Page 109 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

It quickly becomes the highlight of my night. I don’t even care when he drools down my dress. I just grab a napkin and laugh as I clean us both.

When I toss the napkin in the trash, I think I catch Alex watching us. IthinkI see him with a look that’s shot through the heart. But it could have just been the light distorting my vision, maybe even justdelusiondistorting my vision. Because in all my dreams, this would have been the life for us.

A blonde baby on my hip as my husband watched us adoringly.

A delusion indeed.

When I deposit CT back with his parents, I plant my hand back on Alex, making it clear that abandoning me is not the business tonight.

Next, we stop to talk to an older gentleman who’s come alone.

“Allan,” he introduces himself. He seems nice. Maybe even reminds me of Constantine, and I almost turn weepy that I would be losing him, too.

“Emma,” I reply, shaking his hand when it becomes obvious Alex can’t be counted on to do the courteous thing. “Alex’s wife.” I dig the stake in my own heart just a little bit deeper.

“I didn’t know you got married!” Allan says with astonishment, giving Alex a pat on the back. “How long?”

“18 months,” we both say in unison, and I give him an adoring smile. He continues looking at Allan.

“And how do you two know each other?” I ask.

“Allan is Damian’s dad.” He gestures to the older man. “We’ve known each other a long time now, probably 20 years?” he asks. “Does that sound right?”

The older man laughs. “I don’t know if it soundsright. I think it makes me sound old as hell,” he chuckles, and I smile.

“Where are you seated tonight?” I motion towards the table that has place cards already set out. He points to the end of the table where we are. However, we are at theveryend. He’s closer to the middle.

The private dining room has been set up with one long dining table for everyone to sit together. As far as weddings go, I think it seems small, but when it’s your second or third marriage, perhaps the number of guests doesn’t matter. Quality over quantity, I suppose.

The number of seats set out might be small, but there’s not a single detail missed or underwhelming. The flowers are gorgeous, the place settings are immaculate, and the welcome cocktails are delicious, though not nearly strong enough. The whole setting and ambiance ooze class.

Alex, with his short hair and smooth, hard jaw bones, fits here. In his tux, hair done, he could have been the groom. Easily.

I thought he looked good on our wedding day, but I hadn’t a clue he could look like this at the time. Even with the dark purple creases under his eyes. Even with the deep V creasing his forehead. It doesn’t matter. He’s beautiful. Painfully so.

I’m too busy watching him to notice the bride and groom have arrived, their entrance ushering in a change. The volume of the room grows as everyone turns to face the guests of honor straight from the chapel. The lights come down slightly, and I watch as Alex becomes transfixed.

I’ve never seen him around her before. I’ve never witnessed the way he’s wholly enrapt by her. The entire room looks on and even cheers for the newlyweds. And yet I can’t help but watch him, as he watches her. The sum of our relationship boiled down to that one simple sentence.

He’s devout in his tracking of her. He clocks her with precision, taking in her flowing silk dress, one that’s not unlike mine. However, her long dark hair and olive skin are absolutelynotlike mine.

Once again, he is a man possessed. And once again, not by me.

No, I would not be the queen tonight. It was not my time. Would likely never be my time.

We watch as she slips into the room, seeming to glide beside her husband. She practically floats on air. A damn goddess amongst mortals.

I’m embarrassed how our dresses practically mirror one another. Because while I thought my dress looked amazing on me, it only lasted until I saw what it looked like onher. The way it dips down low on her backandher front. The way her hips hold the fabric on either side. I can’t help but imagine him and her. Together. A fucking American dream.

I’m just a cheap Barbie you get at a dollar store — off-brand, poorly built, and disposable. I’m the pig in lipstick. The trailer park trash in a couture gown.

She’s like fine china and your grandma’s best crystal that made it through the war. She’s the Cartier jewels, a champagne brunch, an enchantress who never ages.

I feel my spine turn to steel as I release my hold on Alex because it’s clear now that he’s released me.

I take a small step away from him. I won’t be fooling anyone into thinking that we’re happy. It’s obvious he isn’t.

Realizing he isn’t going to stop, I head towards the bar, pretending to take my time choosing a drink.