Well blogger is playing up again so I know even if you are reading this you may not be able to comment. Let's hope blogger gets its act together soon! I've been reading your posts but only manage to get a couple of comments in a day before it crashes on me...I am posting my story while I can...
Here is my third story for the Romantic Friday Writers challenge. Thank you to all the participants and all the readers. The standard has been high and we are really letting our imaginations run riot with the themes. So far we've had many 'Dire Moments', many sad stories for 'Lost', and this week, maybe there'll be some over-the-top glitz and glamour, or will these flash fiction writers tease us? I hope you will read and critique my story then read many others. Find them @ #RomanticFridayWriters on twitter, in your blogger roll or by clicking on the badge in my sidebare for the linky of participants...
Still I’m not happy can’t you see?
‘Turn that maudlin rubbish off!’
‘It shows too much about you, where you come from.’
‘That’s the meanest thing you’ve said to me for, like, ten whole minutes.’
‘Only ten? Well get over it. Enough of your teary eyes and dreamy looks. We’ve got a party to get to.’
‘I’m not going!’
‘You are. I brought you something to wear.’
‘Well we can’t have anyone outshining you my dear. Lady Peekles will be there.’
‘And I care?’
‘I don’t care about those things.’
‘And to save you from that long-haired, guitar-strumming cowboy.’
‘You’re still pining for him. Ha! As if he could ever afford to deck you out in the best. You’d still be wearing your torn jeans and scuffed boots.’
‘And Rudolph didn’t like it, did he? Not one bit. But what could he do? He was too busy strutting his stuff. All that wailing country music. All those women falling at his feet. You stood out from the crowd.’
‘So did you with your business suit and polished shoes.’
‘You forgot the bow tie.’
Antoine reached into the pocket of his tux and drew out an exquisite red satin box tied with a white ribbon scrolled in gold with the Cartier logo.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Don’t cry darling,’ he said tenderly.
‘Why? Or I’ll spoil my perfect make up? Offend Lady Peekles?’
‘No, my love, you’ll terrify me that you’re really going to leave me, go back to that guitar-strumming poseur.’
‘Lead me to your Cadillac, Antoine. I’m not going anywhere but to this party.’