I’m grabbing his tie again, pulling his mouth down to mine. Behind me the side table quivers with the movement of our hips, his hard length against my lower belly, desire and lust and pure, unabated need roiling up inside me.
Does my sweet, angelic little sister really think all those things of me? I don’t know, but after a year of hearing about this wedding constantly and a week of doing almost nothing but helping her prepare, it sure feels like the world revolves around getting that ring and it sure feels like I’m being pitied because I couldn’t keep mine.
Suddenly, someone clears his throat very loudly. I jerk away from Seth, who turns around casually, drifts one hand down my back.
Wyatt’s standing there, at the door.
“In my defense, I don’t love this either,” he says. “But, uh…”
I step forward and smooth my hands over my skirt as if it can erase Wyatt’s memory.
“I’ll wait,” Seth’s voice says in my ear, and I look over at him.
Then I look back at Wyatt, at the light leaking out of the ballroom behind him, and I imagine walking in and Vera steering me to just the right spot and Ava looking over her shoulder to sight me before she throws. I imagine everyone looking at me, each of them thinking didn’t she have her chance already?
I imagine the forest of hands reaching for the bouquet while it’s still in the air, each of them eager for the mantle of next to get married, a mantle I’m not even interested in wearing.
“You’re gonna want to head that-a-way,” Wyatt says, pointing.
“Fuck it,” I say.
Wyatt pauses.
“It being the bouquet toss, right?”
“Right. Fuck the bouquet toss,” I say, glancing from Wyatt back to Seth. “Fuck catching some flowers so Vera can feel better about my life choices.”
“Can I just quote you verbatim?” Wyatt says, sounding exasperated. “‘Hey, Aunt Vera, Delilah says fuck the bouquet toss. Ow, why are you killing me with your mind?!’”
“You’ll live,” I say, and I step closer to Seth.
I take his tie in both hands, adjust it slightly, look up at him through my massive fake eyelashes.
“Want to get out of here?” I ask, too quiet for Wyatt to hear.
Despite all manner of history and evidence, adrenaline spikes through my veins. I’m afraid he’ll say no. Afraid he’s moved on, that this is some fucked up game he’s playing to get back at me.
“Fuck yes I do,” he says, lips curving into a smile.
“Remember me? Still over here, looking at you with my human eyes,” Wyatt calls from the doorway.
I take Seth’s hands in mine. At the foot of the staircase is a dark hallway, leading into some other part of the manor house, and I walk backward, pulling him toward it.
“Wrong way,” Wyatt says, sounding defeated.
“Make up an excuse for me!” I shout.
“What? No,” he calls, but I’m already half-gone.
“Thanks!”
“Delilah! Delilah. Come on.”
“You’re my favorite!” I shout, and then we slip into darkness.
Not complete darkness. This hall runs along the side of the manor, overlooking yet another lawn with yet more perfectly-managed decorative elements, all blue-white in the moonlight that doesn’t come through the windows.
Seth locks his hands around my hips, walks me backward, his thumbs right on the points of my hipbones. He’s disheveled, undone, a look on his face like he might either kiss me or laugh at any moment.
“I bet this place is haunted,” he murmurs, after a moment.
It’s not what I was expecting.
“Haunted?”
“You know, with ghosts.”
“Oh!” I say, and roll my eyes. “I thought you meant the other kind of haunting, with kangaroos.”
“Kangaroos?” he asks, voice low, still walking me backward. “That’s just —”
Seth grabs my ass with one hand, squeezes.
I squeak with surprise.
“— shit, that’s a frisky ghost,” he says, grinning. “I didn’t think somewhere this fancy would have ghosts who would be that inapprop —"
This time he grabs my ass with both hands, and I start laughing.
“I think he’s trying to tell us something,” Seth whispers.
“How do you know it’s a male ghost?” I whisper back.
He’s still walking me backward, ass firmly in both hands, his fingers sliding a little with the dress at every step.
“Maybe it’s a lesbian,” I go on. “I’m very popular with Lainey’s derby — oof.”
I didn’t know there was a wall behind me until Seth backs me into it, takes his hands off my ass, slides them over my hips, along my torso.
“Can’t imagine why,” he says, and kisses me. It’s a short, teasing kiss, and I stand on my tiptoes. “You’re just some feisty, tattooed redhead with an incredible rack and a gold medal ass.”
I’m still laughing as we kiss again and I take his lower lip between my teeth, just hard enough to let him know I can.
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’ve never even qualified for the ass-Olympics,” I say.