I tucked a sweaty curl back around her ear. She kissed me hard then bit my chin.
“All that did was make me want you more.”
“Where is my wedding planner?” Imogen shrieked from the distance.
Ivy’s eyes widened, and she adjusted her clothes. “How do I look?” she asked, her face flushed.
“You look like you’re just begging to have me bend you over and fuck you,” I purred.
“Oh gosh!” She ran to the bathroom, and I went to the lobby to run interference.
“Where’s Ivy?” Imogen demanded.
I shrugged. “I was making a phone call.”
“Honestly, I need to fire her,” Imogen fumed.
“Ah, there’s the bride!” Ivy said, flanked by two of the event space staff. The venue was a historic conservatory in Central Park. Imogen had booked it before Teddy had even proposed. I had been toldad nauseamthat it was a very in-demand space.
Despite the admittedly beautiful venue, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on Ivy. She was in a form-fitting little black dress, black heels, with her hair in a loose bun that I just wanted to take down.
“Thank you so much for letting us come by on such short notice,” Ivy said to the venue staff.
“We do have another wedding setting up,” the man cautioned.
“We understand. We’ll stay out of the way,” Ivy assured him.
We walked into the main space. The staff was setting up tables, with the long bridal-party table in front of the floor-to-ceiling lead-plated windows. Sheer drapes hung from the ceiling. Even though I was still antiwedding, I had to admit that the space did look pretty.
Imogen was not impressed.
“This is so basic,” she said loudly. Several of the staff sent annoyed looks our way.
“Imogen,” I hissed at her.
“What, Evan? You have to admit I’m right.”
“At least they have enough people for the nice long head table instead of one shoved into a corner,” Teddy said, not looking up from his phone. “Hey, Ivy, since we can’t put the head table there, let’s put the New York Giants table there instead. A guy I went to college with, his wife makes sports-themed food. I want to have nachos and red and blue Jell-O shots.”
“We’re not having a football team table at my wedding!” Imogen snapped.
“It’s my wedding too!” the groom shouted.
Ivy looked concerned.
“Why don’t we discuss this after our appointment,” I said firmly, not liking the dirty looks the event space staff were sending our way.
“No,” Teddy protested. “You always say that, and now I can’t have the wedding I want. No one is taking me and my needs seriously.”
“And you are a stingy asshole!” Imogen yelled at me. “After all we’ve done for you. You want my wedding to be ruined like yours. You want me to have terrible basic food and crappy centerpieces like this! I mean, look at it. It’s hideous.” She hefted one of the centerpieces from a nearby table.
“Imogen, put that centerpiece down this instant,” I hissed, lunging at her. She jerked away from me, and the heavy vase slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor. Candles, orchids, and crystals scattered everywhere.
“Fuck.”
“Look what you made me do!” Imogen berated, stamping her feet and crushing the flowers. “This is your fault!”
“Excuse me,” the venue owner thundered. She was a steely-eyed older woman with spectacles perched on her nose. “This is unconscionable behavior.”
