Page 47 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

(Matthew)

There was a bear standing right besideme.

“Now, she’s not a fan ofstrangers, so don’t make a lot of eye contact. The other thing thatyou’re not gonna want to do is make any real sudden moves towardher face or muzzle—” the woman with ruddy, freckled skin and herhair in a long braid told me, all the while gesturing quickly inthe bear’s fucking face.

The bear was wearing a tiara. This wasnot how I’d envisioned my death.

“You know, I still thinkmaybe it’s a better idea for you to walk her down,” I said, myvoice going up a little as the maid-of-honor hooked a massive pawaround my ankle.

“Daisy, no.” The womansnapped her fingers forcefully and the bear released me.

Every blessed atom of mycynicism-honed agnosticism fled my body and the Christianity of mychildhood came roaring back.Please,Jesus, do not let me piss my pants in fear at my best friend’swedding. And also, I would like to not be mauled by the bear.Amen.

Scott approached, the mostlaid-back groom I’d ever seen. Because it was a beach wedding, thewardrobes had been scaled back. The groom and his retinue all worewhite linen button downs with the sleeves rolled up, and off-whitelinen beach pants folded at the ankle above bare feet. Thebridesmaids all wore off-white sundresses… except for thebridesmaid beside me, who’d worn a fur coat.

I focused on the positives of the day.My best friend was about to get married. And in a few hours, Iwould be absolutely pounding his sister.

“You ready?” I asked, guiltand fear clawing up my throat to constrict the words.

“Yeah man, are you allright?” Scott clapped a hand on my shoulder.

I laughed. “I think I’m supposed to beasking you that.”

“I’m not afraid ofanything, though. You’re clearly scared shitless of this bear.” Heruffled the fur atop Daisy’s head, cooing at her in a baby voice,“Hims a scared of sweet widdle Daisy. Hims gonna poopy hims littledrawers.”

“I’m letting you get awaywith this because it’s your wedding and you can’t have a brokennose in the photos.” I cracked my neck. It did nothing to relievewhat I considered a sensible amount of bear fear.

Something behind me caught Scott’s eye.His face dropped. “Oh no.”

I turned to see Charlotte, her hairdown in a red-gold cascade around her bare shoulders. Her brightpurple sundress, held up with thin straps tied in little bows ather shoulders, would be so easy to get her out of. I imaginedpushing her into another supply closet and pulling those bowsloose, peeling the front of that dress down and sucking hergorgeous—

“How did they not get thedress code?”

Scott’s voice snapped meback to reality and I was finally able to see the problem. All theguests that had been waiting under the biggest canopy the resortcould find—I assumed we bought it from a circus—listening toschmaltzy covers of pop hits played by a string quartet? They hadall received an invitation with a small card requesting that guestsdress in white or very light pastels to “help complete theaesthetic.”

And they had all complied with thatcard. Except for the groom’s parents and sister. Who weren’twell-liked by the bride’s parents.

“Holy fuck, dude. I am nevergetting married,” I said, before I could attempt to keep thethought inside my head.

Scott’s mom and dad looked apprehensiveand confused as Scott approached them, but even from twenty feetaway, I could read Charlotte’s total mortification. I turned myattention back to the bear.

A woman in a headset approached andsaid, to the bear-keeper, not to me, “Time to get intoposition.”

The bridesmaids arrived, driven on twoelectric golf carts. They huddled together for a second when theygot off, and their faces were extremely serious.

Something didn’t feelright, and it wasn’t just the bear drool that hit my foot. I hopedScott didn’t pick up on it. I deftly avoided Daisy’s curious paw asshe attempted to grab my ankle again.

Maybe I was imagining that somethingwas going wrong. Maybe I secretly wanted something to go wrong outof some sense of losing my best friend to marriage, or jealousythat despite my numerous engagements, I’d never made it this closeto walking down the aisle. But I liked to think I was a betterperson than that.

And the bear was suddenlyanxious, too. Not anxious enough to leave my ankle alone; I had toshake myself free yet again.

I spotted one of the bridesmaids Iremembered from game night. Her name started with an S. Sarah?Sydney? Not Susan. It didn’t matter. She’d hung on the arm of mychair all night, so I knew she knew who I was, at least. I raised ahand to wave her over. She made a “one minute” gesture to anotherbridesmaid and came reluctantly close to me and thebear.

“What’s going on?” I asked,as the string quartet started Pachelbel’s canon in D major. Whichmeant the wedding had started. Scott was walking his mother to herseat.

And the bride wasn’t here.

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