Chapter One

A Chapter by Joan*Eckhart

Smokey Fig is drunk at her sisters wedding. Can her day get any worse?

Smokey Fig suddenly sprang from her seat, tossed back her head full of straggly blond hair, and burst into song for no apparent reason. Well, other then the fact she was drunker than an Irishwoman who'd gotten lost in a brewery.

“My milkshake brings all the boooooooooys to the yaaaaaaaaaaaaaard!” she trilled, as she shook her bottom.

People began to stare at her in wonder. Who was this crazy woman and what the hell was she on?

But that wasn't enough for Smokey. She had to dance.

What the hell, she thought. If I'm going to make a fool of myself at my sisters wedding, I might as well go the whole hog.

She pulled up the hem of her fluorescent green gown-which clung to all the wrong places, and made her look like she had three stomachs-and kicked her right leg out with vigor.

“You put your left leg out and your right leg in,” she shouted. “Damnit!” she cursed, when she nearly staggered into the buffet table. “I'm doing it wrong!”

The people at her table were positively aghast and nearly puce with embarrassment, and they weren't even related to her. Her mother, who fancied herself Sion Mill's answer to Carole Middleton, was sat at the head table with the bride and groom and other of Smokey's stuck-up relatives and friends. She gave her daughter a look so bloodcurdling, the flowers in the vase before her wilted and died on the spot.

“Sod it!” screamed Smokey. “I'm gonna do the Moonwalk!”

Her words were slurred. Yes, she was totally off her face, but who cared, right? She was having a blast, or, at least, that's what her alcohol addled brain was assuring her.

“Hee hee!” She grabbed her crotch. From the corner of her eye she saw two burly men in black suits hastily making their way toward her. Tossers! She'd show them!

“Ga, ga, ra, ah, ah! Something, something, Bad Romance!” What were the dance moves to that video again?

Smokey threw her arms in the air. She was Lady Gaga incarnate. She span around. Big mistake. The world began to do the Rumba and before she knew it she was sitting on her pendulous behind.

The entire room full of well-to-do guests, including a member of parliament, an Oscar winning actor and an American teenage singing sensation looked on, both appalled and amused in equal measure. A spotty teenager boy filmed the entire performance on his phone, and, in the click of a button posted it on YouTube for the whole world to see.

If Smokey had been sober, she'd have joined in with all the disgusted stares, hell, her nose would have been stuck higher than anyone else's, but, as she was the one causing the commotion...

“Hiiii ahhhh!” She tried to elbow the nearest security guard in the face, Bruce Lee had nothing on her-and missed. She kicked the other one where the sun didn't shine. Instead her shoe flew off and went sailing through the air like a spud missile, landing in the punch bowl. It was a good thing too, that drink sucked.

This was not the sort of behavior the uber plush Brampton Manor usually saw. Nor the well-heeled lot that sat in the ancient building. This sort of behavior was expected with the lower classes, but around here? Dear God, what was the world coming to?

“You'll never take me aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive!” Smokey screamed as she was led away.

Her sister, Lynette, was alabaster red in the face, and her portly groom, Marty, chortled quietly behind his champagne glass. This was the most thrilling thing to happen to him all day!

“Freeeeeee Tibeeeeeeeeet!” screamed Smokey, for no good reason. She didn't even know where Tibet was. Was it even a country? She'd have to Google it later-if her mother let her live that long.

“Be quiet!” hissed the security guard who held her by the ankles. “You're humiliating yourself!”

“Don't look up my dress, pervert. Or I'll kick you one!” threatened Smokey. “I know Krav Maga.”

She didn't, but her best friend Callinda did. She hadn't been invited to the wedding for reasons unknown. But Smokey suspected it had to do with Callinda trying to seduce Marty at Christmas. It wasn't her fault, she'd been wasted at the time.

“Don't you dare have a peak or I'll have you!”

The security guard rolled his eyes, but was too polite to point out to the inebriated lady that her frilly purple knickers where on display for all to see.

She was carried outside into the lobby where she was deposited on to a plush seat and left to fester in her drunken stupor.

“Ohhh,” she held her head in her hands. The world span and her stomach heaved.

She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. Why had she drank so much? She was a light-weight in the alcohol department. One glass of champagne made her dizzy-she'd polished off an entire bottle on her own.

God, she was a mess. Overweight and under-achieving, her mother called her. Not like her precious sister Lynette, who'd managed to bag herself the only son of the Duke of some place no-one had ever heard of.

Her last boyfriend had cheated on her with her roommate. She'd found out when she walked in on them in the act, in a position that had both disgusted and impressed her. After she threw them both out onto the street stark naked, she'd decided that all men were animals and she was through with them. Well, until she lost a few stone's and glammed up her wardrobe.

“Here, you look like you could do with this.”

From beneath half-lidded eyes Smokey saw someone placing a steaming mug of coffee on the table beside her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, then shut her eyes again. Suddenly she felt ashamed of her behavior. She imagined them all laughing at the bride's drunk hippo of a sister. Why was she such a loser?

“Are you okay?” It was a man's voice she heard. It was kind, and warm and full of concern.

Smokey decided this guy was worth opening her eyes for. She blinked and looked up.

“I'm oka--”

The words died on her tongue. She. Was. Speechless.

Before her stood the most magnificent creature she had ever clapped eyes on. He was...beautiful, there was no other word for it.

He towered over her like a giant. He was over six feet tall, that was for certain, with curly brown hair and blue eyes the colour of sapphires, which ironically was her birth stone. With a face sculpted and chiselled to perfection-probably by angels. He was a walking, talking Adonis.

He was so attractive, it was almost ridiculous. No-one should be allowed to be this gorgeous. It made people like Smokey look like gimp's.

The man must have seen something in Smokey's face because he crouched down to her pitiful level to gaze into her eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently. “You're very pale.”

Good Lord, he was even cuter close up! There was a light stubble on his chin that did not hinder his attractiveness, hell, it only magnified it. Had he walked off a Gillette advert?

“Gnnngh,” moaned Smokey. She prayed she wasn't drooling.

Her stomach tightened like a vice. No, no, no, she thought. Not now. Please, God, no! Not in front of one of your most magnificent creations!

“Ma'am?” Mr. Beautiful cocked his head to the side.

He was calling her ma'am! No-one ever called her that! “Umngh!” Smokey tried to warn him, but it was too late. She couldn't hold it in.

She puked. On his shoes.

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