Page 37 of Bridesmaid to Bride

Skye: I thought Olivia was with you. Why is she here scoping out the hotel’s kitchen?

What? She’s here! I look around and don’t see her. I guess she slipped out.

That’s definitely weird. First, the hotel restaurant and kitchen are closed, and second, it makes no sense because we just ate so much we all want to die. Third, why did she leave?

Olivia.

She’s been dying to get on camera—she could definitely be the one messing with this wedding to help her exposure and drama.

Skye: She’s acting sneaky too, I think you need to come help investigate.

My top-secret special dessert is in the refrigerator of that kitchen, and if someone destroys it, I’ll be devastated. I flash West a worried look. “I gotta go.” I show him Skye’s text.

“I’m coming with you.”

As we get up to leave, Paige is gone, and Brielle is sitting on the couch with Zach now, laughing and showing major cleavage. They are both clearly drunk, and they’re both having a really good time.

Maybe too good a time.

Do I need to worry about this too? I don’t know, but our Uber arrives, and it’s time to go. As soon as West and I get to the resort, we rush back to the kitchen. It seems empty, and best of all, my dessert is still perfectly intact.

Phew.

Then there’s a noise. Maybe earlier, Olivia was scoping out the scene to return and cause the damage now?

“Who’s that?” I whisper.

“No idea. Let’s hide.” West grabs my hand and pulls me into the pantry.

With the door cracked open, there’s just enough light to find an open spot by the stacked-up soda. After West shuts it, I whisper, “We’re gonna catch her.”

“I hope so.”

Footsteps tromp into the kitchen, followed by giggles. It sounds like a man and a woman. “Has Olivia teamed up with someone?”

“Maybe. I wish we could look.” West lays his head flat to look under the crack in the door. “I just see shoes.” He stifles a drunken laugh before saying, “This is actually fitting. You know, since we met in a closet.”

“So true!” I whisk out a snort. He’s right—Sophie had just started her business, and with no money, she used a closet for an office for a while. We were both visiting her there the day we met.

We take a seat on the floor, and I hug my knees, pressed between the soda and West’s warm side. His scent of cucumber soap is thick in the air, and it’s kind of turning me on. Our collective silence swells with each passing second as we listen for the sound of the intruders on the move.

My phone buzzes, and I check it:

Skye: Olivia’s on the move again. Stay on watch!

“What a little Sneaky Pete,” I whisper.

“Eves,” West’s tone is urgent, “listen.”

I’m trying, but I’m still very tipsy. A muffled groan punctuates the cramped space. It’s Tyson. I think? He sounds… preoccupied.

“Is Tyson okay?” My curiosity piques.

“Oh, God. Yeah, baby. Just like that,” Tyson says.

“Sounds like he’s more than okay,” West says. I can picture his smirk without seeing his face.

“Take it all in like a good girl,” Tyson orders.

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