I reminded the girls; I was not okay with alcohol being served. Sure, it was just a brunch celebrating my upcoming wedding. I couldn’t even manage the light stuff. The sparkling pink champagne begged me to take a sip. I ran my fingertips in a circular motion across the top of the crystal glass. I caught myself and gasped at the realization I was lusting after the drink.
Raquel smacked Tabitha’s forearm. “The girl told you no alcohol, now look at her caressing it.” All my guests laughed at me as they often did. I stood up from the table, slammed my fists on the wood and grabbed the butter knife from atop a pancake. In my above the knee, red dress and heals, I walked behind them. I stopped to down each cup of bubbly that sat before the ladies. I drank so quickly, I belched. “Pardon me.” I put my hand over my mouth, covering the smell. The tip of my acrylic fingernail scratched my nose. I almost cursed.
“What do you think you’re going to accomplish with a butter knife?” asked the loud mouth of the group; Raquel. “Why did I ever consider any of you my friends?” I stumbled, catching myself on the window seal. Everything outside was now a blur. Except for Samuel; my husband to be. I could see him standing underneath the weeping willow tree. The hanging green vines covered him. I smiled, then took a moment to admire my five-carat diamond engagement ring.
The girls; angry, got up to leave. “Not so fast.”Samuel maneuvered inside as quick as lightning. He was now standing beside me. “Ladies.” He held out his hand – In a trance they took it and were escorted to a waiting chariot drawn by eight stallions. The keeper held the reins.
Samuel came back for me, whisked me down the front corridor to a Ferrari parked on the circular driveway.
“See, that wasn’t such a large price to pay to keep me here?” His eyes still glistened from the light waves of time travel. He and his brother stumbled upon a portal while fighting in the Bourbon war of Britain. The keeper of the tunnel required four futuristic women to close the gap forever and allow him to stay. After falling in love, I agreed to sacrifice my own friends. “Montrare, Moonfrare.” Drunkenly, I made up my own French words as I ripped my panty hose on the door of the sports car. You can’t find such a gentleman as he, not in this century – that was most definitely the meaning of my new saying. “Montrare, Moonfrare.” I said once more with my arms still wrapped around his neck. We all sacrifice for love.
Leesa Writes 