: Chapter 1

“Oh dear Lord.” Elijah blinked up at me. “You’re joking, right?”

I snort-laughed and raised my hand to get my brother Will’s attention. “Nope. This is what we’re stuck with.”

My brother walked over. He wiped his hands on a bar towel and slung it over his shoulder. “What do you want now, Peaty?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll take another margarita, and Elijah here will have…” I looked over and waited for my best friend and work partner in crime to fill in the blank. But he was too busy drooling over Will. I shook my head. “He’ll have a margarita, too. But frosty ones this time, not on the rocks.”

“Frosty.” Will huffed. “Two pains in the asses coming right up.”

Elijah pushed up from his seat and leaned over the bar to watch Will walk away. “Are you sure he’s not gay?”

“He screwed half my female friends in high school, married his college sweetheart, and has a daughter.” I motioned toward my brother. “Besides, how can you even think that? He’s wearing a brown shirt, black pants, and green Crocs.”

Elijah’s nose wrinkled. “That is pretty bad. But I could overlook it with that jawline.”

I chuckled.

“Why does he call you Peaty, anyway?”

“Because he’s annoying. When I was little, I used to get really nervous when the teacher would call on me in class. I developed a habit of repeating the question back before answering, which somehow soothed me. Will and my other brother, Travis, found out and started calling me Repeat. It morphed into Peaty over the years.”

“Hot and funny. Exactly my type. What a shame.” Elijah scooped a few cashews from the small bowl on the bar and tossed one into the air, his mouth open. The nut smacked his cheek and fell to the floor.

“Do you think maybe we’re being pranked?” I motioned to the papers spread out on the bar—our last-minute assignment for this evening. “How can a bride really pick these dresses?”

“Dresses? What about the fascinators? We’re not in England, and this isn’t a garden wedding. I think maybe you’re right and someone is screwing with us.”

I looked at the time on my phone. “Damn. It’s already four. We have to get on the road soon or we’re going to be late. Tell Will I went to the back to change when he comes with our drinks. I’m going to pull a Superman in the supply closet. It’s bigger than the bathroom, and I don’t want to accidentally dip my dress in toilet water like I did last month.”

“Okay. But when it’s my turn to get dressed, don’t tell him I’m back there.” Elijah winked. “I want him to walk in on me naked.”

I slipped on one of the standard LBDs I always wore to the weddings we covered and paired it with sparkly silver stilettos. After, I fixed my makeup and sprayed my hair upside down in an attempt to give it some volume. When I came out, Elijah’s head was bent back in laughter, while Will stood on the other side of the bar with a devious smile.

This can’t be good. “Whatever he told you”—I tossed my duffle bag on the barstool—“it’s a complete lie. Don’t believe him.”

Elijah laughed. “So when you were seven, you didn’t give out wedding invitations to everyone you knew so they could come watch you marry the family dog? And the dog didn’t spend the entire ceremony trying to hump your back?”

I scowled at Will. “That only happened because this jerk pretended to wish me luck and rubbed peanut butter on the back of my dress. Buddy was obsessed with peanut butter. If someone opened a jar, he’d hump a couch pillow.”

Elijah continued to cackle. Too bad that incident hadn’t soured me on my obsession with weddings. It could have saved a lot of heartache, and maybe right now I’d be a real journalist instead of a writer for Bride magazine.

“Go get changed, Elijah.” I pointed to my brother. “And you, go back to being flattered by attention from seventeen-year-old girls who flirt with you so you’ll accept their cousin’s ID that says they’re twenty-nine.”

“Jeez,” Will said. “Someone’s cranky.”

“Cranky? Why would I be cranky? Because I’m going to yet another wedding I don’t feel like going to on a Saturday night?”

“You’re on your period, aren’t you?”

My eyes flared wide. “Go away, Will.”

My brother meant no harm. This was who we were—busting chops was our love language. But I was a little cranky this afternoon. Or maybe I’d been that way for the last six months. I used to love my job. Getting dressed up and going to extravagant weddings and writing about them for a living? Dishing out advice to my more than 1.5 million bride-to-be followers on social media? It was my dream job, one I’d wished for even before I was old enough to plan an elegant backyard wedding with two-year-old Buddy the dog. I’d been obsessed with weddings since I was a little girl. Maybe even addicted—wedding movies, wedding dresses, wedding venues—heck, I’d had the readings for my future ceremony picked out since I was ten. My parents lived a fairy-tale life, and I believed I would get my own happily ever after. I lived for it. Dumb. I know that now. But the day I’d gotten engaged had been the happiest day of my life. Then my big day came and … I was left standing alone at the altar. Jilted.

