Page 18 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

My cousin tugs her attention away from her almost-husband, albeit reluctantly.

She plants her hands on her hips. “And why not?”

“Because you’re the bride,” I remind her. After neatly organizing the packets of buns, I move on to the fridge, double-checking that we have plenty of vegetarian options as well as the regular barbecue meats. Josie’s mom did the shopping for this event and, although I trust Carol with my life, I’m unable to snap out of Maidzilla Mode.

Especially after Theo’s snide comment about how I’m apparently not as detail-oriented as I think. He’s such a jerk.

A tall, well-dressed, disgustingly handsome jerk, but a jerk nonetheless.

He totally faked it when we ran into each other outside the florist. Iknewhe recognized me, but he played it off so casually that I almost convinced myself I was mistaken.

Stupid, self-important idiot.

“Elijah is helping,” Josie says, unpacking the fancy plastic plates that look so nice I almost don’t believe they’re disposable.

“Hm?”

“You said I shouldn’t be helping because I’m the bride, but Elijah is the groom and he’s helping.”

“Right.”

Josie snorts. “Are you okay? Did you have too much to drink last night?”

“No,” I grumble. “As maid of honor and co-owner of Montgomery Events, it would’ve been unprofessional for me to—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Josie interrupts. “Can you relax? Have a drink right now, will you? I’ll make you a margarita.”

“I don’t want a—”

“And Aunt Rachel wassokind to bring us a bottle of tequila from her recent trip to Mexico,” Josie continues, choosing to ignore my protests. “So, really, it would be kind of rude to refuse a drink made with it.”

“She’s notmyaunt,” I mutter petulantly. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so difficult. I hate that I’m letting last night’s altercation with Theo kill the good vibes.

Josie tuts her tongue at my response. She knows I’m being thorny on purpose. Aunt Rachel might be Josie’s mom’s sister, and therefore not a blood relation of mine, but our families have always been so close that I’ve never called her anything other thanaunt.

While Josie fiddles with the blender, I get back to work checking that we are well-stocked on all the barbecue essentials. The Sullivan twins are supposed to be bringing over a massive batch of their family’s famous potato salad, which I’ve already double- and triple-confirmed, so I can tick that off my mental list. There are also plenty of drinks, thanks to Mabel and Liam, all staying cool down in the basement at the moment. There are also about three dozen different bags of potato chips clumped together on the kitchen table.

Basically, everything is perfectly in order and I don’t have anything to worry about. Which should be ideal, of course, except that it means my mind is free to obsess over other things.

Like Theo.

Last night, after shuffling home from the Siren & Sword well past midnight, I prolonged collapsing in bed just long enough to grab my iPad and open the wedding guest list. Sure enough, I found Theo’s name clearly printed among the two hundredrecipients of invitations, as well as a note to confirm that he RSVP’d.

How the heckdid I miss that? Or did I simply block it out at the time, unwilling to accept the reality until it was literally right in front of me?

The dullplunkof Josie yanking the cork off the bottle of tequila nudges me out of my troubled thoughts before I can go much deeper.

Except, then Josie asks, “So… who was that guy you were arguing with last night?”

I whirl around before I can temper my reaction. “What?”

She raises her eyebrows at me. “That super tall guy? Leo, or something? He introduced himself at one point in the evening, but there were so many people in that bar that I could hardly hear him properly.”

“Theo,” I mutter. I instantly regret the correction, because Josie snorts.

“He’s one of Elijah’s college friends,” Josie says, a question in her tone.

“I know.”

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