The Fate of a Romancer • Complete ✔

♡••• 3 •••♡

If I get married-

No, when I get married; I hope my reception looks half as beautiful as this.

The crystal chandelier in the middle of the room caught my eye. Light bouncing delicately off of it. I smiled at how the light shimmered on the petite flower arrangements on the tables. The violet flowers in sharp contrast to the golden vase that held them.

"Drink?" A gruff voice mumbled behind me. I turned around and immediately noticed his ragged blonde hair. His brown eyes were foggy. He was drunk. Already. I swallowed my indignation and nodded. Why not? The least I have to gain is a free drink. At most- a cellphone number so that I can go get my shoes.

"Bride or groom?" He asked as he pushed a Martini towards me. I took a reluctant sip and tried to smile.

"Neither, actually," I admitted.

"Crashing?" He asked. I nodded; I have nothing to hide. He just laughed, a rich timber that had me swirl around in my seat. He is quite handsome, I noticed for the first time. Not the clean young Brad Pitt handsome, no. The gruff good looks of Jeffrey Dean Morgan. I couldn't help but wonder why he was sitting here drinking.

"The bride is my ex-fiance," he slurred, did I think it out loud? Before I could say anything, he added: "I saw the question in your eyes."

"Why did you come?" I asked curiously.

"The groom is my best friend," he said, taking a large mouth full of his drink. For a few minutes, we sat quietly. Savouring the silence of each others company.

"Why are you crashing?" He asked, breaking the silence. I nodded towards Sabrina, who was chatting up her own guy and explained the situation.

"Why don't you drive?"

"I had an accident, straight out if high-school," I started. The story came out easily. The memory still etched clearly in my mind's eye. How I swerved to avoid the deer. The fear pumped through my veins as I sat in the car. My legs pinned down. I was stuck. In a car that was neatly wrapped around a tree. When I finished, my voice was a whisper.

"All these years and you still don't drive?" He asked, but I didn't need to answer. I looked down at my tangled fingers, searching desperately for a different subject. I heard his chair scuff.

"Here," his hand moved into view, my eyes registered the numbers on the napkin under his fingers, "go buy your shoes."

I took the napkin and stared at it for a second. When I turned to thank him, he was gone. My eyes searched the crowd with a heavy heart. I never even learned his name.

The music changed into a more upbeat number. A familiar giggle made me turn towards it. Sabrina's new friend has pulled her close and they are twirling around the dance floor. I haven't seen her this happy in months. Is a new pair of Valentino's worth spoiling her fun?