At some point he had changed out of his white dress shirt and into a greyish green one, his tie gone, the button at his throat undone and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked far more comfortable than he had earlier, and as handsome as ever, but there was something just slightly off. His cheeks were rosier than usual and he was smiling huge as he gestured wildly with one hand, the other clutched around the neck of a beer bottle. I couldn’t help but smile when he laughed loudly, but before I could step forward, I watched him brace his arm against the wall beside him.
For a moment, I couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering me. Then I realized with sudden clarity that my brand new husband was well on his way to being completely drunk.
I was happy that he was having such a good time. I was. But I felt a lump grow in my throat as he continued to laugh with his friends, nodding in thanks when one of them handed him another beer. I knew it was completely selfish, but I wanted him to be dying to get me away. I didn’t want him having fun with his friends like he was out at a pub—I wanted him to be as anxious as I was to finally get away from prying eyes and into a bed.
I stood there dumbly, watching them laugh and poke fun at each other, until finally one of the guys noticed me and nodded in my direction. Patrick turned to face me with that same wide smile, before he started strolling toward me.
“Me beautiful, lovely, gorgeous wife!” he greeted loudly, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Hey. Having fun?” I tried to match his happiness, but I must not have succeeded because his lips lost their curve as he looked at me.
“I’m havin’ a grand time,” he answered cautiously. “Aren’t ye?”
“Of course. Peg’s been introducing me for the past two hours to people I’ll probably never see again, my feet are killing me because of these stupid shoes, I’m hungry, but every time I make it to the kitchen I get stopped by someone and I don’t get the chance to eat, I haven’t even spoken to you since we got here, and now you’re drunk, and if I’m feeling what I think I’m feeling, you just spilled beer down the back of my wedding dress.” My voice never lost its cheerfulness as I spoke, but his brows drew together as if he was trying to decide if I was joking. “I’m having an awesome time.”
I reached behind me to find his hand, and took the bottle from his fingers before he could do any more damage. “I’m going to find your mom to see if she can get me out of this dress.”
“Wait,” he ordered, pulling me back against him. “I wanted to take it off ye.”
I sighed, looking around the yard as people watched us. “I don’t think you’d even be able to at this point, Patrick,” I told him quietly.
“Dat’s a load of shite.” His fingers wound into my hair, pulling it tight as his hand reached my scalp. “I’ve had a few, but I’m not tanked.”
“It’s okay. Really. I’m just going to go see if your mom can help me. I’m really uncomfortable in this dress.”
“I told ye I want to take it off of ye.”
He leaned down and kissed me hard, sliding his tongue into my mouth with little finesse. His technique didn’t matter in the slightest to my body, though. The minute his lips closed over mine, I relaxed into him. He’d been smoking not long before and the yeasty taste of the beer he’d been drinking mixed with the subtle taste of tobacco, the combination setting me on fire. I didn’t even notice the yelling and whistling until Patrick started to sway my way and I was suddenly holding him up instead of the other way around.
“Patrick,” I called, pulling my mouth away as he tried to right himself.
“Ye make me head spin,” he informed me with a lopsided smile. “Would ye like to come meet de lads? I want to show off me gorgeous wife.”
My heart sunk as I realized he hadn’t heard a word I’d said, but I smiled anyway. “Sure. Give me a couple minutes, okay? I’m going to find your mom real quick.”
“Alright, me love.” He kissed me tenderly on the forehead then grabbed his beer from my hand and spun from me to saunter away.
How could I be mad when he was having so much fun? He was an adorable drunk, and the way he usually looked at me seemed to be magnified with alcohol, turning it from loving to almost worshipful. No, I wasn’t mad, not really.
I was just overwhelmingly disappointed and hurt.
Rubbing my left hand over the top of my right one, I searched the crowd for Peg, but couldn’t see her so I headed for the back door. When I got there, I realized that people had started clearing out, and there were only a few stragglers left inside the house. Too bad the people in the yard seemed like they’d be staying a while.
My hands began to burn as I knocked on Peg’s door, and I looked down to see a few small welts appearing as she opened it up. I couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down my cheeks.
“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” she asked, pulling me inside and closing the door. “ I was just changing into something a bit less fancy so I could start cleaning up.”
“Could you help me change?” I asked quietly.
“Well, didn’t ye want—”
“I want to change now,” I interrupted. “This dress is starting to feel really heavy and my feet hurt… I just want to get it off.”
“Well, okay then.” She opened up the door and marched through the living room while I followed behind her, and soon we were in my room.