The March of the Black Queen (book III)

52.) Somebody That You Used to Know (Part 1)

Freddie:

As soon as I finish changing into my tux, thanks to Phoebes speedy shopping skills, I stop just short of the door upon hearing a few loud shouts followed by a discussion of hissing voices. My curiousity getting the best of me, I place my ear to the door, trying to pick up on the talk of the town, but much to my dismay I can't hear a lick.

I walk out of the restroom to find everyone quickly silencing their hushed whispers. Immediately, I pick up on the awkward tension in the atmosphere. A few nervous coughs signal my apparent intrusion.

"Runaway bride?," I chuckle, jokingly as I find my seat again on the couch beside Rami.

"What makes you say that?! I-I mean—no. Of course not!," Deacy fidgets around his stammering words.

Aha, so there is a secret.

"Well, out with it, then. What's happened? Where's Richie?," I ask, though the room is crowded with men, it lacks the sarcastic flare that only my son could whip.

"He's still somewhere talking with Charlie, I guess," Rami answers in a short grumble, throwing back a shot of vodka. He clicks his teeth, digging his fist into the couch cushion, exuding fumes; I can feel their heat.

"Right...," I squint at the boy, Whats got his knickers in a twister?

"What is it you're all so tight-lipped about? You all have got to do better than that-,"

"Phoebe? Would you like to do the honors?," Roger drawls from across the room.

"I really don't think now is such a good time-," Deacy interjects before quickly quieting down into the background.

"Why do I have to?," Phoebe rejects the offer. "No. I don't feel like being fired today, thank you," Instead, he comes over to hand me a freshly rolled cigarette and a lighter.

I get the feeling I'm being manipulated here. Being made to relax before they drop a bomb on me...

"We don't want to cause a ruckus, just as much as you and especially not with Papa-Deacy giving us his death glare...," Brian nervously hums.

"Oh! Death glare! Really?," Deacy scoffs, handing me a freshly poured glass of Stoli— filled to the brim. "Cheers," we clink glasses and I figure I might as well indulge in their little game, but not for too long.

The door to the suite flies open before I can fully finish swallowing my drink. The burning of the alcohol makes me choke on my spit, roughly fighting to clear my throat to listen.

"What the bloody hell are you sitting around for, you lot of tarts!," this only causes me to turn from slight tickling cough to a choking fit as I listen to my father enter the room, guns-a-blazin. "That nasty fellow is here. Charlie's not anywhere in sight and he had the nerve to smile in my face when he walked into the place."

The room falls so silent you could hear the ice in my drink melt as they begin to shrink from the fire that burns within me.

I stand up slowly, Rami also gets to his feet beside me; he moves like my shadow, down to the quivering rage keeping us both silent.

"Freddie...relax...think before you do something-,"

"Well surely, I'm not just going to sit pretty and do nothing!," I snap at Deacy, not meaning to at all, but all of my words will come out as cross if I stand idly by through an entire day of a wedding planned down to the final stitch.

"Let's go, Rami— lead the way, dear."

"Him?!," Roger disagrees. "You'd chose that scrawny little boy— Uh, no offense— you'd chose him over me?"