Page 95 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Yep, wow. Big, fat, freaking Cupid’s arrow through the heart. Wow.” I offer a weak smile. “The thing is, you’re my lobster.”

“Huh?” He looks at me, stunned and puzzled, and for a moment, it’s just us again. No confessions hanging in the air, no reality TV crews buzzing around. Just West and those eyes.

“Let me start over.” I blow out a whoosh of air and say, “I love you, West Quinn. I’m trying with everything in me not to because it’s the most inconvenient truth, for both of us, it seems, but I can’t help it. I just do.” I blink, realizing I’m not done. “And I’m not talking about some half-baked, high-on-champagne toast kind of love. I’m talking a full-blown, burn-your-tongue-but-still-drink-it-because-it’s-so-damn-good kind of love. It’s real, and it’s forever.”

His mouth opens slightly, no sound emerging. His shock is almost palpable, a wave crashing into both of us.

“I know this took me way too long. I’ve been dealing with issues related to my mom’s death—deep-seated issues that have held me back from living the life I want to live. I’m working through that now, getting help, so I’m sorry my timing sucks.” I let out a shaky breath, my soul bared naked. “And for not realizing sooner what I had right in front of me, I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, Eva...” he says, looking every bit the lost boy who wandered too far from Neverland. “I’m not sure what to say.”

I manage a weak smile. “As you told me—you don’t have to say anything,” I offer with a wobbly grin, gathering the pieces of my exposed heart. “This was just something that had to be said. And, yes, this is probably the worst timing ever,” I rush out. “But that seems to be how we operate, so… I mean, you’re Mr. Groomsman to Groom, about to be America’s sweetheart or whatever.”

“God, our timing is complete shit.” He shakes his head.

His Adam’s apple bobs—an attempt to find his voice. My heart races, but I barrel on; there’s no turning back now. “Oh, and your eyes have always reminded me of the rich ganache on my failed bakery’s signature cake. Just FYI.” I wave a hand. “Anyway, all you need to do now is promise that you’ll chase after whatever sets your soul on fire. But you have to do it, because more than anything, I want you to be happy. And not the kind of happy where you smile but inside you’re dying a little. I mean singing-in-the-shower kind of happy.”

“Because you love me...” He trails off, not a question, but an echo, a confirmation for his own ears.

“Because I love you,” I say with all the steadfast conviction of someone who knows this is the most unshakable truth she’s ever spoken. “And loving someone means wanting the best for them—even if it sucks for me.”

“Right. I know how that goes.”

“You really do.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, the shock finally giving way to the West I know.

“Even then,” I say, my voice softening. “Especially then.”

He steps forward, closing the gap between us, and the air seems to hum with something electric, something hopeful. We stand there, suspended in a moment that feels too big for the both of us, until the crowd rushes him, and women ask one question after another.

I give him a smile and wave, letting him get back to his duties.

And just like that, I’ve laid my heart bare at the altar of truth, regardless of the outcome. And it hurts, but it’s freeing. But hey, that’s love. A comedy one minute, a tragedy the next, and always a hell of a ride.

50

Reunion Show

EVA

The stage lights are the kind of bright that sears through your retinas and burns itself on the back of your skull. The studio audience in Atlanta is a sea of eager faces, buzzing with anticipation.

“Welcome to Bridesmaid to Bride: After the Wedding Reunion Show!” booms Mia. It’s an enthusiasm you can’t help but get swept up in, even though you know it’s not real.

I’m perched on a stool that feels like a cactus, trying to muster up my best impression of calm. I’m a “special guest” which is code for “more drama.” I’m next to Paige on one side, and Foster, Mr. Stole-Paige-at-the-Altar himself, sits by her other side. And right next to him is Zach, who has Kat by his side. He’s looking like a Ken doll post-yard sale—disheveled but still plastic-perfect and happy.

But all I see, seated right next to me, is West. He’s all wavy hair and dark eyes, the kind that melt your insides like a s’more over an open flame.

I can’t look away, but at the same time, the sight of him makes my heart ache. It’s been two days since I professed my love for him, and I haven’t heard a word. It’s been hard, but I get it. I mean, he’s going on Groomsman to Groom.

While the crowd laps up every second, I turn my focus to sneak peeks at the wings where the crew scuttles around. I’ve got samples of my latest culinary concoction stashed back there, little morsels of persuasion.

“Paige,” Mia prompts, her voice smooth, “tell us about the moment you realized Foster was ‘the one.’”

Paige glimmers in the spotlight. “Well,” she begins, twirling a strand of black hair around her finger—“it started at our country club. Playing tennis and racquetball quickly turned into sneaking off to the empty VIP rooms.”

A collective gasp ripples through the audience, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

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