TITLE: The Snap
GENRE: Women's Fiction
When the idea hit her, Robyn’s eyes widened and she gave an involuntary “Oh!” A tiny voice deep down warned that Mark wouldn't like it, but now she couldn't think of anything else. This was too good not to act on. She decided she would stand as soon as the rather comprehensive best man finished his toast, which would give her legs time to stop trembling.
The glazed eyes of the guests worked in Robyn’s favor, as no one seemed to notice the glasses vibrating on the table just above her knees. She glanced over at Mark again. His face was blank too, just like the past twelve times she’d looked at him.
The best man finished with a flourish, and just in time: the glasses teetered at the table’s edge. People clapped and then did that stupid clinking thing to make the couple kiss. Yes, yes. All very predictable.
Finally. She stood, holding onto the edge of the table for support, sure she looked like a cat in the car on the way to the vet’s office. Heads turned towards her, wondering who she was. The bride’s sister, perhaps? A close friend? A cousin? Mark looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
She flashed him a smile, hoping to reassure him. He shook his head in warning against whatever she was going to do, but she had to keep going, especially now that she was standing. Before Mission Control in her head could morph the movement into a trip to the ladies’ room, she lurched for the microphone.