Page 64 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Fair enough.”

“Big picture?” He looks at me, and there’s this spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He’s got ideas—actual, thought-out plans—and that makes him enticing as a partner at the firm.

“Expansion,” he says, and then rattles off strategies like we’re in a brainstorming session: satellite offices, diversifying practice areas, and pro bono work to buff our public image.

“Wow,” I say, and I mean it. My dad’s right; Foster is the golden ticket. And I’m nowhere near as ready to take over the firm as he is.

Plus, he’s a nice, charming guy, at least most of the time, and he’s got what it takes where it counts—in the boardroom and in the courtroom. And maybe if I give him a chance, the bedroom too.

“So, why did you have a stint with a food business?” He asks casually, yet somehow, I hear the click of a doubt being ticked off.

“It was a little detour.” I chuckle, brushing off the sting of failure. “I needed to try it out or I always would’ve wondered what could’ve been. But now I know, and there’s no looking back. I’m ready to put my focus and energy into the family firm.”

“I respect that.” There’s a glint of admiration in his gaze that sends a warmth through me.

He continues to talk, and I lean in, the soft glow of fairy lights, the ones West hung, from the beachside patio casting Foster’s features in a golden hue that makes him even more good-looking than I initially thought. Or maybe it’s just that now I can see him more clearly for who he is. He’s mid-spiel about a particularly tricky case involving intellectual property and a rogue ex-employee.

“Can you believe that guy tried to walk away with our client’s designs?” Foster shakes his head, visibly animated.

“Unbelievable,” I say, mirroring his enthusiasm. I catch a server passing by and swipe two flutes of champagne from his tray, handing one over to Foster.

“Here’s to keeping the vultures at bay,” I toast, and he chuckles, clinking his glass against mine.

“Only the best for your father’s firm,” he says earnestly, and I believe him.

Somehow, I’m acutely aware of West’s presence behind me. I can almost feel his gravitational pull, but I plant myself firmly in my chair. Nope, not looking. Not even a peek.

I brace myself for something dangerously close to flirting as Foster leans closer. “How about we team up on that new merger proposal? Might be fun.”

“Sure. Our very own dynamic duo.”

“I’m Batman and you’re Robin?” he says, and I have to bite my lip to keep from telling him I can’t stand Robin.

“Something like that,” I manage, my gaze finally betraying me for a split second as it flicks toward West—who knows this about me. But I catch myself, snapping back to Foster like I’ve touched a live wire.

“Great,” Foster says, unaware of my silent turmoil. “It’s settled then.”

“Settled,” I echo, and as if on cue, the ocean breeze picks up, sending a shiver down my back. It’s probably just the chill in the air, not the tingle of a missed opportunity, or the ghost of what could’ve been.

30

The Eventful Night

EVA

The clinking of silverware and laughter fill the air during dinner, and I navigate around the tables, a practiced smile plastered on my face. I ensure every guest has what they need—a refill, a napkin, or just an ear to listen to their third retelling of “When I met the happy couple.”

When most everyone has finished eating, I signal the servers to bring out my surprise. Then I say, “Excuse me,” although no one’s paying attention. They’re too busy chattering and having a great time, which is a good thing.

“Okay, everyone!” I yell, flashing my most convincing grin. “Get ready. A special dessert is being served.”

With the patio’s chatter lulled into silence, the server brings out the pièce de resistance, I can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. It’s my surprise, my gift, and a piece of my heart and soul.

“Behold,” the server announces, holding up my dessert. “Made especially for the bride and groom.”

There, in all its edible detail, is a chocolate statue of Coco Chanel, Balls, and Dior—the canine bridal party. I carved each pup with careful precision so they’d look like they were about to leap off the plate and lick your face, and I hope I pulled it off. Coco wears her signature pearl collar, Balls is sporting a teeny bow tie, and Dior, well, she looks as mustardy as ever in her bridesmaid gown.

A collective gasp rises from the crowd, followed by the swell of applause. My heart does a little victory dance.

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