“Sometimes brides are concerned when they’ve been away from the dress for a while,” I told her. “But once they see the dress, they fall in love with it all over again!”
“Except I’m not like other brides,” Imogen insisted.
I can think of a certain bridezilla you remind me of.
“Mika, are you ready to start the meeting?” Imogen asked her half sister.
Mika had just shoved a mini quiche into her mouth. She chewed, nodding. The mini quiches smelled buttery, cheesy, and delicious, and I wanted to eat five of them. Imogen was stressing me out. I took out my notepad.
“Does this mean Mika is taking over the maid-of-honor duties?” I asked delicately. “Since Kaitlyn is no longer going to be participating?”
“Ugh, no! Mika doesn’t look like a maid of honor. She’s the matron of honor,” Imogen retorted.
Mika swallowed. “We have a man of honor.”
No.
“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar deep voice called out from the foyer. Then Evan Harrington sauntered into the room. He saw me, and a slow smile spread across his face as he removed his sunglasses.
I clenched my jaw. I was not going to give that man the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.
“Are you sure you want a man in your wedding party?” I asked Imogen. “It’s rather nontraditional.”
She threw up her hands. “This wedding is already a disaster! But I simply must have a large wedding party, and I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
Evan pulled out a chair right across from me and sat in it. Actually, it was more like he posed in it.
“It will be nice, Immie!” Mika cajoled. “Weddings are about family. Evan’s your brother.”
“And Evan is paying for this shindig, since Dad is a piece of shit,” Evan added, still giving me that sexy, come-hither look that I was totally capable of ignoring.
“I will not have this conversation with you again, Evan,” Imogen warned her half brother. “I’m the bride, it’s my special day, and I want Dad to walk me down the aisle. Don’t you agree, Ivy?”
I was too busy glaring at Evan to register that Imogen had asked me a question.
How dare he show up here?
“Ivy?” Evan prompted with a smirk.
“You could always walk yourself down the aisle,” I suggested. “Several of my brides are doing that.”
“Brides whose fathers don’t love them, maybe,” Imogen sneered.
“He’s not even paying for your wedding,” Evan retorted. “So I’m not sure how much he really loves you!”
I muttered something about needing to use the restroom and left the siblings to squabble. In the powder room with its imported wallpaper and handmade brass faucet, I leaned against the marble sink.
Ivy:Help! Evan is here!
Grace:At your apartment?
Amy:You didn’t invite him did you?
Ivy:No, he’s here with Imogen. He’s in the wedding party. He’s the man of honor.
Brea:How progressive. Maybe you can use your feminine wiles to convince him to tell Imogen to NOT BLEACH THIS WEDDING DRESS!!!!
I took a few deep breaths to try and steel myself before returning to the viper’s nest.
