Page 75 of The Fiance Dilemma

We don’t get married but stay friends.

“I’m in charge of that,” I finished. “It’s something I want to pay for myself. And you can stop looking at me like I’d show up to my own wedding wearing a kitchen rag. I have experience with gowns, have I not? It’ll be simple but elegant. I just don’t need anyone to make a fuss. I’m tired of fusses at this point. And Andrew is already paying for… everything.”

Bobbi considered my request for a long moment, then she said, “Works for me.”

“Oh,” I quipped. “And stop calling Grandpa Moe if I don’t answer the phone. He’s a little overwhelmed.”

She shot me a glance. “Fine.”

“Oh. And be nice to Robbie.”

“I don’t do nice,” she deadpanned. “Certainly not to a man who wears a padded vest to a party. With pockets. That he stuffs with things.”

“But—”

“I’ll be reasonably agreeable.” She gave a new push to the iPad. “Now check the list. I want you to mark your preferences on basicstuff so I can get an idea of what to do. Then Blondie will. I’ll collate the two, and then we’ll move to more important stuff. Like choice for the centerpieces. Florists. Catering. Seating chart for the rehearsal dinner and ceremony. It’ll all take place on the farm, I’ve decided. So, is Roberto handling the lighting or should I bring a third party? And before you ask, no, your ring bearer is not going to be that pig. Last time I stepped foot on that farm, I caught him munching at my Hermès.”

I blinked at her, watching her as she took a quick swig of her Sharkie. That bag Pedro Pigscal had been munching at, as she put it, was worth thousands of dollars.

But all right. Good. I could also exercise some reasonable agreeableness. So I took the iPad from her with a smile. And when she offered me a pen, I snatched it, too, my lips tipping even higher.

And I started checking random things off the multicategory lists. Tap-tap-tap-tap I went. Wickedly fast. Wooden accents, mason jars, centerpieces, hors d’oeuvres, Southern sweets, signature cocktails, a band, also a string quartet. Wedding favors? All of them. Types of flowers… tap. Caterer options, tap-tap. I swiped up and down and tapped some more. It took me all of a couple of minutes, and when I was done, I placed the pen beside the device and returned both things to her.

“Gee, thanks,” Bobbi huffed.

I rested my chin on my fist. “I’m quick.” And the wedding wasn’t taking place anyway. So what did it matter what I chose? “Plenty of experience under my belt, huh?”

Bobbi collected the iPad and pen. “So I have heard,” Bobbi muttered, glancing down. “Let’s hope the Build Your Own Sundae station makes this one the charm, huh?”

I had no idea I’d ticked that off. “Nothing says wedding like a sundae.”

Bobbi leaned away from the counter in one swift and elegantmotion. “Don’t be late to tonight’s party.” Her lips pursed in thought. “Willa Wang will try to corner you and Blondie. Don’t ask me how I know, but I know. So don’t let her corner you. Understood? Say you’re sick, or make the face from earlier and then pretend to sneak away to have sex. Engaged people get away with that. Or even better, you agree on a safe word with Blondie and use it. But you are, under no circumstances, talking to that woman unless I’m present. Got it?”

I swallowed. “Got it.”

Bobbi whirled on her heels, then stopped herself.

She glanced back at me over her shoulder. “Oh, and please tell the maid of honor and best man to reach out. They didn’t confirm attendance for tonight and I still don’t know what kind of party they’ll want to throw you, if any, but the good strippers will be booked on such short notice. And Andrew is not paying for the cheap ones, yeah?”

And with that she left.

Leaving me to deal with the implications of what she’d just said.

In my attempt at protecting Adalyn, I’d also kept her from things she should have been otherwise involved in. I hadn’t even asked her to be my maid of honor. I… hadn’t even known that they weren’t coming to Andrew’s wine tasting. I hadn’t even talked to her in the past few days.

My heart sank.

God. Was I driving away my sister, too?

In a not-so-shocking turn of events, Willa Wang had cornered us.

Bobbi was going to give us so much crap for this. I’d been hoping she’d pop out of thin air like she always seemed to be doing, then whisk us away and save the night. But she was nowhere to be found.

This was bad. Worse than what I’d expected, or Bobbi had implied. Willa Wang had a recording device, the kind you saw in old movies. Did she know there was an app for that? The tiny charcoal-colored device she’d clicked the moment we’d taken a seat was making me feel like we were being interrogated.

That, and her questions.

Matthew had been batting those away as Willa pitched them. And there’d been many. We were just missing the little mound of sand beneath our feet at this point. Which was a strange thought considering I knew very little about baseball.

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