And after that, my love of all things wedding turned sour. Like milk left out on a ninety-degree day, it curdled. Not to mention, the very next day, my original groom had died—Buddy. He’d been twenty-one, an age most dogs don’t even get close to, so it wasn’t a surprise, but seriously? The day after I’d been left at the altar?

Elijah came out from the back room, looking as dapper as usual. While I preferred to wear a simple black dress and blend in when we were working, that wasn’t his style—not by a mile. This week, he wore a navy plaid suit, which had tapered pants with a break two inches above the ankle, and burgundy velvet shoes. Anything simpler wouldn’t coordinate with his platinum-blond hair and Korean heritage. Few men could pull off the style, but Elijah’s confidence could make anything work. I swallowed back bitterness and forced a smile. “You’re going to outshine the groom in that getup.”

He smiled. “Don’t I always?”

Two hours later, we walked into the bridal suite at Chateau L’Amour. Elijah stopped abruptly. “Last chance,” he said. “Please tell me someone is screwing with us and they’re really filming a period-piece movie or something here.”

I grimaced as I spotted one of the bridesmaids. The woman looked like she’d just stepped out of Gone with the Wind with a giant hoopskirt. It was even worse in person than in the photos we’d received in advance for designer credits. “Maybe she’s one of those champagne greeters. You know, where they wear a big, full skirt that holds a hundred glasses of champagne.”

“Do you see any champagne?”

“No, but … let’s be optimistic.” Just as I finished that sentence, two more women walked in, wearing identical dresses.

Elijah elbowed me. “Guess they have three champagne greeters.”

I sighed. Great. It was hard enough for me to write glowing articles about tasteful weddings these days. “We’ll have to focus on the bride.”

He chuckled. “Who do you think picked out those monstrosities? I’ll bet you these ladies look like they stepped out of Vogue compared to her.”

He had a point. “Doesn’t matter how bad it is; we have to remember, this assignment came from Hayes himself. So it needs to look stunning in the magazine. And Ted Hayes Jr. is apparently in the wedding party, so make sure you get a good picture of the big boss’s son.”

Elijah and I had originally been assigned another wedding this evening, but that bride had to have emergency surgery, so the event had been postponed. Instead, the CEO of the conglomerate that owned our magazine had stepped in with a replacement. Apparently the groom was a friend of his family or something. So my write-up and Elijah’s photos needed to be glowing.

Elijah nodded. “Damn. Yeah, okay.”

A woman wearing a black vest and a frazzled smile walked over. She looked down at the equipment bag Elijah carried. “Are you the videographer team?”

I shook my head. “We’re with Bride magazine. We’re covering the wedding for an upcoming spread.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “The videographer should’ve been here already. The bride is … impatient.” She extended a hand. “I’m Claire, one of the two bridal attendants. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Would you mind pointing us to the bridal suite?”

“Of course. Follow me. I’ll show you the way.”

When we entered, a half-dozen bridesmaids floated around in a posh room, but I didn’t see the guest of honor. “Is the bride around?” I asked. “I’d like to introduce myself and make sure it’s okay to snap some pre-wedding photos of the ladies getting ready.”

“She’s—”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” a woman shrieked from the other room. “This cannot be happening to me!”

Claire leaned in and whispered. “That’s the bride now.”

The way she was screaming, I thought the worst. “Did … the groom call off the wedding?”

Claire shook her head. “No, she probably broke a nail.”

Wonderful.

A door at the back of the room flew open, and Bridezilla marched out. Her hair and makeup were done and a sparkling tiara sat atop her head, but from the neck down she was still in pajamas. “Who’s going next?” She looked around the room and pointed to a bridesmaid. “You! Take off your dress and go get sprayed.”

“Sprayed?” I whispered to the attendant. “What’s going on?”

“The maid of honor flew in last night. She lives in Florida. Apparently, Piper had a fit when she saw her because her friend looks too tan. She thinks it will make the rest of the bridal party look sickly in the pictures. The ladies in the wedding party all received texts late last night to show up two hours early today. Piper hired a person to come give them all spray tans. Said it was mandatory.”

