I tossed the eyeliner back into my makeup bag. “You say that like there’s a moral failure in not bringing a guy back to my room. I had fun last night.”
“Yes, I heard you snoring through the walls.”
“Are you sure that wasn’t the echo of your headboard?”
She belted out a laugh and shook her head. “You know how it goes. The shorter ones always have something to prove”—she pounded a fist against her palm—“and they don’t stop until they prove it three or four times.”
I swallowed a laugh. “How are you able to walk today?”
“NSAIDs and benzocaine spray. Why? Do you need some?”
“I’m good.” I motioned to her floor-length navy blue gown. “I thought you said you weren’t bringing the strikeout dress this year.”
“We are not calling it the strikeout dress.” She shifted to face herself in the mirror and futzed with her ribbon-tied shoulder straps. “I’ve only worn it three times. That’s hardly an adequate sample size to draw conclusions.”
“Last summer, you said that dress was a clam-jamming chastity belt and you swore you were selling it to someone who deserved that kind of curse.”
“Well, I have a new bra and I think it’s safe to say it’s working miracles.” She cupped her breasts and gave them a jiggle. “These are no longer basic boobs. These are cautionary-tale tits.”
Not for the first time in our friendship, I gave her cleavage a meaningful glance. Meri was beautiful. Short, curvy, redheaded, and she had a personality that could always find its light. She could suck the oxygen from a room with one smile. “Here’s a cautionary tale for you. If you start bouncing around on the dance floor, one of those things is going to bust out and break your nose.”
She circled me, eyeing my dress. “And what about you, Miss Olivia Sexyskirts? Where did this thing come from and why did it make you forget the number one rule of wedding crashing—never outshine the bride or her maids?”
“I am not outshining the bride.” I glanced down at my peachy-pink dress. It had been a splurge, and a misguided one at that seeing as it had required tailoring and weapons-grade shapewear to fit my size fourteen ass. I’d justified it all by telling myself I had tons of places to wear a flowy gown with a hand-ruched sweetheart neckline and the most gorgeous chiffon flowers climbing over my shoulders and trailing down my back like a vine of pale morning glories. What workaholic surgeon living in the ever so temperate climate of Boston, Massachusetts didn’t need that exact thing in her closet?
“Let’s hope not.” Meri headed toward the balcony doors, saying, “We’re friends of the bride’s family on her father’s side. He’s one of those guys who knows the entire world and hasn’t been stingy with the invites. I overheard someone in the elevator saying he invited everyone who works for him and loads of business associates. He’s the reason this shindig is rounding outat nearly six hundred guests. Apparently they reserved rooms on three whole floors of this place.”
I joined her on the balcony, watching while the hotel crew put the finishing touches on the outdoor ceremony space. Hundreds of white chairs fanned out around a raised platform with the shimmering summer blue of Lake Tahoe and majestic ponderosa pines as the backdrop. When it was time for the bride to walk down the aisle at five thirty this evening, the sun was going to hit her like a halo.
Brilliant planning, I had to admit.
“We live in the Bay Area. I teach middle school science and the kids are a nightmare, but I love them,” she continued. “If we get stuck for any reason, talk about University of Nevada, Reno football. It seems like both families have a lot of alums and the father of the bride is a big fan of the Wolf Pack. He has high hopes that they slaughter Boise State this year.”
“Love that for him.”
Meri looped her arm around my shoulders. “Are you sure you’re good? We can swaddle up in robes, eat room service, and then diagnose injuries in action movies if you want. That’s always an option, Whit.”
My best friend wasthebest friend in the world. There was no one better, of that I was certain. “We look too good to miss this. Seriously, it would be a disservice to this wedding for us to sit it out. We’re going to dance until we kill the nerves in our feet and we’re going to drink like we’re twenty-five, and we’re going to have the best time of anyone at this wedding. Plus, I’m dying to see the bride’s dress and I’m sure the food is going to be insane.” I motioned between us. “Most importantly, we need to break the curse on this dress.”
With a nod, she said, “We saved the best for last this year. This is going to be a good one. I can feel it.”
“Yeah,” I said, blowing out a breath. “Me too.”
As a rule,we only crashed big weddings. It was easier to blend in when there were at least three hundred guests in attendance. We’d added that to our rule book several years ago after an awkward situation in South Carolina that nearly ended in us being escorted off the property.
This wedding wasn’t big. It wasmassive. Hell, it wasn’t even a wedding, it was a festival with the bride and groom headlining the main stage. Sixteen attendants on each side, seven flower girls, five ring bearers, a four-minute solo from the harp player, and—so far—three dramatic recitations of love poems, songs, and movie monologues from various friends and family.
We were forty-five minutes in and we hadn’t even gotten to the vows yet.
“What’s happening next?” Meri flipped through her program. “I honestly don’t think there are any other sonnets to read at this point.”
“‘A special blessing from Luisa Ballicanta,’” I read. “The groom’s aunt.”
Meri wiggled in her seat. “I cannot wait to hear this,” she whispered as an older woman wearing a long silver dress that was more than a little witchy stepped up to the microphone. It was the sort of frock sold only in museum shop catalogs. “I love when they let the wacky aunts talk. This will either be straight-up sex advice, astrology, or a soup recipe that starts out as a metaphor but—surprise—is legit soup.”
I squeezed her forearm. “Or all three.”
Aunt Luisa opened a thick journal—a spell book, probably—and adjusted her glasses. “When Mason and Florrie announcedtheir betrothal, I knew I had to conduct a study of their star charts?—”
