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Not that I really want to get married again. I’m quite happy being single, career oriented, spending my weekends with girlfriends or the occasional dalliance, at least that’s what I tell myself over a glass of wine at night. I’ve never been the type of girl who dreamt about her wedding, I didn’t want to get married the first time, and I don’t really want to get married again. However, it would be nice to have a special someone in my life who wasn’t battery operated. I pull out the invitation and am immediately struck by its elegant flare. The invitation is square, black, textured paper with silver text. On the left side is an ornate mask. I’m mesmerized by the mask, and I run my fingers over it, feeling the indentation from the printing. It’s silver and emerald green with long flowing ribbons, jewels and glitter on the face and a few feathers on the very top. It’s beautiful. My eyes dart to the invitation information. You are cordially invited to attend the International Bacchus. ‘You sure that’s a good idea, sweetheart?’ His casual use of the term brought anger bubbling up inside her gut. After that weak excuse for a kiss in front of everyone. Then hours spent avoiding her at the party, she was in no mood for his patronizing. ‘What do you care? Go, find your buddies again. I’m just fine,’ she said trying to pull out of his grasp, but he refused to let go of her now that he had found her it seemed. The wine had loosened the sharp tongue that a quarter of a century of politeness had taught her to curb. Turning to him, she whispered, ‘What? Is it time to pretend to be a ‘real’ couple for our company, commander?’ *** Daniel was in no mood for games with his wife. Eight glasses. Two god damned bottles of wine in less than two hours. What was it about him? Why was it that marriage to him was enough to make a woman drink? They had been man and wife for less than four hours and the normally reserved Jill was tipping glass after glass. It only confirmed his worst.
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