Wedding Night Stand: A Chic Manila short story (2 page)

“Don’t change the subject,” Andrea retorted, not taking the bait. “Tell me about your Geraldine. What’s the deal with her?”

***

Throughout dinner, she learned that Geraldine was likely being smart, or just playing hard to get. Damon was what Andrea would call a serial pursuer, and he went “serial” on the same type of girl: elegant, pristine, mysterious…

“Ice Princess,” she said, heels tapping the sand as they stood and waited for the buffet line to move.

He had long since stopped checking if anyone from G’s table was around them, or listening. “You could say that.”

“I
am
saying it. But it’s typical.”

“Typical.” He seemed not to like the word, or how it had been used on him.

“She’s a mannequin that’s come to life. It’s a fantasy. There was a movie about it. I guess what surprises me is that you’ve
always
gone for that type. Don’t guys feel that they have to level up to that?”

“I never felt that.”

Well, of course not. “Well you’re in good company anyway, because
I’ve
been the girl that guys practice with, before they land their Ice Princess.”

She was joking. But maybe it was a little bitter on delivery, so she coughed and tried to fix it. “Are you friends with Anton?”

Damon gently nudged her shoulder; she didn’t realize that a gap had appeared in the line. Andrea skipped ahead, and tried not to let the skin contact affect her.

“Anton doesn’t have that many friends at work. But we’re okay,” he said.

“That’s weird. Because he’s got friends
everywhere
.”

“You know his reputation before, right?”

He dated a lot, to put it mildly. His own best friend called him a “manslut,” but lovingly. “Before my sister? Yeah.”

“Some people aren’t comfortable with it. So he doesn’t have that many work friends.”

“Just you then,” she said.

“Kind of.”

Being friendly with Anton was how Damon met Geraldine, apparently. Not that it was helping him get anywhere with her.

“And you,” he said, touching her shoulder again to move her forward, “you hate all of this why?”

She pouted. “I
resent
it right now, that’s all. Not Julie and Anton, no, I love them—I just… I got burned. Someone...He got married recently. I've been in a funk since I found out about his engagement.”

“
He
is an idiot.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure he looked really happy on his day like everyone else.”

“So what’s wrong with you?” Damon teased.

“
Me
?” That started out as a fake gasp, but wait, she felt a tinge of something there. Actual defensiveness. “I seem to be all right with everyone, until I do something fun, and then guys are like
I don’t want to clip your wings.
”

“What kind of fun things do you do?”

She sang videoke at the top of her lungs. Jumped from beach cliffs. Rode horses beyond the trail. “I like trying new things all the time, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Damon said. “I happen to think wings are beautiful.”

Maybe she was being set up to fail.

That statement would have infuriated her sister, who would of course argue sensibly that the most expensive and elaborate day of
Julie’s
life did not involve messing in any way with Andrea’s. Really, Andrea. How self-centered.

But come on. The two of them at the same table? Sure, he technically was the only person from Anton’s office and didn’t fit into the tables with Anton’s friends. And
she
asked on purpose to be seated as far away from the stage…

Requiring guests to wear
evening formal…

Serving champagne while they lined up for the buffet…

And then, at the buffet: grilled oysters.

“How about me?” Damon said. “What’s wrong with me?”

Not that he believed that for a second. It was a challenge, a game, and they were both half a champagne glass into this.

“You probably haven’t proven to her that you actually like
her
, and not the mold she’s made out of,” she said. “But I don’t know you that well, so take that with a grain of salt.”

“That’s fair though,” he said, doing the polite thing and serving her an oyster. And another. And another.

“Maybe she’s just psycho.”

He laughed. “Anything is possible.”

“That’s enough,” she said, referring to the oysters. “I don’t want to—”

“Don’t want to what?”

“I don’t know. Lose my inhibitions.”

He smiled and dropped three more onto her plate.

***

Oh, dear Geraldine. After an hour or so of talking about her, Andrea almost, kind of wished she were her. Even though by the second time she and Damon lined up for more food, he had stopped obsessively looking in the direction of G’s table. Also, their conversation had gotten a bit more personal. Andrea hoped that her dad’s two elderly aunts, their table’s only other occupants, didn’t hear a thing.

“No?" Andrea was close to whining.

“I guarantee it.”

“Is that possible?”

He shrugged.

“But can’t he just be secretly pining for me forever?”

A crease appeared in his forehead. “I don’t think I’d use the same word.”

“Pining? Secretly? Forever?”

“Andrea, he chose in such a way that if he were ever to act on an urge to fuck you, it would cause a lot of trouble. The simpler explanation is, he just doesn’t want to fuck you all that much.”

“Thank you,” she said sarcastically, “for trivializing my pain with that summary. Ouch.”

And yet he was amused by this, and he leaned back, crossing his arms. He was done with his second steak, and was already picking at her second plate of oysters. “You shouldn’t be offended by it. Many men don’t know a good thing when they see it.”

She snorted. “Unlike you?”

“Tell me what you did to scare him off.”

Andrea almost refused to. For a long time she didn’t talk about it, not even to her sister, and to this day Julie was respecting that with her refusal to ask. It was a weekend in particular. Andrea left one way, and came back another.

