Page 56 of Fast

ZARA

I’ve never been to a wedding.

Or at least, none that I can remember.

This morning I went through all the primping, the hair and makeup done by professionals, with mixed feelings. While I don’t mind looking pretty, this was a little excessive, in my opinion. I understand that Mom wants to look perfect. It’s her big day.

But I could have gotten ready without all the fuss. Of course, I went along with everything Mom wanted, because I want to make her happy.

Heather, on the other hand, was totally in her element and kept thanking Mom for inviting her to get ready with us.

So was Angela, the deputy mayor’s daughter, and third bridesmaid.

“Oh my God,” Heather whispers into my ear, after the officiant tells Scott that he can kiss his bride. “I want my wedding to be exactly like this one. Everything is perfect. The venue, the flowers, the vows. The dress. Your mom looks so happy.”

She’s right. I’ve never seen Mom so happy. Scott spared no expense to make this day perfect. But what makes me happy for her isn’t the gorgeous Country Club garden with a view of the beach, the designer white silk strapless dress Mom chose, or the flowers. It’s the way Scott looks at her. I’ve been observing them all week, and it’s more than obvious that they love each other, and he worships her.

I smile at Heather. “Yeah, she looks happy. I think Scott treats her well.”

She nods. “Absolutely. Scott isn’t just loaded, he’s smart and charming. And even though he’s old enough he could be my dad… I wouldn’t be mad to have him in my bed every night.”

“Heather!” I hiss. “Shut up.”

She giggles. “Oh, come on, admit it. Your new stepfather is a DILF. And you haven’t seen him shirtless. He might not play professional hockey anymore, but he clearly channels the stress of being mayor into his fitness routine.”

Angela chimes in. “I agree. Scott Hunter is a catch, and every woman in town wishes she was your mom.”

We all stand up to watch the new Mr. and Mrs. Hunter walk down the aisle.

While the other guests are entertained with canapes and Champagne, the wedding party is summoned for some photos by the team of photographers Scott hired for today.

“Let’s do a few shots with the happy couple and the bridesmaids and groomsmen at their side.” The photographer instructs.

Some shots have all the girls by Mom’s side and the groomsmen—Ares, Chance, and Lev—by Scott’s side.

Another set of photos has us switching sides.

“Now let’s do some with just the bridesmaids and groomsmen, and after that, you guys can go. We’ll take a fewmore of the newlyweds and then we’ll set up to photograph the reception.”

Again, some photos see just the bridesmaids together; then it’s the groomsmen’s turn.

“Now, each bridesmaid stand next to a groomsman.”

A strong arm surrounds my waist.

I know it’s Chance from his clean scent. He smells like freshly washed linens and something more masculine and unique, probably his body wash.

“You look spectacular,” he whispers into my ear. “Before Lev gets to ask you, can you make sure you save me a dance?”

I smile, suppressing a small shudder at the way his warm, minty breath tickles the spot behind my ear. “Sure. And you look hot too.”

“Groomsmen,” the photographer says. “Stand behind your bridesmaid and surround her with your arms. Just like this. Perfect.”

“It’s going to be a long night,” Chance whispers. “And Dad expects us to mingle with all the people he invited. But I was thinking, we could get together later? Just the two of us?”

I nod, missing his warmth when the photographer dismisses us.

Dinner is delicious and I’m at the wedding party table. Heather is holding court, telling me the gossip about all the people who have scored an invitation to the wedding reception of the year.

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