Page 84 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

Fuck, he should have known he’d pay for showing the Forzas those photos of Rafe. “I’ll ask Mary to confirm my grovel, all right?”

Rafe’s mouth turned down. “I guess.”

“I don’t know, Rafe,” Michael said. “I think he’ll look better with a fat lip.”

“That’ll just make her feel sorry for him,” Rafe said. “She’s more likely to stay mad if he goes in there looking slick.” He gestured at Alex’s suit.

“You’ve got a point,” Michael said. “Let her decide. And if she decides to stay mad”—Michael smirked—“we’ll break your fancy new nose.”

“Fair,” Alex said. It was what he deserved. “Where is she?”

When Rafe told him, he realized it wasn’t only Evie and the Forza brothers who had it in for him. The universe or God or karma wanted a piece of him, too.

* * *

Outside the country club at dusk, guests gathered in the green space next to the empty driving range to watch Mary’s friend the aerialist.

Red silk wrapped her body as she twirled, suspended from a four-legged rig. The guests gazed up in awe, their sparkling wine forgotten.

Dante and his fire dancers had been more impressive. Though given they’d cost him over a hundred Gs, including the damage to the wiring and the losses from an hour of downtime in the casino, an aerialist had been the smarter move. Little chance of injury to the guests, at least.

Hitching up the heavy box under his arm, Alex skirted the gawking guests on his way to crash his ex’s wedding.

According to his plan, showing up mid-reception would be the least disruptive to Mary. Coming to the ceremony might invoke all those terrible rom-coms where the ex showed up to say his “I object,” and the last thing he wanted to do was stop Cierra from marrying what’s-his-name. Besides, Mary would be busy supervising the videographer and the photographer, organizing the bridal party, and ensuring Cierra’s mother wasn’t seated next to her father.

While he’d waited for the appropriate time to crash the wedding, he’d run out for a sorry-I-lied-on-my-RSVP gift and cracked his knuckles while the store wrapped the ugly piece of crystal. Then he’d changed into a different suit and even pulled out a wedding-appropriate floral silk tie to prove his sincerity.

Although he’d intended to show up after dinner, while Cierra and her groom spun blissfully on the dance floor and most of Mary’s work was done, patience wasn’t his strength. When he walked into the reception room at the country club, the dance floor was empty. A few people milled around with drinks while servers tempted them with trays of hors d’oeuvres. A piano played Fauré in a corner of the room, and the band was still setting up on stage.

Alex wandered around the edges of the room, searching for Mary. No luck. This would be a busy time for her. She’d be ensuring dinner was almost ready, coordinating the bride and groom’s entrance, and preparing to coax everyone into their assigned seats.

He hated waiting, but he’d do it for Mary.

Determined to find an out-of-the-way spot to lurk, he set his gift with the others on the skirted table and walked back outside. But before he could find a bench, he was rewarded for his good intentions by a glimpse of Mary emerging from inside, followed by the bride and groom. She wore her black dress, the one with the teasing diaphanous sleeves, the one she thought faded into the background like a roadie on stage. It didn’t work. Mary’s dark hair and dress stood out against Cierra’s puffy white gown, making her all Alex could see.

She fluffed Cierra’s skirt, stepped back, and nodded. Then she said something to the couple, turned, and disappeared through the door again.

Without engaging his brain, his feet moved him a few steps closer to the door. That was when the trouble started.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

Alex ripped his gaze from the spot he’d lost sight of Mary. Yes, that was the groom. Shouting at him.

Innocently, he put a hand on his chest. “Me?” he asked.

The groom strode toward him. “Yeah, you.”

“I was invited.” God, he wished he’d paid more attention to that invitation. Then he’d remember the groom’s name.

“You?” the groom sneered. “I don’t think so.”

Alex tried to relax his shoulders as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Cierra invited me.”

She stepped up to them, and the overpowering, fruity scent of her Miss Dior perfume almost choked him. “As I recall, you sent your regrets.” A smile curled her lips, done up in demure pink. But there was nothing sweet about the dangerous glint in her eye.

Cierra loved drama.

“Congratulations,” he murmured, bending down to brush his cheek near hers in what he hoped would be a friendly, tension-defusing air kiss.

---