I pull up to the rented estate hall, gilded invite trembling in my hand. Distant family friend, yet the couple dialed personally, voices silk over the line. Eighteen, tucked in parents’ Bentley for the three-hour glide through twilight estates. Weddings bore me. Hundred guests in tailored suits, crystal flutes chiming. I know only the bride and groom. Clusters form fast, whispers of shared fortunes. I nurse champagne bubbles, sharp and cold, exiled to a velvet-draped corner vestibule. Not hideous, just crippled by shyness around women. Léa’s ghost lingers, bed empty since. Hall glows under chandeliers, linen tables starched perfection. No name card for me amid the opulence. DJ in loud floral silk spins tracks, face etched like old money gone rogue. Horde of heirs rampage, dodging tipsy tycoons. ‘To the tables!’ he booms. Rush ensues. I snag the groom’s mother—familiar from galas. She winces. Short on seats. Points to the kids’ enclave, crisp and isolated. Sébastien etched on my card. Right: boys glued to gadgets, Pokémon pixels flashing. Left: girl thrusts slimed doll. Chaos reigns. One seat empty opposite. Charlotte. I smirk, expecting toy kisses. Late arrivals: decrepit gent drags a vision—tall blonde, curves lethal under emerald silk. Groom nods my way. She’s it. Cousin. ‘Hey, you stuck here too?’ she purrs, sliding in. Green eyes pierce. Mi-long gold waves. Forms strain the fabric. Tongue unlocks. Sébastien. Idle chat flows. She’s single, truth. Old man: father. Bordeaux pours deep, velvet on tongue, kids slurping fizz. Dinner vanishes. Conquests surface. She claims a beau—gut punch. Deflect to sports, eyes fleeing her lace-framed cleavage. Slow croons launch. Couples sway. She pauses, expectant. I rise, gentleman veil. Floor pulses soft. Hands glide to my jeans rear, body molds. Heat surges. Cock swells double, steel against her thigh. Gaze drops: voluptuous swell heaves. Pure privilege tease.
