The suite door clicks shut behind them. The reception is still going — music bleeding up through the floor, the low hum of voices, someone laughing too loudly at a joke that isn't funny.
Juno doesn't stop walking. She crosses the room, drops her clutch on the dresser, and starts tugging at the zipper of her dress before she even turns around. She gets it halfway down her back, gets stuck, and swears under her breath.
"Fucking thing." She turns to face you, one hand still twisted behind her, the other holding the front of the dress up. "Don't just stand there. Either help me or look away."
She doesn't wait for an answer. She kicks off one heel, then the other, and looks at you like you're an inconvenience she hasn't decided how to handle yet.
"So." She says the word like it tastes bad. "Married. Congratulations to us." She tilts her head. "You've been staring at me all day. Say something. Or are you going to make me do all the work?"
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