“Mom,” the bridezilla barked, “you said you were going to lose weight for my wedding.”
“It’s thirteen months away!” the woman cried.
“Honestly, why does no one care about my wedding? One of my supposed friends is trying to get pregnant, even though I told her not to. I told her she needs to be fully focused on me in the final months of my wedding and not catering to some whining newborn! My own mother can’t be bothered to go on a diet, while my sister is out to get me and steal my fiancé!”
“As if I want him back,” her sister shot back.
“Of course you do.” The bride rounded on her. “That’s why you’re getting a boob job. Admit it!”
Her sister smirked. “Maybe I’m just trying to go after your fiancé’s super-hot rich son!”
“Bitch!”
20
Sebastian
Amy seemed a bit bedraggled when I arrived at Ernest’s farm a few days after the couples shower. I had been both dreading seeing her and looking forward to it. I hadn’t been sleeping well. I kept dreaming about Amy. Then I’d wake up hot, my skin tight and my dick hard.
It had been a long time since I’d kissed a woman, let alone hooked up with one.
And Amy is the wrong woman to do it with.
Thankfully, the wedding was only five weeks away and not five months. I didn’t think I would be able to handle being around Amy that long.
Even trying to concentrate on how annoying, disorganized, and messy she was would only lead me to fantasize about how that personality might translate into sex. Amy definitely wouldn’t just lie there. I bet she would be into it, her hair everywhere, her pussy wet and messy, her lips full, and her tits heavy as she rode me.
“Mornin’.”
“Morning, sir,” I said to Ernest. “Thanks for delivering all those flowers this weekend. You didn’t want to stay for the party?”
“Parties aren’t my thing,” the old farmer said, rocking on his heels.
“Mine either.”
We stood there in silence.
“You’re a bit early,” Ernest said finally. “Amy’s in the greenhouse.” He gestured up the hill.
I didn’t know what I was expecting. Probably a sweet little garden with pretty flowers or one of those old Victorian greenhouses with carefully handwritten cards. But what greeted me when I walked around the corner of the barn was a high-tech operation. Rows of gleaming greenhouses marched alongside a concrete path. Workers streamed from one to the other, carrying iPads and checking off lists.
When I peeked into one greenhouse, Amy was inside, talking to one of the workers.
“I know Meg wanted peonies everywhere, but I’m just not sure we have the numbers. Let’s plant additional nasturtiums to supplement the peonies. I think the light orange will look nice in the color palette. All the bridesmaid dresses are white, and we need a little color. Oh, Sebastian,” Amy greeted me.
Another worker came up with a tray of seedlings, drawing Amy’s attention.
“The wedding event viewing is that way,” she said, pointing. “I’ll be over shortly. There are refreshments. Help yourself.”
I made my way to a barn that had been upfitted with large metal chandeliers and big reclaimed wood tables of various sizes—big round ones, long wooden ones, small highboys, and little café tables. Each one sported an elaborate flower arrangement.
I was admiring the long floral table runner when Amy came in, tying her hair up.
My brain bashed me over the head with the image of the last time she had had her arms raised like that, the way her tits rose, her nipples showing under the wet fabric.
I definitely need to fuck her like that one day.
“Did you get a snack?” she asked.
