The address and time were in the email.
I leaned back in the leather seat, forcing myself not to act like a bitter child.
“It’s okay to be mad,” Finn said in concern.
“I’m not mad. He’s my cousin. And Liz is my friend. They deserve to be happy. I knew they were going to get engaged. They’ve been together for almost two years.”
“Yes, years since Wes ruined your life,” Finn added.
“It was my own fault. If I had been better, smarter…” I clamped my mouth shut. I did not like to spiral into self-pity. It wasn’t productive.
“They won’t be married for like a year and a half at least,” Finn assured me. “Then it will be a few years before they have a baby. It’s going to be a slow and steady transition.”
“I’m fine.”
“You won’t have to participate, just show up.”
“I’m fine,” I snapped at him.
But I didn’t feel fine.
That wedding dress maker got under your skin is all.
* * *
The engagement party—orwhat I assumed was the engagement party, because what else could it be?—was in full swing when I arrived at the restaurant that evening. I had spent the rest of the day fuming about Brea, because it was easier than stewing about how Wes had come out of the ordeal from a couple years ago completely unscathed, while I hadn’t.
It was your own fault, I reminded myself. Still, if things hadn’t gone to shit, maybe this would have beenmyengagement party.
“I thought you hated weddings,” a feminine voice piped up.
I looked down. There was a giant platter of snacks beside me.
Brea peeked around it, and I glared at her.
“Your face is going to stick like that if you keep scowling. You’re going to be sad when you get wrinkles.”
“Don’t you have a wedding to plan?” I growled at her.As if this evening couldn’t get any worse.
“Shhh!” she said and jerked her head toward Liz and Wes, who were making their way to the small stage at the front of the room.
Of course, I was right.
Brea noisily crunched a coconut fried shrimp next to me as Wes gazed adoringly at Liz.
“They’re so cute!” Brea whispered beside me. “I hope she lets me make her gown! I love wedding dresses!”
I shot her an annoyed look.
“When you do make some woman happy—or miserable, going off of your expression—I can make her a pretty dress too!” she shot back in a low voice.
“Liz,” Wes said, voice echoing around the restaurant through the sound system, “two years ago, you stole my company and my heart. Though we fought initially, your coming into my life was the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t wait any longer, so I’m asking you to be my wife.”
He knelt in front of her. Next to me, Brea cheered and jumped up and down as Liz, eyes shining with tears, said yes.
“You can’t tell me you aren’t moved by the wedding spirit!” Brea said, nudging me as Wes picked Liz up to kiss her and twirl her around.
I shifted on my feet. How much longer did I have to stay? I supposed I needed to at least congratulate the happy couple. I gritted my teeth as Liz, beaming, took the microphone.
