Page 3 of Triplet Babies for Pucking Christmas

Layla looks at me sideways. “Don’t blow this. We need this to be flawless.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

She rolls her eyes. “Get it together, boss.”

I walk back toward the kitchen. The team is in full swing, plating everything with military precision. The smells are heavenly, even if I do say so myself.

Mini truffle risotto balls, oysters with champagne foam, edible flowers that cost more than my rent used to before I started Lemons. Bougie as fuck.

Everything looks perfect.Isperfect.

I tweak the cheery red and green plaid napkin under a dish that’s waiting to go out on a server’s tray and then smile at them.

Holiday weddings are so romantic. I would love to have a holiday wedding. Then you’d never have to remember when your anniversary was.

How perfect would that be?

But that’s the thing about perfect—it never fucking lasts.

The food poisoning starts about halfway through dinner.

At first, it’s subtle. A few guests excusing themselves, heading for the bathrooms, nothing that sets off alarm bells. I don’t even notice until Layla comes rushing up to me, her face pale.

“Sav,” she hisses, “something’s wrong.”

I blink. “What?”

“People are getting sick. Like...reallysick.”

My stomach lurches. “No. No fucking way.”

She grabs my arm. “I’m serious. I just saw Olivia’s assistant throwing up in the bushes. And two of the groomsmen haven’t come back from the bathroom.”

I stare at her, my brain struggling to catch up. This can’t be happening. Not today. Not atthiswedding.

“Check the food,” I whisper. “Go check the food.”

Layla’s already ahead of me, running back to the kitchen. I stand there, frozen for a second, my heart racing. Then I snap out of it and start moving, pushing through the guests, dodging around a large, golden reindeer statue near the door, trying to stay calm as I head toward the bathrooms.

What I see makes my blood run cold.

People in Christmas finery are slumped against walls, pale, sweating, some even vomiting into fucking decorative vases withsleigh bells hanging around their necks. The smell hits me like a freight train, and I have to swallow hard to keep my own dinner down. What. The. Fuck.

I rush into the kitchen, almost crashing into Layla. She’s white as a sheet. “Sav, it’s the fish. The fucking fish.”

“The fish?” I repeat, my voice high and panicked. “What about it?”

“It’s bad, Sav. It’s gonebad.”

I grab the counter, my knees weak. “No. This...no. We checked everything. Wealwayscheck everything.”

Layla looks like she’s about to throw up herself. “I know. But something went wrong. I don’t know what, but...it’s bad.”

“How many people?” I ask, my voice shaking.

Layla swallows hard. “A lot. And it’s spreading.”

I close my eyes, trying to breathe, trying to think. But all I can see is my career going up in flames. This wedding was supposed to be my big break. It was supposed to put Lemons on the map, make me a household name.

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