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Me: Fucker
A tiny whimper pulled my attention from my phone. Across the plaza, in a stone stairwell, I caught a glimpse of black hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of a woman's head.
A sheer lavender shawl covered her bare shoulders and tears streaked her face as she crouched on the steps. It was her.
"Wren?"
She gasped and sat up straight. She looked hopeful at first, but she narrowed in on my face and then her mouth broke into a trembling grimace. "You're not him."
True. True. I was definitely not him.
She clutched a disheveled bouquet of carnations and baby's breath wrapped in clear plastic. Looked like the cheap flowers you'd get at a gas station.
The rain had stained her off-white dress making it appear silver. Gavin's tiny ring was still on her finger.
Gavin didn't show.
What a total ass.
Predictable, but still. He'd dragged her into his shenanigans this time, and now she sat crying in a stairwell in Beverly Hills.
"Go away," she muttered.
I deserved that. I had not been friendly to her when I'd first met her, but she was low now, and I wasn't that much of a sadist.
"Wanna get drunk?" Not my most graceful line, but it might've worked at least to make her laugh a little.
She glared at me over her shoulder through blotchy tear-stained eyes.
I had nothing else. No idea what to say to this girl who was clearly being stood up on her wedding day.
She smacked the flowers onto the steps. "We have to get married today. We have to. He has to show up."
Okay now. What the hell? Something was definitely wrong if she "had to get married" to Gavin of all people.
"He's still coming," she said, mostly to herself.
"He ain't comin'." I softened my voice to lessen the blow.
"Be quiet! Don't say that." She bent over her knees and wept, shoulders heaving with her deep breaths.
I was at a total loss for words. Unusual for me because I usually knew what to say to a woman, even if she was crying. Normally I'd say this was your own damn fault or what the hell were you thinking, but I knew that wasn't right either.
I took a step closer and crouched down beside her. "Why do you need to get married today?"
"We have to!"
"Why?"
"He's still coming."
"He ain't comin', sweetheart. Why do you need to get married today?"
"We just do." She dropped her flowers and flopped down onto the step, getting more of her dress wet. Her hair that had fallen out of her bun trailed in the water.
We repeated the exact same conversation again, but she wouldn't divulge any information, and she was crying too hard to keep interrogating.
"I have the papers signed." She lifted up a manilla envelope with soggy corners. "We just need the ceremony, and we're married. He'll be here!"
