Page 62 of Savannah Sweethearts

The groomsman next to me breathed heavily on my neck. Ugh, gross. Regardless, the show must go on. As a bridesmaid-for-hire, dealing with overly enthusiastic groomsmen came with the territory. I noticed the indention left by his removed wedding ring. A liar and a cheat. He reminded me of Kyle. Wouldn’t you know it, this guy’s name was Coyle. They were like a matching pair. Creepy Coyle. A chill ran over me and my stomach turned.

I moved a half-step away from him as I cued the adorable flower girl and ring bearer down the aisle. Their father was waiting at the end for them, making it an easier task. Somewhat. Halfway down the little girl declared she was out of flowers and began to pick the flowers back up. Thankfully it was quickly remedied with a hand tug from her brother.

The bridesmaids were in order and had their instructions. I checked that each bouquet was facing the right direction and all bra straps were hidden. I took my place, Creepy Coyle next to me. It took real effort to try not to touch him, but he used his sweaty, meaty hand to pat my own. With a final look of reassurance to the bride, I walked down the aisle to take my official place as bridesmaid.

After more than one hundred weddings, there wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen. The phrase “always a bridesmaid” literally described my life. Especially since nobody was beating down my door to put a ring on it. In fact, I had named my business Always a Bridesmaid. It was on my cards.

I donned the dress of a bride’s closest friend and held their hand through the entire process of wedding planning from dress shopping to bachelorette parties to getting the bride and groom off on their honeymoon in time. I knew when the flower girl was going to pee. I knew if a pregnant bride was going to vomit. I knew if the groom was hungover. Over five years in this career, I had experienced just about every kind of wedding there was. I was also pretty proud that more than two-thirds of the couples were still married.

When everything had gone off without a hitch and the couple was pronounced husband and wife, I retreated up the aisle and made sure the guests were filing out to the reception area while photos were taken. Photos. Again. My cheek muscles could win a bodybuilding contest. They were on point.

Forgotten programs sat on chairs and I picked them up as I looked around. The wedding location was picturesque. The Promenade was a favorite for Savannah weddings with its tall white columns and gorgeous hallways perfect for a dress to be on full display. I also loved the gardens with all the colors and the butterflies flitting to and fro. It was run by a family who had owned the estate for over a hundred years.

This wedding held the ceremony in a room referred to as the chapel as it closely resembled a church. It helped many a grandmother feel better about a wedding not being in an actual church. Stained glass windows adorned one side and the chairs had a certain pew-like quality.

If I ever got married, I wanted it to be at The Promenade—outside in the garden atrium. It was the perfect location for photos. There were indoor and outdoor ceremony options, and the staff was wonderfully accommodating. It was synonymous with the word Savannah. There wasn’t a corner of the place that wasn’t picture-perfect.

I should get a discount for all the business I’ve brought them over the years. I was on a first name basis with the owner at this point. However, Cordelia Daniels was retiring and her son would be taking over. While I knew Cordelia, I had not met her son yet. Would he make changes? Major changes? I hoped not. Nearly fifty percent of my weddings were held at The Promenade and I liked things the way they were.

While family photos were taken, I wandered the hall a little to check on cocktail hour. The venue staff was always meticulous and quiet, and I watched as a few servers strode silently from kitchen to cocktail area with silver trays in hand. When I realized they were not in their usual black shirts and blazers, I began to panic a little. They had always worn the black uniforms, looking professional and blending into the background.

My cheeks warmed as I searched for Cordelia, but I couldn’t wander too far as I had to oversee the photos. What’s done is done. I can’t make them all change clothes. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and ran a mental checklist of what was next in my head. Pictures. Make-up touch-up. Cueing the DJ and the bridal party entrance. Make it all seamless.

I ran the magenta chiffon of my skirt through my fingers, enjoying the texture. There were times, though, I would love to not be in a bridesmaid’s dress. Next weekend was one of those weekends. It was wide open and I planned to spend a day on the beach at Tybee Island. Quiet and low-key. Maybe I would call my sister, Linaya, and see if she wanted to join.

Footsteps snapped me to attention as expensive shoes sounded on the tiled floor. I looked up in the direction of the sound and saw a man emerging from the back of the house. He wore a dark gray suit with a blue tie that was pulled loose. His wingtip shoes went quiet when he saw the wedding party ahead of him.

Our eyes met for the briefest of moments. His were a dark chocolate brown surrounded by full, thick lashes. He smiled at me for a second before someone called my name.

“Amaya, we’re ready for you.” The photographer, a thin fellow named Jacques, called to me. We had worked together on close to two dozen weddings and we were on friendly terms.

I hurried over as silently as I could so my heels didn’t clang on the floor. I joined in where Jacques told me to stand and smiled brightly. These photos would be looked at by the couple for the rest of their lives. A few brides had stayed in touch, thinking me a true friend after the ordeal of wedding planning, but most did not. I wasn’t friends with any of them. Not that I didn’t like them, but it was purely a working relationship for me.

This bride wouldn’t think we were friends. She had a small circle while her groom had a larger one. She had needed one more bridesmaid and a wedding planner. I was able to fulfill both roles. And the bride had paid well for both.

Creepy Coyle came up to me for more pictures and was all too eager to put his arm around my waist. He definitely reminded me of my ex-boyfriend Kyle. Handsy, rude, and about as misogynistic as they come.

“So how do you know Suzette?” Again, he was breathing on me. We were close to the same height, and his breath was moist on my ear. I shuddered.

“Arm down groomsman at the top.” Jacques was a professional and he looked out for me if there were sleazy guys.

As Creepy Coyle put his arm back down, I forced a pleasant expression. “Suzette is an old friend. I’m happy to be part of her day.” It was a lie I was used to telling. “How do you know the groom?”

“Hodge was a high school friend of mine. We were roommates for a while, too.”

When we were done, Creepy Coyle followed me down the steps. He had been following me like a puppy since we’d met at the rehearsal dinner. “So what are you doing after this? Think you might want to grab a drink?”

Some guys just didn’t get the hint. He tried to catch my arm, but I yanked it away before he could touch me. I had tried to avoid him the night before without much success. I walked over to the flower girl and fluffed her hair, hoping having a child nearby would get him to vacate my personal space.

I never wanted to act like a snob, but sometimes it was necessary. “I’m sorry, but I have plans.”

A snort came from the guy. “Plans? How about you make plans with me? I have a hotel room only a block away.”

Getting propositioned was an ugly side of the job. Groomsmen or guests would end up drinking too much and hit on anything unattached. And since I was working, I didn’t have a date. And without a date, I appeared to be fair game to lots of inebriated men.

An unfamiliar voice spoke up behind me. “Hello, sweetheart. Are you done with pictures?”

I whipped my head around to see the handsome suit with the gorgeous eyes standing there. Was he coming to my aid? Or was he talking to the groomsman? Obviously not. He raised his eyebrows to me and I instinctively stepped closer to him.

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