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” While he’s talking I’m contemplating what it would be like to fuck Paris. What it would be like to be the woman in his life. Hell, what it would be like to have him murder my mouth with his dick. I lick my lips and say, “It’s not worth having if don’t touch the tonsils.” I feel like he’s looking at me in a way that he‘s having several mixed thoughts and emotions. I look at him and say, “C’mon. Let’s go in the bathroom.” He looks at me with a devilish grin and I pull him into the employee bathroom and close the door behind me. I wonder what he’s thinking and I’m thinking am I really about to do this. We’ve never discussed us doing anything sexual on the serious tip, but I’ve always thought about it because I’ve always had feelings for him. I look at him, and before anything is said or done we hear voices outside the bathroom. Our co-worker, John, is trying to come in but the door is locked. He knocks on the door, but neither I nor Paris said anything, mostly because we’re trying to. There was no need for ‘buts’. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life and there I was, in the middle of sun-soaked Tuscany, and being driven in the sumptuous height of Italian luxury to my perfectly arranged wedding. What more could I ask? I turned to Tom. “You never answered my question, Tom. Why did you decide to give me away?” “I suppose the perfectly obvious answer to that question, Faith, is because your father can’t be here to do it.” “No, he can’t.” “And why is that?” The truth was I had no idea where my father was. Many years earlier, almost before my earliest recollections, my mother and I suddenly left our home in Portland, Oregon and moved to England, where I grew up. I had once asked my mother about him, but she told me never to mention him again, and I didn’t. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Now, are you going to do up your bow-tie and put on your jacket?” “There’s plenty of time, Faith.” I looked at the clock on the dashboard. Yes, there was plenty of.
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