Methods of breathing 2

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In the wedding reception, everyone looked happy. The children looked happy, running wildly around the gardens. The bridesmaids looked happy, flirting and giggling with the groomsmen. The parents of the newly wed looked happy, conversing politely on grandchildren. The bride looked happy, a glass of champagne on her hand and a tint of rose on her cheeks as she whisper something to the groom who threw his head back with laughter. And then the groom saw her, as she was making her way through the crowd to greet the bride and groom. Especially the groom. ¨Iris! You almost convinced me you´re not coming,¨ the bride said to her with a glint of amusement in her eyes that never fail to hide her surprise. Or loathing. ¨I´m sure you did, Beth,¨ Iris said, smiling back at her. ´I´m sure you wished,´ she thought. The groom, on the other hand, knows that she is coming. He knows she would be late. He knows she wouldn´t let this little wedding trample her pride. He also knows that she hates him. After all, weren´t they a couple for five long years? What he doesn´t know is that she´d be more graceful, more gorgeous and more beautiful. She has always looked serene, calm and collected but she never looked this...unattainable! ¨I hope you came to wish the best for the bride, not merely to outshine her. This is a wedding, you know?¨ He charmingly said, gently squeezing her wife´s hand to ease off the remark that she looked less blooming than her adversary. Her former adversary. ¨Of course, I wish you both the best. I hope you´ll be happy, Chris.¨ She handed him the silver and gold wrapped box, deliberately avoiding his touch, his handshake, his swift hug. ´Hope you rot in hell,´ she thought, while giving the bride and groom her brightest smile. (2)