Just Friends

Weddings are Like Funerals for the Living

"Mooooonnnna! Please! Dance with me!" my little sister, Bellissa or Belly as I call her, whined. Everyone loves Belly. She is the poster girl for everything the high society we live in stands for; elegance, grace, poise, beauty, and socially perfect. I am not. I have long, curly, dark brown hair instead of straight, golden blonde. I am a curvy size 6 and 5'8, not a willowy double 0 and a petite 5'2; anything over 5'5 is just too tall. The only 'correct' trait I possess is blue eyes, but even those are not the clear, pale blue that are a necessity. No, they're dark, midnight blue. I am pale, out spoken, opinionated, intelligent, witty, and very, very, VERY unpopular. These qualities are things no one in high society should have, especially an heiress to an oil company, bank franchise, and most of the farmland in Missouri, Kentucky, and Tennessee.

"No," I state firmly, sipping whatever alcoholic beverage was in my glass sitting at a table in a chair in the corner. Thanks Mom, for sending Belly and I to go to some billionaire's wedding in Great Britain to 'represent' the family. She wants us to get married. Finding Belly a husband, even at the young age of 19, is what my mother lives for; she is determined to marry me to anyone willing to take me. Well, too bad; we are American. I get to say who I marry and when. I have no urge to be married so the odds aren't looking good for Mommy. She has always liked Belly more than me.

Bells walked away from me, sulking, but finds some guy to dance with before she even gets back to the dance floor. I think his name is Benjamin Cucumber. Oh, well. Typical Belly, but I love her. Life's so easy for her. Not me. I'll never be married or want to be because its too late for me. My love story has already come to a dramatic, tragic close. Mother doesn't approve.

I sigh and swirl my drink around in the bottom of my glass then knock .back the whole thing. Then, I heard a slow, long, drawled out whistle.

"Now, drinking like that surely can't be ladylike," he said.

I spun around and snapped,"A lot if things about me aren't 'ladylike.' Why are you even talking to me?" When I spun around, I was caught off guard by the most startling pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen, and they were nothing compared to man who owned them.

"Can't man talk to a beautiful woman?" he said. I snorted. He must think I'm easy and all he'll have to do is say some pretty words then I'll fall right into bed. He's even got that sexy British accent going for him. Well, I am from southern Mississippi so two can play at that game.

"Oh, well, if you're looking for beautiful women there's plenty dancing around here, but if you're looking for someone easy, I suggest you call the nearest whore house because you won't be getting anything from me." I retorted using a little bit of my Southern drawl. He started laughing. Hysterically.

He offered me his hand and stated, "I like you. I'm Thomas Hiddleston."

I grinned and said, "Hello, Tom. I'm Desdemona Richardson. I have a feeling that we'll be good friends," respecting him already for his witty comments and I couldn't scare him away like the others with my typical antics.

I took his hand and shook.

He smirked, deviously, "Oh, Miss Richardson, I am aiming for far more than that and it is only polite if I want you my intentions are less than honorable."

I laughed. He is seems to be a good man. He'd go well with Belly. I'll have to find out more about him before I tell Mother to fix them up.

Hello all!! Welcome to my humble story!! Don't expect much I'm not very good!! I'd like to thank my inspiration, My_Soul_Is_Indigon. You're an amazing writer and your leico fanfic is to die for!!!! Criticism welcome, bitching is not!! Thank you.