Page 32 of The Wedding Wrecker

“Easy enough,” James said. “First, I asked if anyone had seen a pretty girl who was probably glaring and stomping her away around the hotel. It took a few tries, but that got me close. After that, I just followed the scent of your shampoo.” He made me flinch by reaching to grab the ends of my hair, lifting it to his nose and sniffing softly. “Strawberry and vanilla. The scent left an impression on me back in…” He paused, making a lip-zipping motion. “Rule number three prevents me from finishing that thought.

I blushed furiously and shifted my chair away from him, which only made him grin.

“So, you never answered my question,” James said, leaning his elbows on his knees and tilting his head slightly, eyes piercing as ever. “Everything okay?”

"It’s fine," I said, pushing my phone away slightly. “Just a nosy friend.”

“Ah, I see. So you told her about the sleep-mounting this morning?” he asked, voice all mock seriousness and concern.

I fixed him with my best death glare, trying to ignore how good he smelled. How did someone manage to smell like a mountain forest and sin at the same time? Mountain forests didn’t sin, and they certainly weren’t sexy. So why? Just why?

"We agreed never to speak of that again."

"No, you agreed. I was perfectly happy to talk about it. Frequently. Hell, I think I’ll be telling the other old-timers at the retirement home about the time this woman pretended she didn’t want me so hard she cornered herself into a wet dream."

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his comments, but Chef Antoine chose that moment to sweep into the room, his crisp white uniform gleaming under the chandeliers. He was in his forties with olive skin, brown eyes, and a dreamy expression on his face.

"Ah, young love!" He clapped his hands together. "Nothing makes food taste better, no?"

James' hand found my knee under the table. I tried to shake it off, but he just squeezed harder.

"Now," Chef Antoine continued, "we have, how you say, a small conflict to resolve?"

Right. The reason we were here.I pulled out my tablet, trying to ignore how James' thumb was now tracing circles on my knee. I was fairly sure touching meunderthe table was a clear violationof rule number one, but I was learning sometimes it was easier to avoid the fight with James.

"Lily and Marcus have different visions for the menu," I explained. "Marcus wants a traditional reception dinner—heavy on the luxury items. Wagyu beef, lobster, caviar. Lily wants something lighter that won't keep people from dancing."

Most couples would want to be here for this kind of thing, but Lily preferred to do as little planning as possible. She trusted me to make everything perfect, and liked the idea of being surprised here and there.No pressure, right?

My phone buzzed again. James glanced at the screen.

Maggie:BITCH ANSWER ME. DID YOU SLEEP WITH THE WEDDING WRECKER AGAIN???

I snatched the phone away, face burning. I made the mistake of looking at James, who’s eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. He raised a hand to cover the growing smile on his face, and when his eyes found mine again, they were absolutely scorching.

"Quite the problem," Chef Antoine agreed. “I am sure I could make both options delicious. But we must discover how to make both the bride and the groom happy, no?”

"I think Lily’s right," I said. "A five-course luxury menu might sound impressive, but people will be in food comas by the time the dancing starts. A night of sleepy-eyed people passed out at their dinner tables with no dancing hardly sounds like a wedding to remember."

"What if we did both?"

We both turned to look at James.

"Both?" Chef Antoine raised an eyebrow.

"A progressive menu," James said, leaning forward. "Start with the luxury items, but in smaller portions. Perfect bites that let people taste everything without getting overwhelmed. Then as the night progresses, transition to lighter dishes that keep people energized."

The chef's eyes lit up. "Ah! Like the mini wagyu sliders with truffle aioli I created last season?—"

“Sure,” James said. “And maybe the lobster as a small ravioli instead of a full tail. Keep the luxury but make it danceable."

I stared at James. Since when did he know anything about food?

"We could do seafood towers during cocktail hour," Chef Antoine was saying, scribbling notes. "Then for the seated course?—"

"What about doing stations later in the night?" James suggested. "Let people graze between dances. Light but elegant options."

"Oui! And we could do mini versions of comfort foods. Upscale but fun."

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