “Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you hurry?”

“I’m trying,” he replied, sounding a little more tense than she’d ever heard him. And she’d worked desperately to rile him over the years.

“What’s the matter?”

“I think your dress likes me.”

She tried to twist to see but only succeeded in pul ing him back around her and making him pant a little bit in pain.

“Stop chasing your tail, Rhubarb. Bleeding, remember?”

“Wuss. Unhook us.”

“Ummm.”

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening.

“I don’t think I can. The hooks got caught in different directions in this cuff and the skin of my wrist is kinda pinched in the middle. We need some scissors.”

They both looked to the closed door leading to the kitchen hal way and hopeful y Madelyn Wontor.

Their eyes met, considering walking back into the reception with his hand stuck to her back. Then, as if they both remembered what they were doing there in the first place, they both looked over to the white toilet bowl in the corner.

This, official y, had become the wedding from Hel .

“Think you can make it 'til we find someone to cut us free?”

Ruth Anne wanted to say yes. She wanted to say she could hold it until the day she died, but unfortunately, this was starting to look like the day she’d die. She shook her head. “I used up al my wil power holding it while we were dancing.”

He nodded. “I thought that wiggle was starting to look desperate.”

She eyed him but said nothing. Why did he always have to pul out the truth?

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you pee before. Go ahead.”

“Eww, you have not!”

“Yup, you were six and you had to go and there was no one else to take you.”

Oh God...she’d been so humiliated she must have blanked it from her memory. Bonnie’s birthday party...the park bathroom with no doors on the stal s and mud on the ground. To this day she hated public facilities, which was why she’d insisted on coming back here to the Bride’s room bathroom. That had been the beginning of Bobby’s ceaseless torture, tel ing everyone at the party she peed funny.

“Things have changed a lot since I was six,” she grumbled. Though, no doubt he’d tel everyone at
this
party he saw her pee, too.

“Tel me about it,” he said under his breath. Not that there was much point, he couldn’t get more than a foot away from her. She could probably hear his thoughts if she gave it much effort.

“We have another problem first,” she sighed.

“Of course we do.” She didn’t even blame him for the sarcasm.

“Bonnie made us al wear this
truss
thing, to keep the lines of the dress smooth.”

“Why am I getting scared?”

“Because you can probably imagine what happens to testicles when they’re shoved up where ovaries are supposed to be,” she snapped. Things are getting urgent and he was worried about fear.

“Wel I am now.”

“It’s like a strapless bathing suit underneath.”

Maybe she should just hold it and hope she didn’t survive the urinary rupture. No...then she wouldn’t get to string her sister up by her persnickety shoes.

Revenge. A girl could survive humiliation if she had revenge on her mind.

“Can you shimmy out of it?” That had better not be hopefulness in his voice.

“I have to suck in my gut to get in or out of it. It’s going to take some...”
Bonnie, may God have
mercy on your soul
“...yanking.”

Bobby’s eyes widened. Then he swal owed like there was an anvil in his throat. “You want me...”

She waited for him to continue but he didn’t seem capable. So she shifted and the pain brought him back from wherever his glazed gaze had taken him.

“You want me to rip your underwear off?”

Given the need to clamp her thighs together, she didn’t care how he worded it. She nodded.

“I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven,” he murmured.

“You wil if you don’t watch it, Wichowski.

Just...reach under...”

He bent, careful y keeping his arm extended and started tossing up the layers of skirt. Next thing she knew, she felt his hand searching its way up her thighs. Ruth Anne looked up at the ceiling, biting her lips. Somehow, this was not how she envisioned his first dive under her dress.

Not that she ever envisioned that. On purpose.

His hand found the back of her rear end and slipped under the edge of the fabric. Good lord, Bobby Wichowski had final y made good on his taunts to get in her underpants. Her life was over.

He tugged.

Nothing happened.

She sucked in harder. Another tug.

Stil nothing.

“Hey, Rhubarb, we may need to rethink our approach.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I’ve only got one hand here, kiddo. Maybe if I grab the middle-”

“If you grab the middle, it’l be the last thing that hand ever does!”

He pondered that as if it explained something.

“So I’m guessing then you don’t get a lot of company down here.”

“Bobby, so help me, I wil rip your arm off and beat you with it, do you hear me?”

“Okay, geez. Let me just get a look—” He picked her skirt up and pul ed it over his head.

“Bobby!” She was actual y too mortified to even scream so it came out like a squeak from a dying rat.

“Dammit, there’s no light under here, can’t see a thing.”

Thank God for smal blessings. “Get out of there!”

“Tel you what, how about you use your spare hand and I use mine on either side of your hips and we yank together.”

“Sure. Fine. Dandy. Just get the hel out of there.”

The skirt rustled and he peeked out, his face a little red, his hair a lot mussed so that the inky curls were going in every direction and a smile of pure mischief on his face. “On three. One...two...three!”

