Page 6 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Goodie good,” Skye sing-songs. “Who’s your type, Eva? West?”

There’s an unwelcome skitter of electricity across my skin at the thought, but I say, “West is everyone’s type.” I shift in my seat, thinking about the text I sent him, even more aware of his proximity. “I think I might be in the mood for a cowboy,” I joke, scrunching my nose at West to lighten the moment. “The sexy hat, leather-heeled boots, and a honking buckle to show off his man-pride.”

Skye flips her head back. “I wonder if the bigger the buckle, the smaller the package. You may have to do some hands-on research.”

“I’ll take it under due consideration,” I deadpan.

Joking aside, I clearly wouldn’t mind hooking up with West, but here’s the problem: West is a friend because if we were anything more, he’d become my dad’s verbal punching bag. And after that, we’d probably no longer be friends. And there’s no way I’d ever want to lose West. These last months without him have been brutal.

Never again.

3

The Firm Request

EVA

After we arrive at the wedding venue, a five-star cabin-style resort right on the beach, the three of us make our way to the front desk for our paid-for-and-approved early-morning check-in.

At the counter, a staff member approaches me. “Hello, Ms. Steinberg. Your sister wanted me to remind you to deliver the canine bridesmaids’ dresses to the photography room right away.”

“Yes, thank you. On it.” Because Paige doesn’t do anything without her fur babies, two of the five bridesmaids—and one groomsman—are dogs, and their photoshoot is this afternoon. That’s task item number one.

I help Skye get settled into the second-floor room next to mine, which is a corner room with its own stairs to the lawn. Skye is here as the wedding officiant, but also the doggie caregiver. She doesn’t have them now because they’re at the groomer, but she will soon.

Then, as I’m scanning the keycard to my room, another hotel staff member approaches me with a piece of paper. “Ms. Steinberg. I’m supposed to give you this. It’s from your sister.”

“Great. Thank you.” I take it, and my stress level ratchets up. This is a twenty-seven-item list, all things that need to be done ASAP, and this doesn’t even include what I have to do for the top-secret special dessert statue that I created just for Paige. It’s made of chocolate, so it has to be stored at just the right temperature and cannot be bumped or moved.

I have five days of televised events: a kick-off cocktail mixer, a bachelorette party, a dinner cruise, a rehearsal dinner, and a dream wedding to pull off. Yes, Bridesmaid to Bride offered to provide Paige a professional wedding planner, but she didn’t trust having outside help. She only wanted me, which is equal parts flattering and overwhelming.

Which reminds me, I need to coordinate with the producers right away to make sure they know every tiny detail of what Paige wants.

As if reading my mind—Paige does this a lot—she texts me.

Paige: Thank God you’re finally here. Everything is a disaster. It’s all wrong. The flowers, the cake order. I need you, Evie. You’ll fix everything like you always do. I know you will.

Ugh, I need to unpack my clipboard, first thing.

When I step inside my enormous room, I go wide-eyed. It feels like an over-the-top log cabin complete with a massive stone fireplace, sky windows, and a king-sized knotty-pine poster bed.

I jump right in on Paige’s task list, and after dropping off the doggie bridesmaid dresses, I return to my room to get some case work done as I wait for my dad’s scheduled visit. An hour later, a knock at the door makes my heart skip-hop like it always does when I’m about to see Dad. He’s punctual to a fault, which means it must be eleven a.m. on the dot, visiting hours according to Neil Steinberg’s time schedule. Like my own.

“Coming!” I open the door, and there he is, larger than life, in his crisp linen shirt that costs more than most people’s entire wardrobes. A waft of his cologne—smelling like success and leather—fills the space between us.

“Evie,” he says, that familiar twinkle in his eye as he pulls me into a hug that feels like every childhood birthday squeezed into one. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

“Missed you, Dad.” And I mean it, despite the churning in my stomach, reminding me of all the things unsaid, the expectations hanging over my head like one of his iron-clad legal documents.

His eyes survey the room—my open suitcase spilling over with sundresses and the pages of the Abrams’ brief scattered on the desk. It’s a snapshot of my chaos, my new normal since kicking off Dad’s satellite office in Atlanta, which will give me the training I’ll need to take over his firm one day. But that’s a way off, and thank God because I love living in Atlanta, and I’m nowhere near ready for that. My two-year stint in the food business didn’t help matters.

“Working already.” He grins, his gaze settling back on me. “That’s my girl.”

I hope my smile makes me look more confident than I feel. His approval means everything to me. If only I was Paige, who can do no wrong in his eyes. “Yes. I drafted the Cooper brief before I left and filed the Johnson documents at the airport, too.”

He smiles proudly, and that fills my heart.

“Fantastic. Come on, let’s sit.” He motions toward the balcony overlooking the water. The ocean’s putting on a show, sparkling and endless.

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