vehicle? Might be, knowing Geneva’s vanity.
I hope the cake is freakin’ awesome, because I’m going to let Vi have as much as she wants. The hell with Geneva and her judgmental attitude. Vi deserves all the dessert she can eat.
I soon realize I should’ve asked for directions, because there doesn’t seem to be a map or information about where anything is located. The two small buildings I’ve been to already actually don’t have bathrooms.
“Crap,” I mutter as I head to another building. I don’t really have to go right now, but I’d rather not get up in the middle of the ceremony, especially since we don’t know when it’s going to start. How the hell do you lose your groom on the day of? You’d think Geneva would’ve superglued him to the altar.
During my search, I walk past several former high school classmates. They gawk like they can’t believe their eyes, but I ignore them, preferring to wander without directions. Every one was a member of the Torment Kim Club, and would be more likely to send me into a booby-trapped minefield than a bathroom. And I have no illusions that they’ve changed for the better after having seen Abby and Geneva.
Nothing that looks like a bathroom in this building, either. This is stupid. Surely the orangery doesn’t want people peeing in the bushes.
Annoyed, I start to stalk through the open hallway, then stop. What was that?
I listen for a moment. There’s another moan, like somebody’s in great pain, coming from one of the rooms to my left.
Worried, I move toward the noise. Another groan, trailing off into a kind of whine. The sound is somewhere between a pig about to get butchered and a cow giving birth, farm noises I never want to hear again.
Is someone having a heart attack? Isn’t Geneva’s groom supposed to be old? He could be dying in there, without anybody knowing. He might need CPR or even an ambulance.
I turn the knob. The door opens easily enough. I stick my head inside. “Is everything oka—”
“What the fuck?” A loud, high-pitched shriek pierces my eardrums like a needle.
The scene practically slaps me in the face. Some old dude, black slacks down around his ankles, is screwing someone in a bridesmaid’s dress. But not Abby. It’s a blonde.
One thing is immediately clear. I really don’t need to see his saggy ass.
He whips around. “You!” he says, eyes wide.
“Churchill?” What the hell is he doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be getting married soon? Salazar is planning to send him a ten-thousand-dollar Amazon gift card for the wedding.
Shock rings in my head like a gong, and I stay frozen for a moment. And then it happens. I see his post-sex dick. It looks like a half-filled albino sausage.
I need to bleach my eyes. Now.
“Shut the door, you bitch!” the woman screams. “Someone’s going to see!”
Right, and yelling like that is the best way not to attract attention, especially in a building that opens onto the central field. I can already hear footsteps coming up behind me.
Somebody pushes me away from the door. I stumble, then feel an arm wrapping around my waist, preventing a total fall. I look up to see Wyatt holding me.
Geneva blows past me in her wedding gown. Schadenfreude wars against sympathy within me. She doesn’t deserve to be happy after the way she attacked Vi earlier, but this level of humiliation should probably get at least a wince all the same.
A crowd is gathering behind her.
“Where’s Vi?” I ask Wyatt urgently. She doesn’t need to see this.
“Hanging out with some of her friends.” He gestures at the field behind him, where the chairs are set up for the ceremony.
I sag with relief. But that only lasts a few seconds. Geneva marches forward aggressively.
“Churchill! What is the meaning of this?” she demands, her arms flinging around like windmills. “This is supposed to be our wedding day!”
“Yes, I know.” He straightens, pulling his pants up and zipping up the flies.
My jaw almost hits the floor at his ballsiness. The crowd holds its collective breath, titillation palpable. Many—actually, most—of them are holding up phones to film the drama.
“We’re supposed to be faithful and true to each other!” Geneva screeches.