Page 86 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

He ached too much to argue. Instead, he held out his hand. The groom took it and pulled him up. A breeze cooled his ass. “I’ll go find her in the kitchen.”

“Actually,” the groom said, “I have a better idea. Cierra’s gonna love it.”

ChapterThirty-Three

Mary pulled the knife from the cup of hot water and smoothed it over the frosting of the lowest tier of the cake. The bakery had delivered the four-tier monstrosity in perfect shape, but when the catering staff had wheeled it from the walk-in cooler, they’d knocked into a rack of salads, and a sizable chunk of it had broken off and fallen on the floor. Mary had trimmed what was left so it was more or less even, then patched it with some bread and a batch of frosting she’d whipped up herself. It wasn’t a perfect match, and her cake decorating skills weren’t the best, but she’d ensure they lowered the lights in the dining room before they wheeled it out and didn’t serve the part that wasn’t actually cake to any of the guests.

Was this failure, on top of all the others, enough to ruin her chances of ever planning another wedding?

With the back of her hand, she wiped the sweat from her brow. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for wedding planning after all. If she begged her brothers, they had to take her back at the shop, right? They were family.

Though she didn’t want to return to her old job. As much as she loved her brothers and the idea of continuing their father’s business, she’d never loved it. Not like she loved planning weddings. The fragrant flowers, the delicious food, the unique venues and wedding traditions. The romantic kiss at the end of the ceremony. Her heart beat a little faster on days she was working on a wedding, and it wasn’t only adrenaline from dealing with emergencies, big and small. Weddings brought her joy. Helping a couple celebrate love in front of friends and family made her romantic heart sing.

If this was the last wedding she ever planned, a little part of her would die along with her dreams.

She stepped back and gazed critically at the cake. She’d ensure the patched-up part was closest to the wall. She circled to the other side of it. Nothing looked amiss from the front. She reached up and adjusted the topper, so the couple faced her. It would work. And long after Cierra’s wedding was over and Mary got paid, she’d tell Cierra about it, and they’d laugh together.

Until then, she’d pretend everything was perfect.

Everything at the wedding, that is.Because there wasn’t a person in Vegas, it seemed, who didn’t know precisely how her life had gone off the rails. The other night, her neighbor, Mrs. Wong, had brought her a batch of lotus-seed mooncakes and suggested she get on “the app store” to find a man. At church last weekend, the woman sitting next to her had clucked her tongue and shook her head during the sign of peace. And when she’d picked up her dress from the dry cleaner, the owner had slipped her a chocolate bar along with her receipt.

She’d show them all she was doing great despite her personal and professional humiliation. She’d find someone who hadn’t heard she’d screwed up the wedding of the season, offer them a massive discount, and start over.

But first, she needed to find the photographer and ensure she only photographed the cake from the front.

“Hey.” She walked to where the kitchen manager stood, supervising the servers as they transferred the salads from their racks, one with a smear of white frosting on the side, to their trays. “Cake is good to go. Please be sure the patched bit faces the wall when you wheel it out, and remind the servers not to serve that part, okay?”

“Got it,” he said. “I’m sorry about the accident.”

Mary shrugged. “It happens. I should know.”

“I heard.” The manager’s eyes crinkled in sympathy.

Ugh. Maybe Mary needed to move to Salt Lake or Phoenix to escape her reputation. “I’m going to talk to the photographer. I’ll be back to check in before the main course.”

She paused to take one last look at the cake. It didn’t look so bad, did it? Maybe she could borrow a couple of frosted rosettes from one of the upper tiers to help disguise the patch.

“Miss Forza!” One of the servers stood at the kitchen’s swinging door, an empty tray under her arm. “You’ve got to come out.”

Mary’s heart kicked in her chest. “What happened?” Visions of guests puking from an outbreak of food poisoning, a rowdy drunk uncle shouting his political views from the stage, and the bride and groom tossing their rings at each other all popped into her mind. That third one was actually pretty likely. Cierra had brought the drama to her wedding and seemed determined to poke Sawyer until he did something rash.

“Come see.” The server tossed her tray onto a counter, grasped Mary by the wrist, and pulled her out into the dining room. Mary took a deep breath. Whatever had happened, she could handle it.

In the dining room, something seemed…off. Anticipation crackled in the air. People stood on the dance floor when they should have been seated, ready to start the salad course. She’d have to talk to the emcee, who should have handled that.

She scanned the room for the bride and groom. There they were, also on the dance floor, arm in arm. She sighed, relieved. No emergency there. Hopefully, no drama either.

Murmuring erupted around them as the server dragged her toward the stage. Oh, no. Was there a problem with the emcee? Had he walked out? Or experienced a medical emergency? Silently, she recited a Hail Mary as she jogged toward the stage.

“There she is!” Cierra squealed, pointing right at her. “Go, Alex!”

Alex?

A spotlight lit up the stage. But instead of the band’s scruffy lead singer, a suited man stood in it, his glossy dark hair haloed in the bright light. Alex.

Mary’s stomach dropped. Shit, had he followed her to her next wedding to warn everyone of what a screw-up she was? Had he come as a favor to his ex, Cierra, to rescue her wedding like he’d done for Rochelle’s? Her cheeks burned.

“Mary,” he said, cupping his hand over his eyes against the glare of the spotlight. “Where are you?” His voice sounded thick, and his words slurred slightly. There was something wrong with his face, too. Even in the color-sapping spotlight, his jaw looked red.

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