18. Drew

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Andrew

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! The night was going so well! Where the fuck is the security I hired?

I look down at Claire, and normally, where I'd see anxiety and the urge to flee, she's just standing there—staring Becca dead center—and she's eerily calm.

I glance past Becca, searching for my mother—where one goes, the other usually follows. But she's nowhere in sight. My brother and sister, on the other hand, are already seated, looking pissed—as expected, considering they missed the ceremony part of my wedding.Becca keeps yelling louder the closer she gets.

"DREWY, OH DREWY! What a looovlely wedding," she... slurs?

Claire starts walking toward her, and I immediately grab her hand to walk with her. I know Claire—when she's pissed, she can handle herself—but I'll be damned if Becca so much as touches her.

As we reach Becca, the questions come out of me in rapid fire:

"Becca, what the fuck are you doing? Why are you yelling? Where is my mother? Why are you here without her? Are you drunk? Aren't you pregnant? AND WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN A FUCKING WEDDING DRESS?"

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I'd meant to whisper, but that last one came out of my clenched jaw which made it sound more like a whisper-growl-yell.

Oddly enough, Claire bursts into laughter. She's doubled over, hands on her thighs, gasping for air from how hard she's laughing. What the fuck is happening?

While I'm trying to figure that out, Becca grabs my hand and places it on her lower stomach.

"Drewwyyy," she tries to whisper, but she's just as loud—if not louder. She starts swaying as I yank my hand away, and what happens next is so fast I almost don't believe it.

SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.

I whip around and see that Claire, no longer laughing, just delivered the fastest, hardest, full-on telenovela-style slap I've ever witnessed. Palm, backhand, palm again. Clean. Sharp. Savage.

I stand there completely speechless. Not a sound in the reception. Even the DJ stopped the music. And then, from somewhere in the back, Jared—that instigating motherfucker—shouts:

"I GOT MONEY ON CLAIRE! SMACK THAT BITCH TO THE MOON, MAMA!

Aiden and Joy burst out laughing as I quickly step between the two women. My back is to Becca as I take Claire's face in my hands. I stare into her eyes and kiss her.

She gasps in surprise but kisses me back, and when we pull apart, I whisper,

"I'm not sure if you've had a stroke or what, but are you okay?"

She chuckles and stands on her toes to peek over my shoulder at Becca.

"Oh, I'm perfect now, husband."

"HUSBAND?! Did you just say husband?! The wedding isn't for another hour, Claire! You're not his wife until you say 'I do.' And even then—who knows how long that'll last? Till death do us part comes faster for some people."

I turn around so fast Becca stumbles back a step.

She's suddenly sober. Like, Sunday-morning-priest-level sober. Either Claire's slap has healing powers, or Becca was faking it.

"Becca, did you just threaten my wife?"

"She's not your wife, Drew. And if you'd given your mom five more minutes, you would see she was bringing proof as to why Claire can never be your wife."

What the hell is she talking about?

"I don't care what my mother has. As of an hour ago, Claire and I became Mr. and Mrs. St. Claire. The judge already left and took the paperwork with him. It's done, Becca. You need to leave. And if you see my mother on your way out, tell her not to bother coming in."

Becca sneers at Claire and then looks back at me.

"Oh, Drewy, I'm not going anywhere. But your bride is."

She reaches into her purse, pulls out her phone, and dials a number.

"Hello?" she says, suddenly all shaky-voiced. "Yes, I need police immediately. I've just been attacked. Yes—battery. Yes, the offender is still here, and I don't feel safe. Please send someone."

She hangs up and smiles at us like the devil herself.

"How about a night in jail, Claire? That should give Drew, his mother, and me a little time to sort out this sham of a wedding."

FUCK.