Page 16 of Fake Spring Fling

She sucks in a stuttering breath. “I doubt it. Apparently wearing cream instead of white is supposed to make my skin look warmer. But these…” Her hand waves frantically at the fluorescent lights at the entrance. “They’re making my teeth look green.”

I glance at the videographer. “I told her we can fix the color afterward,” he says calmly.

I’ve been in this position before. There is no reasoning with a bride who thinks something is going wrong. You can’t just provide a solution, you have to offer an improvement. Bonus points if you can make it appear elevated.

I turn, catching the elbow of the nearest woman – one of the aunts, I think. “Could you please grab three candle arrangements from the nearby tables?”

“Of course, dear.”

“Fluorescent light can have a green cast,” I explain quickly, putting two sets of candles on Tanya’s side and one on Steven’s. The tea setup is in the center of the long table, so the ends won’t be seen in the video. “Candlelight, though, is incredibly warm. It will neutralize the green and make your skin glow.” Giving Tanya a wink, I add, “Trust me on this. I saw a photoshoot of a candlelit tea from the Four Seasons in New York.”

I step back, then lean in again, nudging a few of the candles into the frame. Then I turn to the videographer with a significant look. “Doesn’t that make everythingmuch more romantic?”

He nods carefully, catching what I mean. “Much more. Fixes the color problem, too.”

Tanya breathes a huge sigh of relief, then reaches out to grip my hand. “Thank you so much, Madison. You’re a lifesaver.”

Steven shoots me a glance that speaks volumes, and I return to my seat as they play tea party for the cameras.

“What was all that about?” Wyatt asks.

“Fixed a nonexistent problem while lying about the solution coming from a fancy source.” I brush the side of his arm. “Just stuff we learn in hotel service.”

He glances at his sister and then back to me just as Heather arrives at our table. She reaches out and grabs my hand, whispering frantically. “I don’t know what you did, but she was on the verge of tears, possibly another meltdown, and it was like you flipped a switch. Thank you so much, dear.”

She rushes away again, leaving Wyatt beaming. I feel I just scored a few points with both of them. I like that.

We share a few of the exquisite pastries, then spin around the dance floor for a couple of songs and pose for a handful of photos. Once everyone’s dancing, Wyatt takes my hand.

“I’m ready to go whenever you’re ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready.”

Technically, Wyatt should drop my hand as soon as we are out of view of his family.

Technically, his arm should not be around my waist as we walk to the suite.

Andtechnically, he probably shouldn’t lock the door, kick off his shoes, and walk me straight to the enormous bed.

But here we are.

Wyatt clutches me against him in a kiss that makes me see stars across the back of my eyelids. This man could bruise my mouth with his and it would only make me want more.

I casually kick off my shoes. He slips off his jacket, tossing it over a chair, and I’m already unfastening his tie, loving that it gives me an excuse to lean close to his massive chest.

One thing I really like about Wyatt is the perfect blend of his different sides. The slightly nerdy pharmacist, who’s into chemical interactions. The health nut, who is clearly an amateur bodybuilder. And the nice, normal, regular guy who looks to be completely stable.

After all the man drama I’ve heard from my friends, this last bit in particular feels incredibly refreshing. And once again, like I happened to be in the right place at the right time.

He unzips the back of my dress as I fling his tie away and begin unbuttoning his shirt. “Madison, I need to ask?—”

“I’m on the pill. Helps with headaches.”

He laughs. “That’s not it. Although, good to know.” He grins as I push off his shirt, my breath catching at the sight of his perfectly sculpted shoulders.

“No, I just want to say that we’re ordering fromyourmenu tonight.” His eyebrow lifts. “Everything you want to do, and nothing you don’t. Like, don’t be afraid to say hold the pickles, if?—”

“But maybe I want to holdyour...” My dress hits the floor as we both giggle at this clumsy metaphor.

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