My Three Husbands Read Online Free PDF Page B

dads!”
    â€œYou’re beautiful when you’re pissed off,” Tremaynne said. “Come on, let’s get into the action.”
    I had to park my junky old Toyota blocks away, amidst a shining sea of Mercedes, BMWs, and forty-thousand-dollar SUVs. We walked fast. Easy for Tremaynne in his blue jeans and hiking boots, murder for me in my heels and tight evening dress. I wobbled down the uneven sidewalks, wishing Tremaynne would slow down and give me his arm.
    â€œThere’s Venus!” someone shouted as we turned the corner and approached the registry office. Everyone looked in my direction. Some of my friends whistled. I waved, feeling like a five-second movie star. I’d never forgotten that Sylphide, the dads’ pretzel-thin yoga teacher, once said I looked like Marilyn Monroe in my tight red dress.
    Everyone I’d ever seen at one of the dads’ parties was hanging out in front of this nondescript office building. Most of my best friends were there, too, because the dads were like their dads, too. Everyone was dressed up, but I was the only one showing a bit of skin.
    It was a bright, windy day. Mount Hood was glowing in the distance.
    As a seasoned party girl I can usually gauge the mood of a gathering pretty fast. Everyone who’d come to celebrate the dads’ DP was excited, but they didn’t quite know what to do. They wanted to be happy, the way you’re supposed to be happy at weddings. But there wasn’t any sort of ceremony to look forward to, or a church where you could sit down. And there were seven people hanging off to one side like an ominous storm cloud.
    â€œGod hates homos!” they chanted.
    I could feel my bare skin turning really hot. Ed and Thisbe Nesbitt were serving champagne from the back of their Lexus SUV. In crystal glasses, very classy. Thisbe airkissed me and whispered, “It was all so nice until those unpleasant people showed up.”
    â€œNobody told them that dinosaurs are extinct.” It was Marielle, the gorgeous six-foot-two Dutch woman who was Whitman’s best friend. She’d set up a table on the sidewalk next to Ed and Thisbe, laid it with a white cloth, and was serving sushi canapés.
    â€œAre my dads here yet?” I asked her.
    â€œNo, but they’re due any minute.”
    â€œI wish we could do something,” Thisbe said anxiously. “This is such an important event. Those extremists shouldn’t be allowed to spoil it.”
    Fokke, Marielle’s venture-capitalist Dutch husband, angrily bulldozed his way through the crowd. “Muricans,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Ya, I told doze bastards to go but dey-dey-dey want a fight.”
    â€œYa, all they want is the publicity,” Marielle said.
    â€œOkay,” I said, feeling reckless and insanely protective of the dads, “I’ll give the fuckers some publicity.”
    â€œNay,” Marielle scolded. “You can’t fight in that pretty dress.”
    â€œWatch me.” As I sized up my targets, Tremaynne slipped his hand into mine.
    â€œAt least have some sushi and champagne before you attack,” Marielle said.
    Tremaynne shook his head. “None for me, thanks.”
    â€œWhat?” Marielle looked offended. “You don’t like sushi?”
    â€œFish,” Tremaynne said. “I don’t eat anything that has eyes.”
    Marielle squinted, puzzled, then shrugged and looked at me. “You, Venus, you love my sushi.”
    â€œI sure do.”
    I stared at her jewelry as she quickly served me pieces of raw, liver-red tuna with wasabi and soy sauce. Marielle always wore huge handmade pieces of platinum and gold inset with the jewels her husband bought for her in South Africa. A yellow diamond the size of an elf’s eye winked in her ring. Something I would never have. I wouldn’t even come close. Tall beautiful Marielle and her short pushy husband (pretending not to eyeball my