She made her way through the
reception hall, gliding gracefully just on the edge of the room, careful to
navigate around the other guests so as not to distract their eyes from the
twirling lovers in the room’s center. She
stepped around the table laden with punch bowls and cups, and then another, where
the cake towered, topped with a miniature, dancing bride and groom identical to
the stunning pair swaying in perfect unison on the dance floor. She took a seat with the cake table in clear view. It was her favorite wedding tradition-
watching the newly weds share the first delectable bites of cake.
Of course, as endearing as it could
be, it was not a romantic notion from which this interest sprang. She was far too practical for romance after
all. Her mother had raised her better. She believed a couple’s fate could be
determined by this single exchange, and in possession of an extreme fascination
with relationships and human nature, she had studied every morsel of cake
consumed during this ritual at the fair share of weddings she had attended this
year alone, making predictions she would obviously never admit aloud. It seemed like a cruel little way to
entertain herself, but so it was.
Naturally, she realized that
despite her years of study in psychology, she had very little experience with
love. She had done her best to follow
her mother’s guidance in avoiding the wandering eyes and empty lines offered by
boys intrigued by her beauty. It wasn’t
that she was immune to the enchanting allure of the fairy tales, love songs,
and pretty words, but she was taught not to be fooled by them. No sparkly happy-ever-after could be found in
love. In spite of it all, she could still
appreciate the idea of love, and she didn’t dare speak against it to any of her
starry-eyed friends. She simply had
other priorities and pursued them with all of her being. It made her mother proud, of that she was
sure.
She sat up
straight to adjust a slight twist in her dress, before turning back to watch
the couple.
“Hi.”
Startled by the simple word pulling
her from her own little world, she looked up to find a tuxedo-clad man holding
two glasses of punch. She didn’t mind
admitting he was handsome. Very handsome,
in fact. His dark hair was just long
enough to be neatly tousled, a stark contrast to his strikingly pale eyes, though
their exact color was difficult to distinguish in the dim radiance of the
chandeliers without awkwardly staring.
She wasn’t willing to risk sending the wrong message by doing so.
“Hello,” she responded casually.
“I don’t suppose I could offer you
some punch?” he asked, with a slight grin, oddly drifting between a cool confidence
and a nervous uncertainty that made her unknowingly return the smile.
“Thank you,” she said simply, reaching
up to take a glass. Experience told her
to say nothing more. She could hear her
mother suggesting polite responses without any further encouragement to
continue the conversation. Eventually, they all go away.
“Would you like to sit down?” The question uncontrollably tumbled out of
her mouth.
“Actually,” he began, “I would rather
dance, if we could?”
For the briefest of moments, she considered
refusing, but she was a sucker for dancing, and she did intend to fully enjoy this
evening in its entirety. She took one
last sip of her drink, and then set it on the table. Placing her hand in his, she let him lead her
to the floor. He wrapped his arm firmly,
but ever so gently around her waist. Their
eyes met and she was suddenly caught up in the stunning shade of light blue encompassing
just a hint of a glowing golden green looking back at her. It was a light leading her in. And his arm was holding her there. Before a rational thought could work it’s
way in, he was interrupting her swirling thoughts again.
“Bride or groom?”
“I’m sorry?” He was making a habit of catching her off
guard. Irritating, and still so charming, she thought.
“Are you here for the bride or for
the groom?” he asked again.
“Oh, neither,” she coolly teased. “I’m just part of the wait staff.”
He laughed. “Of course! I should have known. A beautiful woman dressed to the nines in
this gorgeous blue… must be wait staff.”
What was she doing? Flirting?
She gathered herself in an attempt
to revert to the minimal conversation rule. “No, I’m a cousin of the
groom. His sister and I were inseparable
growing up.”
“Ah, well, Cousin of the Groom, do
you have a name?”
“Lina. I’m Lina.”
He stopped
dancing and gave a slight bow. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Lina. I’m Lucas, brother of the bride.”
He gave her a little twirl and she
was right back in his arms swaying to the music. She found her world now whirling out of
balance, the dizzying effect more from the embrace than the spin. She could see Lucas was trouble to her
uncharacteristically wavering resolve, but in this moment, she wasn’t sure she
cared.
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