My New Muse (Mild Wattpad Version) (Completed) [SLOWLY BEING EDITED]

11. The Wedding

Of all the times a cold sore could pop up on my lip, it just had to be now.

Of fuckïng course.

I've been avoiding David since it appeared — the past two days now —while the bitch just grew and grew. Now, it looks like my lip has a tumour.

I groan as I look at my reflection in the mirror, with the big ass son of a bitch which almost seems to be grinning back at me. The most that I can do is wear no makeup, drawing as little attention to my face as possible, but even then, it's hard to miss the abomination currently residing on the left side of my upper lip.

I quickly pull on my black jeans and my  black t-shirt with "LAP Photography Ltd." (Leah Anderson Professional Photography Limited) printed in white on the front.

The entire drive towards David's house has me getting less and less enthusiastic about the wedding, because I know that he'll find my fûcked up lip highly amusing.

I park on the curb along with a few other cars, and as I get out of the car and walk through the gates, I notice that there are probably less than twenty people here (including two caterers and a videographer). I stop walking, now standing on the front lawn, as I am hit with the realisation that I am royally fúcked, as there is no way that I will be able to escape him.

As soon as that realisation hits me, I feel someone touch my hand.

Oh, shit.

"Thank you, again, Leah," he says, walking in front of me to face me, and by the time he's finished his sentence, he's biting his lip to prevent his laughter from coming out.

I simply nod; any lip movement will only enhance it.

He clears his throat, and leads me to his brother and soon to be sister-in-law.

His brother is in a tux, with a red silk tie, and from what I can see, he's an older, sexier looking version of David. Not that I'm considering having sex with him; he's about to get married, and I'm monogamous when it comes to my sexual partners.

Somehow, I feel like he's not as good as David in bed; and that's not "the fox the sour grapes" or anything. I really don't think that he'd be as good. "Hotter" doesn't mean "better".

I might be wrong. That's fine. Guess I'll never know.

The bride is wearing a lacy off-white dress with a long-ass train, with a silk red strip of cloth around her waist, a red choker with rubies dangling from it, red ruby earrings and a red bracelet.

Her shoes are white with red heals. Her lipstick is red. Her nails are red. Her curly weave is red, like how Rihanna's used to be, and personally, I think Rihanna wore it better.

I'd bet a thousand dollars and a juicy patty that she has on a red garter.

"Hey, Peter, Suzan; this is your photographer, Leah."

I receive a "hello" from Peter, and a "Hi" from Suzan, and I don't miss how they take turns looking at my lip, and then glancing away.

"Thank you, so much Leah, for doing this; especially on such short notice."

"It's fine."

"Okay. Well, the ceremony is going to start in about fifteen minutes, so we've got to go."

I watch as they walk off towards the back lawn, leaving me with David, who's eyes are currently focused on my mouth as a grin spreads across his face.