Adrianne Byrd - Wedding Chocolate

“There you are, Izzy,” Waqueisha Tenney, another sorority sister, rushed over to the bar in a tight, gold metallic dress and surveyed the four women. “Looks like you guys have found the best place to hide.”

The Italian bartender placed two cocktails in front of Keri and Isabella.

“I’ll have what they’re having,” Waqueisha said, and then leaned over to whisper in Isabella’s ear. “Girl, I hate to tell you this, but your parents sure know how to throw one boring-ass party. I figured you guys would have Jay-Z or Akon bumping in here.”

Isabella laughed. “Yeah, right. You know Randall doesn’t like rap music.”

“Then what does he listen to—Tony Bennett?”

Isabella hid her answer beneath a loud cough.

“What? I didn’t catch that.”

“Alabama,” she blurted.

Her two friends stared at her, and then Waqueisha asked, “You mean the country group?”

“They’re not so bad...once you get used to them,” Isabelle lied, shrugging.

After another long stare, her friends covered their crooked smiles by turning up their cocktail glasses.

“Next time,” Waqueisha said when she came up for air, “you come to me and I’ll hook you up with a real party.”

“Speaking of which,” Keri jumped in. “Where’s my invitation to that Kidd Rhymes release party in Atlanta? Everyone’s buzzing about it all over the blogs.”

A smile exploded across Waqueisha’s face. Her event planning business had taken off in the last two years with Kidd Rhymes being her biggest client to date.

“Hey, if you girls are willing to fly down, I’ll be glad to hook you up.”

Excited, Keri bounced on her toes and sloshed her drink. “Are you kidding me? Hell yeah, we’ll come.”

“Keri,” Isabella hissed, too aware that her best friend’s near squeals drew curious eyes in their direction.

“You’ll come too, right, Izzy?” Keri asked, ignoring the subtle hint to calm down.

“Well, I—”

“You have to come,” her sorors implored, their eyes begging.

“It’ll be your last hoorah before you officially become a politician’s wife.”

“You mean my first, don’t you?” Isabella joked. Both of them knew full well she was not the party type—especially when it came to attending some big rap party. She could already see herself holding up the walls, afraid someone would and wouldn’t ask her to dance.

Her girlfriends’ faces fell in obvious disappointment, triggering Isabella’s need to fix things.

“Well, I’m not saying ‘no,’” Isabella covered, but was quickly interrupted before she could say anything else.

“Isabella,” Randall said, rudely sliding in between her and her friends. “We’re supposed to be networking. What are you doing hiding at the bar?” His arms wrapped possessively around her waist as he leaned in and whispered, “This is an important night, sweetheart. It’s imperative we leave a good impression with these people. Any one of them could be my ticket into office.”

Despite her irritation, Isabella clamped her mouth shut. Behind him, her sorority sisters rolled their eyes, expressing exactly how she felt.

However, her troubled emotions must have still shown on her face because Randall’s next instruction was for her to “smile.”

From across the room, she caught her father’s eye and she forced the corners of her lips upward before quickly taking another gulp of her cocktail. She was definitely going to need plenty of drinks.

Keri gave Randall a pointed look and then maneuvered around him. “C’mon. Let’s do like your fiancé says and mingle.”

Isabella didn’t have it in her to protest and allowed her friend to direct her away. However, she did catch Randall’s irritation from the corner of her eyes. “Why did you do that?” she hissed at Keri.

“Why do you think?” Keri snapped back. “I can’t stand that man.”

“Keri—”

“Look, he wants you to mingle. We’re going to mingle. Ah, Senator Winfield.” Keri stopped and offered the Ken-doll look-alike a stunning smile. “So nice to see you.”

Winfield perked up and returned the favor. After he imparted his congratulations to Isabella, his attention returned to Keri, despite the narrowed gaze from his wife.

Isabella, still enjoying the slight buzz from the champagne, glanced around the crowded room. It was her party and yet she felt like the loneliest woman in the room. Everyone appeared to be having a great time. She, on the other hand, wondered how much longer before everyone would go home.

“I don’t know how she did it,” a female’s voice floated over to her. “She must be one of those closet freaks. You know how buck wild Randall is in the bedroom.”

Isabella twisted around, trying to see who was talking.

“Girl, don’t I know it,” a short brunette near the fireplace confided. “Randy was the best lover I ever had. I want to scratch his fiancée’s eyes out. I mean really—her?”

“I know,” the voice said. “But if I know our Randy, he bores easy. Soon as he gets tired of her, he’ll come running back and I’ll keep the sheets turned down.”

Isabella dropped her champagne glass, swiveled toward the two mysterious women, but ran smack into a waiter carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. A collective gasp rose from the guests as something with teriyaki sauce ruined her aqua blue cocktail dress.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Kane,” the waiter apologized profusely.

Slowly, Isabella lowered her gaze to the horrendous mess and felt tears brim in her eyes. However, before she had a chance to open her mouth, her mother along with her team of sorority sisters rushed into action. She was directed out of the room and shuffled upstairs to her old bedroom.

“Find something quick,” Katherine commanded, throwing open the walk-in closet doors.

Problem was that Isabella hadn’t lived in her parents’ home since she graduated from high school and there wasn’t anything presentable to wear in her old closet.

Rayne and Waqueisha unzipped the back of Isabella’s dress while Katherine, Keri and Sylvia combed through a wardrobe that should’ve been donated to the Salvation Army at least a decade ago.

“What about this one?” Isabella’s mother produced an oldie but goody Easter ensemble that rendered everyone else speechless.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Katherine surmised.

“Do you have anything in your closet she can wear?” Keri asked Katherine.

It was an innocent question, but the obvious answer stared Keri in the face. Isabella wore an average size eight while her mother would challenge anyone to a duel if they suggested her size eighteen frame was any higher than a twelve.

Waqueisha balled her hands on her hips. “Well, unless we’re going to snatch the curtains down and pull a Scarlett O’Hara, we’re going have to use one of your dresses, Ms. Kane.”

A few minutes later, Isabella stepped into one of her mother’s black sequin numbers and looked as though she was eight years old and playing dress up.

It was the perfect moment to have an emotional breakdown.

Boxes of Kleenex magically appeared and everyone patted Isabella on her back and head like she was a stray puppy.

“There, there. Baby, what’s wrong?” Katherine asked.

Isabella just sobbed louder and mopped at her face. How could she tell them the horrendous things those women had said downstairs? How could she tell them that she was beginning to have second thoughts about marrying Randall while she was at her own engagement party?

“Is it the dress?” Katherine asked. “I can go search for a different one.”

Seizing on the convenient excuse, Isabella bobbed her head and then slumped with relief when her mother raced back out of the room.