“I surprised him with a vacation trip,” she said. “Two days. Hiking then diving. It seemed like we were finally in the right place and time together, you know? Both single, finally…anyway. I made the move on him, so to speak.”

“He said no?”

She flinched. “Not even. He said yes. We spent the entire weekend screwing. No diving got done. Or another kind.”

“This is a problem?”

“On the drive back, he told me it was a mistake, and that we shouldn’t do it again.” She managed to say that with a straight face, and without breaking down completely. One sign of progress. “How does that happen, Damon? How do you explain
that
?”

But he didn’t say anything. Not about that, anyway.

“Let’s go get dessert,” he said.

***

He had forgotten that Geraldine loved tiramisu, and had been talking to Andrea throughout the walk that he didn’t notice who would be there by the time they stepped onto the raised wooden platform that held the dessert station.

“Dames,” Geraldine said, that nickname she made up and called him very rarely. In fact, only when they were together, in private. What the hell was that about. In any case she was saying it now, in front of Andrea. “You’re not at our table?”

“No,” he told her. “Looks like my plans for the night have changed.”

Geraldine remained stoic, and if her booty call got derailed, she didn’t seem to be disappointed.

This
, he wanted to tell Andrea, then and there.
This. Two fucking years of this. I don’t get it.

Andrea was watching this exchange and the array of pastries at the same time.

“This is Andrea Crisostomo,” Damon said, placing a hand on Andrea’s back before he realized it. Her skin was soft as he imagined, and also cooler, and she jumped slightly at the touch. “Geraldine Javier.”

“Sister of the bride.” Andrea’s recovery was quick, and she beamed at the woman in front of her. Seeing them face each other made him question how he had described Geraldine to Andrea earlier that evening. She was not, after all, as perfect as he must have led Andrea to believe. Not that her beauty had diminished within hours of first seeing her, no. Maybe it was in this light, but she seemed
less
flawless.

Beside Andrea.

“Friend of the groom,” Geraldine responded, with a tentative handshake. “And of Dames.”

“Lucky,” Andrea said, and he felt movement on his suit jacket. Her fingers, moving lazily against the collar. “Damon’s done a great job entertaining me tonight.”

“You don’t have a date?” Geraldine asked. “That’s too bad.”

That remark was meant to sting. Geraldine couldn’t have known why Andrea hated weddings, but Damon was sure that the snide reminder was unnecessary.

“Here,” he said, taking a slice of cake from the porcelain display tower, and handing Andrea what looked like a bowl of fruit salad. “Let’s head back. I don’t want to miss the speeches.”

“Let’s catch up later, okay?” Geraldine said, casually, as they started walking away.

He half nodded, half shrugged, and completely, actually, didn’t care.

*** 

Andrea decided that she did not envy Geraldine after all. Damon obviously knew he could have anyone, but he got off on thawing frosty bitches. Whatever floated his boat. Messy history between them aside, his presence was making her less miserable on this special day.

And then later, he had her panting, when he grabbed her hand and got her out of the table just when the annoying games for the single girls and guys were about to start.

They ran up to the gazebo, getting there through a winding rocky staircase that very nearly broke her shoe and sprained her ankle. He insisted that they press on though, wrapping an arm around her waist when her legs wobbled in her tall shoes. When they got up there she forgave the stairs, and him, because it was far enough from the reception area and no one would bother to go after them.

And the view from up there was spectacular.

It was late in the evening and the sea was invisible, blending into the sky, but seeing the twenty tables, the stage, and the trees glittering in shades of blue and purple below was… she almost felt good about it.

She was happy for this diversion too, because she didn't want her family to see her cry. Anton, her new brother-in-law, just gave a speech that had even the catering people reach for tissues. She wanted to stay strong even just to prove to herself that she wasn't affected by this, but damn.

She wanted that kind of love, and devotion. Maybe someday.

Or she'd just be the nasty aunt to their kids forever.

“You should be up here with someone you actually want,” Andrea said to Damon, and then caught on to her own tone. “I didn’t mean to sound sad."

He had been watching her take this all in. There were eight wooden posts holding up the roof over their heads, and he had his back against the one farthest from her. He tilted his jaw, motioning her to come closer.

"That was some speech," Damon said. "Everyone's feeling shitty about their miserable lives, compared to that."

"I didn't see you cry."

"My mind is somewhere else."

"Look at this view though. This is the kind of thing that gets a guy laid.”

“Suppose I already did that,” he said. “Brought here someone I want. What would we be doing?”

Her feet moved, until the fluttering of her skirt grazed his knee.

“She’d be standing a little closer,” she said.

He nodded. “Of course she would be. In fact, I would be concerned about how she’s feeling right now. Like how cold it is.”

“You have a coat,” Andrea pointed out. “You could offer it.”

“Or I could use this move I have,” Damon said.

And then, a sudden stamp of warmth on her bare back, again. It was just one hand but the span was impressive; she felt enveloped in something.

“I like your hand. That move,” she managed to say. It was simple, but genius. “She’s really going to like that.”

“It only works on this kind of dress though,” he said, fingers sliding inside, confidently, and lower. Her breath was—it stopped. She stopped breathing. She risked fainting so she could keep perfectly still, and know where his fingers were going next.

They dipped just below her waist, slipping underneath where the skirt of her gown began.