“Some of us have dietary preferences,” he argued.
“You’re not a vegetarian, Liam,” Sebastian snapped. “You ate a fifty-ounce steak two weeks ago when I was at an ill-conceived dinner with you.”
“You can be vegetarian and eat meat,” he protested.
“You just want the pasta,” I snapped at him.
He grinned at me. “I mean… yes?”
“I agree,” Meg said. “I definitely want this ravioli at the wedding. With extra sauce—like, buckets of sauce in warmers.”
“Okay, but the dress,” I begged. “We need a dress style so that we can figure out flowers and décor and bridesmaid dresses.”
Meg stood up, wandered to the table, and grabbed a single-serve tiramisu. “It sounds like a ball gown is the clear winner. Also, the bridesmaid dresses should be white too. That’s actually the most traditional. In ancient times, the bridesmaids were supposed to be decoys for the bride. They even all wore veils to avert potential kidnappings. The veils might be a little too small-town cult, especially after recent events, but I think white bridesmaid dresses would be a nice nod to history.”
“But the color!” Brea ran to a trunk and came back with armfuls of fabric swatches. “The texture, the material—”
Meg’s phone rang then beeped.
“Oh, for the love of—gotta run. There’s a standoff at the town compost pile. Someone on the feral-cat committee went rogue.” She pointed at Sebastian. “Why don’t you and the girls pick out fabric that will look nice in photos? And don’t forget my ravioli!”
Meg grabbed her purse and was out the door before I could protest.
Sebastian glared at me as the little girls oohed and aahed at all the pretty lace, beads, pearls, and other sparkly, pretty dressmaking trappings Brea had brought.
“Terrible showing,” Sebastian drawled as I tried to corral three little toddler girls who kept trying to grab pieces of very expensive handmade lace.
“Part of this is your fault,” I hissed at him. “You brought all those Svensson brothers here.”
“It was your meeting,” he said. “You’re the wedding planner. It sounds like you don’t have things under control at all.”
14
Sebastian
The wedding was officially out of control.
It was happening in under six weeks, and there wasn’t even a dress, let alone any sort of scheme or itinerary. The guest list had bloated to tens of thousands of townspeople. To make matters worse, as I walked into work the next morning at the converted belt factory where I had my offices, the receptionist accosted me in the lobby and demanded that I make sure that there was a parade at the festival.
“It needs to be like the royal wedding,” she insisted, “with a carriage ride and flags and everything.”
“I’ll put it on the list,” I said, grinding my teeth.
She nodded. “See that you do.”
Hunter was waiting for me in my office. “How’s the wedding?”
“I hope your investments are doing well this year,” I said, setting my bag down, “because your wedding guest list is out of control. Your brothers alone are going to consume their weight in food, and when you see Meg walk down the aisle in whatever monstrosity your siblings have concocted, please make sure you act like she’s the most beautiful you’ve ever seen her.”
“Every time I see her, she’s at her most beautiful,” Hunter said. He leaned back in his chair. “So what are we talking, money-wise? Like a hundred thousand?”
I made an upward gesture.
“Two hundred?”
“Eight hundred thousand would be the low end.”
“Dude.” Hunter set the chair back on all four legs. “What kind of best man are you?”
