Page 16 of The Wedding Wrecker

"Fine," I heard myself say. "I'll do it."

Lily squealed and launched herself around the table to hug me. "I knew you would! This is going to be amazing."

"But," I added, extracting myself from her grip, "we do it my way. No surprises. No last-minute changes. And absolutely no uninvited guests."

"Of course," Marcus agreed smoothly. "Whatever you need."

I took another long drink of wine, trying to quiet the voice in my head screaming that this was a terrible idea.

"To new beginnings," Lily proposed, raising her glass.

We all clinked glasses. As I sipped my wine, I found myself studying Marcus for signs of trouble. Ever since Ireland, I’d had the irrational fear that every single wedding was going to blow up in my face. Somehow, I hadn’t had a single disaster in three years, but it was as if the scar left behind wouldn’t heal.

I couldn’t look at the “perfect, happy couple” and not wonder how it would all come crashing down for them.

But that was silly. I was just being paranoid. Marcus came from so much money he could have any girl he wanted. He was handsome, rich, and charming. And my sister wasn’t the kind of girl you let go when you got a hold of her.

I found myself smiling as we drank to our toast.

Maybe Lily was right. Maybe planning this huge, high-stakes wedding could actually be a good thing.

The only downside was I’d finally have to meet these mega-rich Wellingtons in the flesh for the first time. And I assumed it would also mean Marcus’ mother getting heavily involved with the planning process.

A multi-millionaire old money mother dipping her hands in my business…Yay.

I forced a smile in Lily’s direction.

Potential disaster, ghosts of the wedding wrecker, and a head-on-collision with old money and all the pretentious looks that would come along with it.

Yay. This might just be horrible.

6

JAMES

"Your nine o'clock is here," Derek announced, leaning against my office doorframe. "Fair warning—she's already crying."

I looked up from the stack of surveillance photos on my desk. Even after all these years, it was hard not to notice how Derek commanded attention just by existing. He had that kind of presence—tall, dark-haired, with the kind of face that made the office assistants constantly find excuses to deliver files in person. But his easy grin and perpetual bedhead kept him from looking too polished, which probably explained why women found him so approachable.

"They'realwayscrying," I said.

"Yeah, but this one brought her own fancy monogrammed handkerchief. If you’re going to noisily cry, why not do it in style?" He dropped into one of my client chairs, propping his feet on my desk. "Also, Carol in accounting wants to know if you're ever going to turn in your expense reports, or if she should just assume all those hotel bar receipts are for 'investigating.'"

I knocked his feet off my desk. "They are for investigating."

"Uh huh." Derek had been my best friend since college, and somehow I'd let him talk me into handling the business side of my... unique enterprise. "And that bottle of Macallan 18?"

"Research."

"Into what? Liver failure?"

I ignored him, straightening my tie as I stood. "How much time do I have?"

"Enough to tell me why you're still wearing that tie."

I glanced down at the dark blue silk. "What's wrong with my tie?"

"Nothing. Except it’s the same one you wore yesterday.”

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