Page 12 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“How are you gonna have new ones ready in an hour?”

“Don’t worry. They won’t be real cakes—just Styrofoam.” I saw some in the dumpster that I can grab and cut.

“Good call. You’re so crafty.” He clasps his hands. “All right. I’m on the cleaning and sewing.”

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” With a thought, I say, “Sorry, did you have to leave in the middle of your golf game?”

“We were on the last hole, and I was over it, anyway. It’s really no problem.”

That’s probably true, but he’d say it, regardless. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

With West focused on making the dogs look less like they’ve emerged from a bake sale brawl, I turn my attention to the obliterated cakes.

“Alright, showtime.” I rush to the hotel’s kitchen where the bakers left the prepped doggie-safe frosting bags. Then I hit the dumpsters for the Styrofoam before making my way back to the photoshoot room. When I get there, West has things shaping up.

Like a Food Network star in the final seconds of a baking challenge, I pipe delicate designs onto the fake cakes. Swirls, rosettes, and tiny flowers bloom under my hands. “Who knew my business flop would pay off?” I whisper triumphantly, stepping back to admire the frosted masterpieces. “Paige might not even know the difference.” I place the last rosette, a proud smile tugging at my lips. And with that, I’m ready to face the music—or at least the camera.

West’s eyes land on the frosted fakes. “Damn, Eva.” He drops his last dustpan full of crumbs into the garbage before heading to the table where my confections sit. “These are... shit, they’re incredible.”

“Thanks.” I brush frosting off my arm and study my whimsical, elegant creations. “Just channeling my inner Martha Stewart.”

He leans in, studying a rose. “She has nothing on these babies.”

“Why, thank you.” I can’t help but beam at them.

Hayes, one of the show’s contract photographers, strides in, camera slung over his shoulder like he’s about to shoot wildlife, which actually isn’t that far off. “Looks great.”

“Hey, Hayes.” I introduce him to West and realize the two are very similar. Hayes has the same geeky charm about him—the vintage T-shirts and fit, thin frame.

After I explain what happened, Hayes says, “Let’s get these beauties immortalized before anything else goes wrong.” He’s already framing shots with his fingers.

“You do your thing. I’m sure you got this gig because you’re amazing,” I say.

He shrugs. “Actually, it was because I know Skye.”

“Really?” I say. “She unofficially adopted me since my mother passed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

Hayes sighs, tapping his hands together. “I’m Skye’s ex-stepson. I mean, she was only married to my dad for a year when I was five, but yeah. She’s never left my life.”

“Get out!” I smack his arm. “I’m her ex-stepdaughter too! She was married to my dad for a few months when I was a teenager.”

He looks up. “Does that make us… ex-step siblings—twice removed?”

I laugh. “Maybe—but thank God there’s no such thing!”

West shakes his head. “Leave it to Skye to require a new familial relation classification system.”

“Right?” Now I’m laughing even harder.

The three of us work to get the dogs in position. Hayes is a machine, clicking away, directing me to turn Dior this way and get Coco Chanel’s dress to lie right. West is busy holding a treat behind Hayes so that the dogs stare at him lovingly.

“Okay, my furry stars,” Hayes says to the dogs, stepping back to review his shots. “Last chance to shine for your big debut.”

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