Chapter 8

Charles is clearly terrified by my presence. I hate to admit it, but I kind of love the feeling. It seems petty – I never thought of myself as the type to thirst for revenge – but it's satisfying.

Oh, well: Charles ruined my life. It's surely not too awful to enjoy watching him sweat a little bit.

I do feel a little bad for Daisy, Marcus's sister. Charles is so distracted by me that he keeps stumbling over the most basic tasks, like not tripping over his own feet. He's jittery and on edge, eyes darting nervously around the room whenever he loses track of me.

The mixed look of relief and renewed horror on his face every time he spots me again is pretty funny, and I'm finding it a little tough to keep a straight face. You'd think I was a rattlesnake or a poisonous spider loose in the room, the way Charles is acting.

Still, I don't feel bad enough to excuse myself from the reception. Charles should be afraid of me; he should face at least some kind of consequences.

It gets especially bad with the champagne pouring. Charles stares at the bottle in his hand for so long that people in the room start to shift uneasily. Daisy has to elbow him in the ribs, which makes him jump and lose his grip on the bottle. It smashes all over the floor, soaking his shoes and the hem of Daisy's dress.

"Charles!" she shrieks. "This is a Vera Wang gown! I don't even think it can be dry cleaned, for god's sake!"

Charles mumbles an apology, absently fiddling with his tie as he glances around the room.

The cake cutting is somehow even worse. Charles stands holding the knife over the cake, again for an awkwardly long time, just like with the champagne.

When Daisy elbows him again, evidently not having learned her lesson the first time, he jumps again. He manages not to knock over the entire cake, but he does drop the crooked piece in his hand on the floor and squashes it with his heel.

Daisy looks like she's ready to either burst into tears or blow a gasket. Maybe both.

"Charles! Are you trying to ruin the most important and expensive day of my life?" Daisy isn't even bothering to keep her voice down. I try not to gloat, but I can't help it. I keep it on the inside, though.

Afterward, Charles slumps into a side chair, looking relieved that he doesn't have to perform for his guests for a while. He keeps staring at me, though, looking away every time we make eye contact but soon snapping his head around to watch me again.

Well, if he's going to stare, I'm going to give him something to see.

Marcus has just brought me a glass of red wine from the bar, holding a glass of white for himself. He looks amazing in his suit, still fresh and crisp all these hours later. The only hint that we've been so busy for most of the day is the way the little curls around his forehead have sprung free.

It's pretty hot, I have to say.

"So, Nicole," Marcus says, sitting down at our table and leaning across to chat. It's considerate, how he creates this private little space for the two of us, even amidst the busy room. "Tell me about yourself. I know your job is off-limits, but there must be something else you can tell me."

I laugh, leaning into the flirtation a little. I can feel Charles's eyes on me, even though I'm not looking at him. He must be desperate to know what I'm talking to Marcus about.

"There isn't much to tell," I say. "Or maybe it's just me. I always find this kind of small talk so difficult, don't you?"

It's Marcus's turn to laugh. "I've been trained in polite small talk since before I could walk," he says. "I don't want to small talk you, Nicole. I want to real talk you. Tell me…tell me three facts about yourself that no one else in this room knows."

I roll my eyes, but playfully. "Okay."

I think for a moment. "One: My favorite animal is the wombat."

"The wombat?" Marcus asks with a startled chuckle. "Do I even know what a wombat is?"

"An adorable marsupial native to Australia," I answer. "And don't interrupt."

Marcus salutes, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Two: I have a birthmark in the shape of a strawberry on my right thigh." I can see Marcus's expression darken at that one – in a very hungry way. His gaze darts down to my lap before flickering up to meet my eyes again.

"And three–" I pause for dramatic effect. "I studied for every exam in medical school by listening to Taylor Swift on repeat."

Marcus really does laugh aloud now, throwing his head back. People turn to look at us, but he just grabs my hand and squeezes it.

"You always seem to know how to make me laugh, Dr. Nicole," he says. I smile even as I notice Charles out of the corner of my eye. He's craning his neck in our direction.

He's probably terrified that I'm going to tell Marcus everything. I can't, because I don't have any proof. But Charles doesn't know that. At least I can keep him living in fear, at least for a while.

Enough to maybe put a little damper on his wedding and get him to embarrass himself a few more times in front of all these fancy people.

I don't have to wait long. Soon, someone is rattling their fork on a glass and announcing that it's time for the speeches. Charles is supposed to go first, to give a speech to his new bride. I watch as he takes a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket with a shaking hand. He looks a bit green.

"I, um," he says. "I – have a speech prepared here, to give to my new bride, Ni– I mean, Daisy." I feel Marcus shift next to me, and I know he caught that almost-slip, too. "I, um, we–Daisy and I are happy to welcome so many, um."

Charles trails off, unable to keep his eyes off of me. People are clearly beginning to notice, glancing back and forth between us. I hear a few whispers echo around the room.

I keep my face a neutral mask, giving away nothing.

"Nic–I mean, Daisy," Charles starts again, but by this time, Daisy has had it. She throws her bouquet in Charles's face, bursts into tears, and runs out of the room. Her mother and bridesmaids run after her.

Does Charles actually feel guilty? Vindication sears through me, and I work very hard not to smile in triumph.

Later, most of the guests are taking advantage of the gorgeous venue, free alcohol, and charismatic DJ by keeping the dance party going long into the night. I haven't seen Charles since the wedding speech, though Daisy is on the dance floor with her bridesmaids.

"You look truly beautiful tonight," Marcus says as he spins me slowly across the dance floor and back into his arms.

"Thank you," I say. "It's a bit funny; I felt all this pressure today, you know, to look just right and to act just right. This is such an elegant party, and you're–well, you're so elegant, too. You charm every woman in the room."

Marcus leans in to whisper in my ear. "Oh, do I? And does that include you?"