I Object [gxg]

6. The Reception: Mic Drop Edition

Watching the woman you love marry someone you're less than fond of is never easy. It doesn't get any easier the second time.

Neither does the limo ride across town with them in the center, and me squished up against the window by Cam. Apparently taking up space is a common trait among the Mariani men. Which is interesting, because their cousin Marla seems perfectly normal. She shoots me a sympathetic smile from across the limo.

Why can't she be my seat partner?

I shoot Carlow's a death glare as we pull up to the reception hall again. When I don't exit the car immediately, Cam reaches over me to open the door, and the only thing keeping me from being squeezed out of the seat disappears. I grab the open door for balance and pull myself upright, letting out a sigh that just gets carried away by the breeze.

When we enter the hall this time, I expertly avoid the floor vents erupting their icy air. Cam doesn't stand a chance against time travel. Or afterlife witchery. Or dysfunctional dreams. I still haven't decided.

But until I find out for sure, I'm going with time travel. Way more epic.

Yep. I time traveled and it still didn't change a thing. So epic.

We parade into the dining hall where the guests are already seated. My name is announced alongside Cam's, and as we walk I watch Nessa's back. She has the prettiest hair. It stands out like fire against her porcelain skin. I used to think she dyed it, but four years under the same small roof taught me better.

No wonder Connor fell for her the second he saw her. I can't even blame him.

Cam leans down. "A picture lasts longer," he whispers in my ear as we reach our table. I shove him toward his seat and then fold myself into place between the two space-hogging brothers. Him and his stupid jokes. Is it so unheard of for people to look in front of them as they walk forward? I can't help it that Nessa happened to be walking right in my line of sight.

This time, I'm prepared for the toast. And by "prepared," I mean fortified by a brimming glass of whatever wine the waiter was carting around. And then a few trips to the open bar in search of a shot that'll hit me like the ones next door. No such luck—but I'm still hammered enough that I can't see straight by the time I'm called on.

I glance at Connor and Nessa. They seem to have morphed into one person—a blob of flesh somehow wearing a dress and a suit at the same time. I look to my right. Cam is also merging with the bridesmaid next to him.

These Marianis, I swear.

I decide to ignore it and let a huge whoop into the microphone. "Connor and Nessa, am I right?" I shout.

Polite, pitying chuckles rise from the assembled guests.

"If you're wondering why we're here," I stumble on, my voice dragging and slurred, "it's my fault. I apologize. Profusely. I've never forgiven myself."

I bow my head for a moment. It probably looks like a lament, but I'm actually just trying to make the floor stop spinning because you can't make a toast if you're not standing, and you can't stand on a spinning floor. Why do they make them like this? Who would want their floor to move?

I manage to slow it down to a crawl, and I look up again. "Have they ever told you the story of how they met?" I ask rhetorically, then nod. "Yeah. See I met Nessa"—I point to her—"the first day of college. And then I met Connor"—he gets a finger in his face, too, even though they're the same person to my eyes—"at a party in sophomore year."

I catch Connor-Nessa's pinched face, warning me to stop.

"And then they met each other," I continue more loudly, "the next morning as he was getting dressed."