Page 46 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Just bring us your best,” Foster snaps, studying the server’s name tag. “Raphael.”

A young guy with a smile that’s clearly been through the hospitality wringer, the server says, “Sure thing, sir.” He whips away the bottle and our glasses.

“I’m sorry about the inconvenience,” I say to the server as he retreats.

I fight the urge to slide under the tablecloth. My misadventure in the food business taught me to appreciate the value of a good grape, but also the grace of not being a wine snob. Foster’s not wrong for wanting a decent drink, but his entitlement is sickening.

My gaze darts around, hoping the other guests are too caught up in their own good time to notice this. I mean, come on, West and I have chugged back beer that tasted like it was filtered through a sock.

“Don’t apologize to him.” Foster raises an eyebrow, appalled. “Eva, that’s his job.”

I fight to keep my tone even. “Look, I worked in the service industry. It might be his job, but he’s got a very hard one.”

“He’ll be alright.” Foster nods. “I’ll make sure to give him a really good tip.”

“Thank you.” I manage a smile. But then I can’t help but glance at West, who’s sipping the champagne like it’s his birthday and not caring if it tastes one sour note shy of vinegar.

22

The Starry Night

WEST

Asalty breeze whips my face as the yacht sways beneath my Vans. The ocean stretches out, an endless blue carpet rolled out just for us. Holy shit, this is next level.

I’m playing the role, rocking the tuxedo and sipping the martini.

A server glides by with a tray of champagne flutes, straight out of Downton Abbey, and I snag one because why not? “Enjoy the cruise, sir.” His smile is practiced.

“Thanks, man,” I say before he floats off to offer his gold tray to someone probably named Muffy or Chad.

I take a sip, as I lean against the railing, trying to look casual. Even though last night Skye talked me into telling Eva how I felt, today changed everything.

That’s because it was a day of watching Eva from a distance with her family who’s like royalty, making plans and having events that included Foster.

If there was a right time to tell her, it sure wasn’t today, and it sure as hell isn’t now as she’s sitting at the wedding party dinner table, holding hands with Foster.

The golden sun dips low, painting the sky in shades of fire. As I scan the crowd, I remember I’m supposed to be on Groomsman to Groom duty—flirting with Brielle, Jess, and Olivia—but who am I kidding? A cosmic string pulls my gaze to her.

Eva.

She’s laughing at something Foster said, her head thrown back. My chest tightens because she should be laughing like that with me.

Focus, West.

My parents weren’t invited to tonight’s festivities, and although that irks me, at least I don’t have to worry about them. I leave the champagne on a collection tray and plaster on a rogue grin as I move across the deck and flip on the charm. “So, Brielle,” I say with calculated nonchalance, “ever wanted to be with a merman?”

A hand flutters to her mouth, eyes glinting with amusement. “Depends. Are we talking Aquaman or The Little Mermaid’s dad-type?”

Jess joins the circle. “Definitely Aquaman. Who wouldn’t want to be ravaged by Jason Momoa?”

“But wait.” Brielle puts up a finger. “The bottom half of them is a fish, which means no packages.”

I shrug. “Actually, mermen do have penises, but they’re buds.”

“Oh, then hell no!” Jess says.

“It’s impressive that you know that, West.” Brielle laughs.

---