I nod, but there’s a tug on my heart. “I’m not romanticizing it. When this wedding is done, he’ll move on, and I’ll have a business to build.”
“What the hell does that mean?” She flicks her narrowed gaze to Durban and back to me. Growing up, people used to think Avery was the quiet, timid one. She’s blunt and takes no prisoners, and she’s only gotten worse—better?—since moving away from Huckleberry Springs.
“It means that we’re friends with benefits,” I say quietly. Almost all the guests are seated, and the staff is starting to pass out the starter salad. My stomach rumbles.
“You used to irritate the crap out of him.” She taps her chin. “That’s why I always suspected he wanted to fuck you.”
“Avery!” I snap my mouth shut. That came out way too loud.
January focuses on me like she has laser vision set for destruction. Her mouth forms a flat line. She scoots back and primly walks toward us. I hold in my groan, but Avery doesn’t.
“Is everything okay?” she asks with a polite smile, her head tilted like she’s talking to a kid.
“Of course.” I make sure my grin is a thousand watts. The staff is approaching with the carts full of the starter salad. “You’re going to love the salad. Strawberries are super sweet right now, and Chef sources the spinach from a local greenhouse that gets an early start.”
January considers me. “It doesn’t feel polite to eat when all of my guests aren’t sitting.”
My facial muscles strain with the effort of holding my smile. “Avery was just taking her seat.”
Avery flings her ponytail over her shoulder and gives my arm a squeeze. “Brides, am I right?” she mutters. She gives January a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “Relax and have fun. It’s your big day.” She says it with false excitement.
I want to both laugh and cry. January’s eyes shimmer. Avery never could stand her, and I was surprised Avery was on the invite list at all.
January sniffles, and my shoulders drop. Iamthe planner. I’m cursed with professional pride and the urge to fix this. She’s a client, and she wants a good start to her happily ever after. Just because I don’t have one isn’t her fault. Well, technically, it is, but she saved me from Stanford, and no matter how much she loves him, their marriage is going to end in her heartbreak. Stanford will take care of himself.
What should I tell her to make her feel better that doesn’t sound like I approve of this marriage? “It’s very considerate of you to include Jamison.”
My cousin gives me a self-deprecating shrug, like it’s the least she could do when in fact itwasthe least she could do. “I want my dream wedding to be perfect, and that includes having the most important people around me.” She shoots me a supportive smile. “Feel free toenjoy some leftovers when a seat opens up. I’m sure there’ll be extra plates on the cart and some water glasses left untouched.”
As she sashays away, my temper rises until my heart beats around my skull. I tried to help her feel better, and she turns around and demeans me?
I’m not touching any damn leftovers or unused water glasses.
Two days.
Two more days.
I just want to tell her to kick rocks—right up her ass and out that smug expression. I did once, and that’s how I ended up planning her happy day. January can be petty, but I never thought she’d stoop to this level. Was our whole friendship a lie?
Leftovers. Spare water.
My heart rate soars. A blood vessel in my head is going to pop if I stand here much longer.
I suck in a few deep breaths before I cross to Mom and touch her shoulder. “I need to dip into the lodge for a bit. I’ll be back before the meal’s done.”
Avery and Jamison frown at me. If Mom senses something’s wrong, she doesn’t stop me, only nods and shoos me away.
My face is hot as I pass Durban. I refuse to look at him. I’ve talked to him about all of this, but now’s not the time. Maybe tonight, when it’s dark, and we’re alone, I can spill my heart out about how much this moment hurts.
I’m across the lawn and in the lodge in record time. I head straight for the meeting room. It’s dark, and I leave the lights off when I enter.
I’m about to shut the door when a big body comes through. “What’s wrong?”
“Durban,” I whisper-shout, whirling around. “You can’t be here. You have to serve cocktails.”
He comes in and closes the door. The light is off, but sunlight pokes through the slats of the blinds at the window. His face is carved from shadows, and my stomach somersaults. I could stare at him for an eternity and never get tired of the view.
My dull headache infringes on my admiration of him. I prod my temples with my fingertips. This wedding is messing with my head. I want what January has. I want Durban. I’m ready to throw myself down the aisle at him. Miss Independent right here.