They yanked and, thankful y, the truss came free. Along with a loud ripping noise and a look of shock on Bobby’s face.

“What just happened?” she asked, trying to ignore the draft she could feel.

“Um, maybe you should do your business.”

While that would be smart, she instead looked down. She could feel the truss at her ankles. And about half her skirt along with it.

“I couldn’t see,” he said in what must have been explanation. But nothing could quite explain this. The waist seam had come apart at his pul until the entire left side now hung past her now bare hip.

Ruth Anne closed her eyes again. She had no plans to open them again. Ever.

The only thing worse than Bobby Wichowski seeing her half-naked was Bobby Wichowski watching her pee. Not that Ruth Anne was entirely sure he watched. She had her face in her hands.

“Need tissue?” he asked quietly, tempting her to peek through her fingers. Nope, not looking. He was politely turned as far left as his head would al ow.

Ruth Anne put her hands down and sighed. This gave “pooh or get off the pot” a whole new meaning to her. She took the tissue wad—is that how much men used? God, no wonder the rainforests were disappearing!—and rearranged it into a useable fold. There was enough left over to replace Bonnie’s truss. But it was the thought that counted.

A flush later, she gathered her skirt and bunched as much as she could back to where it was supposed to be. Now al that was left was to go and get help. But how were they going to explain themselves?

“I was thinking. Doesn’t the bride’s room have safety pins or something?” He stil wasn’t looking at her.

“Yeah, probably. Probably not enough to put this back together, though.”

“Wel , Father Larkin’s office is across the hal .

Maybe he has a stapler-”

“You want to staple me?” It wasn’t a bad idea, real y. “Could you do it without getting my skin?”

He final y faced her, grinning, excitement starting to churn between them. “They might have some scissors in there, too.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Working together with the most evil mind she’d ever encountered was unusual y thril ing. After she washed her hands, he stuck his head out of the bride’s room and checked for lurkers before pul ing her out with him. The fabric rustled loud in her ears as he led the way in a funny little crab walk to the door across the hal . Thankful y the door opened easily and they shuffled inside, both of them taking a breath of relief once the door was closed behind them.

Father Larkin’s office was nice, Ruth Anne supposed. Dark, though. Deep-toned cherry wood paneling, tables, desks and a big stone fireplace. It was either the middle ages or a hunting lodge, she couldn’t decide.

Bobby started in on the desk while she tried to help by opening another drawer. But the more she bent, the less he could reach. Final y, he insisted she look at him.

“This isn’t going to work, Rhubarb. I’m going to do something here and you’re going to let me or we’re going to be stuck like this for a very long time.”

Logic could be annoying but the idea of them getting caught not only half-dressed and stuck to each other, but rifling through a priest’s personal area wasn’t appealing. She nodded.

Bobby’s free hand pul ed her close so that she was al by laying on his chest. He even tucked her head under his chin and if she wasn’t mistaken, his snagged hand hugged her closer as if he were protecting her. “Okay, now stay stil and let me do the work, okay?”

It was a bad time to develop a dirty mind but Ruth Anne couldn’t help it. He was holding her so close, his warmth was seeping into her despite the armor of her dress as he whispered, sending shivers down her back to where his hand braced her close.

Add to that the idea of Bobby doing the work...

Suddenly being next to a big flat surface like that desk was more tempting than she ever imagined.

“Found some scissors!” he said, breaking her attention from the furniture. She wanted to smack herself. She was in a priest’s rectory! Her mother would have her excommunicated for her thoughts.

She didn’t even want to think about what Bobby might do.

Knowing him, he’d act on them.

“Stapler! We’re looking good, Rhubarb!”

Yeah, good. He smel ed good, too, even after al that dancing. She hadn’t noticed so much before but, with her face pressed into his shirt, it was hard to miss. Woodsy, clean.

Bobby, she reminded herself, trying to shake off the unexpected case of the yums. Bobby, who was always finding the most disrespectful ways to address her breasts. Bobby, who took sick glee in rushing home plate when she was the catcher and laying flat on her until she couldn’t breathe. Bobby, who spent way too much time scaring off potential—

or worse, current—dating partners.

Bobby, who was nestling his chin against her hair and ever so slightly rubbing her back.

She froze. What was going on here? They were practical y hugging. Getting along. Working together.

She tilted her head back, careful to look up at him and think not thing a single thing about how good it felt to be exactly where she was. But then she met his hooded blue gaze and being careful fel right out of her head.

“You know why I’ve always liked your mouth, Rhubarb?” he asked in that whispery voice again, but it was twice as intimate as before. He let go of his prizes and reached up his free hand to rub his thumb over the bottom edge of her lip. Those shivers started again. “Even when you’re cal ing me names, it’s the perfect shape for kissing.”