I felt my eyes widen. “You’re joking?”

“Nope.” The bridal attendant offered a weary smile. “I have to go find a place to get ice chips. She doesn’t like cubes. Excuse me for a few minutes. Good luck with the bride.”

Elijah and I looked at each other.

“Self-serve cocktail hour?” he said.

“You read my mind, friend.”

We slipped out of the suite and made our way to the lobby to find the maître d’. “Hello. I’m Sloane Carrick, a writer for Bride magazine, and this is my associate, Elijah Kim. He’s a photographer. Has anyone let you know we’ll be covering today’s wedding for the magazine?”

The maître d’ stood taller and smiled. “Yes, we’re thrilled to have you here at the Chateau. I’m Leonard Frommer. What can I do to get you settled in?”

“We were hoping to shoot some photos of wherever the cocktail hour will take place, before anyone arrives.”

“Of course. Right this way.”

Leonard escorted us down a long hall that connected two buildings. As we crossed over from one to the next, a man stepped out of a hidden hallway, walking in the opposite direction. I stopped myself from crashing into him, but barely, and the abrupt halt on these tall heels caused me to wobble.

The man grabbed my shoulders, saving me from falling. “Whoa.”

“Shoot. Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

The man did a quick sweep over my face and smiled. “I definitely see you.”

Holy eyes. Are those things real? I blinked a few times. The color was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Azure, maybe? Like the color of the Caribbean Sea from a plane, but these babies were offset by the thickest black lashes. I was so distracted by their beauty, I didn’t even break my stare to see what the rest of him looked like.

“Sloane…” Elijah slowed and looked back at me. “You coming?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I gazed into those blue eyes once more. “Sorry again.”

In a complete daze, I walked around the man and continued behind Elijah. After a few steps, I couldn’t help myself, I looked back. The guy hadn’t moved. He just stood watching me with a crooked smile. Unfortunately, ten feet later we made a right turn, so the show ended. I caught up to Elijah. “Did you see that guy’s eyes?”

“No. Why?”

I shook my head. I’d sworn off men six months ago and wasn’t going to let a pretty set of peepers get me off track. “Forget it. Not important.”

At the end of the hall, a set of double doors opened to a beautiful solarium. Soaring glass ceilings and tropical plants made it feel like we were outside, yet we were in comfy air-conditioning. The maître d’ gave us a quick tour and left us to shoot some photos on our own. As soon as the door shut behind him, Elijah and I made a beeline to one of the bars set up all around the room.

Elijah stepped behind it and took out two glasses. “Ma’am? What can I get for you? Just so you know, we’ll be serving orange-stained bridesmaids for an appetizer and pickled bride for dinner. So you might want to order accordingly.”

I laughed. “I’ll take a shot of tequila.”

“Excellent choice. Coming right up.”

I glanced around the beautiful room. Cream linens and massive, deep-purple flower arrangements covered each table. Hydrangeas, like I’d chosen for my wedding, too.

Elijah poured a shot and slid it over to my side of the rolling bar. “Stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Thinking about your wedding.”

I sighed. “I wish it were that easy.”

“You’ll get your day. And it’ll be with someone who deserves you next time. Josh was too boring and ordinary anyway.”

I smiled sadly. “Thank you for saying that.”

“And he won’t have a needle dick. You deserve an ankle spanker.”

In the weeks after my wedding, I’d drowned my sorrows in tequila. Too much alcohol was like truth serum for me, and I now regretted a lot of things I’d told people—I’d shared some of the things Josh had said to me with my protective, police-officer oldest brother, Travis, for one. But I didn’t regret getting drunk with Elijah and telling him Josh had a skinny dick. Childish, I know. Yet it made me smile every time he brought it up.

Elijah knocked back two shots to my one. He was better at holding his liquor than me. After, he snapped some photos of the beautiful cocktail-hour room and we headed back to Bridezilla. She seemed even more frantic and hateful than when we’d stepped out fifteen minutes ago, except the alcohol made me care less. When she stopped berating whoever she was on the phone with, I figured I’d get the introductions out of the way.

“Hi. Excuse me. I’m Sloane Carrick from Bride magazine, and this is—”

She cut me off. “What size are you?”

“Umm … A six usually, I guess. Why?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, thank God! I need you to go get dressed.”

I looked down. “I … am dressed?”

“Not in that boring thing. In a bridesmaid’s dress.”