He mouthed,Kinky.
Teddy frowned as he read through the ceremony plan. “I don’t see anything in here that’s about me.”
“Of course not,” Imogen scoffed. “This wedding is my day and about me.”
“We’re both getting married,” Teddy said stubbornly.
“What is it you want then?” Imogen asked, tapping her nails on the table.
“The man wants the ceremony to reflects his heritage, Imogen,” Evan said, a shit-eating grin on his face.
I tried to give him my bestI will fucking kill you and bury your body in little pieces all around New York if you derail this weddinglook, but Evan smirked at me and winked.
“He doesn’t have a heritage,” Imogen retorted.
“He’s Scottish,” Evan told her.
“Five percent!” Teddy said proudly as he sipped his whisky.
I did not like the ditch Evan seemed hell-bent on driving this conversation into, and I desperately tried to head it off.
“We could do the traditional Scottish wedding walk and have a fiddler or piper precede you two out of the venue,” I offered.
Evan was shaking his head slowly.
“Or,” I said desperately, cutting him off before he could speak, “you both could learn a traditional dance.”
“No,” Evan said loudly, clapping Teddy on the shoulder. “The man needs to truly reflect his heritage. He needs…” Evan paused for dramatic effect, “… a kilt.”
“Honestly, Evan,” his stepmother admonished.
“You cannot wear a kilt to my wedding!” Imogen yelled at Teddy.
“It’s my culture,” he insisted.
“You’re not Scottish!” Imogen shrieked. Then she turned on me. “Don’t you dare let this happen. I will fire you if that man turns up in a kilt.”
Another day, another bridal crisis. Except this one had been manufactured by Evan. The billionaire was silently laughing across the table from me, and I gave him my best death glare.
“What kind of tartan is it?” I asked diplomatically. “Some kilts look nice.”
Evan pulled out his phone. “Behold! The Sutherland family tartan.”
He showed us a swatch of red, orange, and yellow tartan. Mika made a barfing noise.
“My whole family can wear it,” Teddy said proudly. “We’ll all be dressed up in formal kilts.”
“That’s going to clash with the color scheme,” I said delicately.Understatement of the freaking century. Grace was going to kill me. The pictures were going to look atrocious if all of the groom’s side showed up in that tartan pattern.
Imogen’s face was icy. She slowly rose out of her seat. Outside, it had begun to rain, and thunder sounded as she leaned over the table toward Teddy’s face.
“You will not wear a kilt to my wedding.”
Teddy looked up at her mulishly and opened his mouth. Just then, there was a flash of lightning and an unholy clap of thunder.
“Is that understood?” Imogen stated.
* * *
