Page 77 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“I wasn’t sure what was keeping you.” She takes my arm. “I’ve got a table inside. It turns out my publisher is having a party in their hospitality suite. I thought we could go up and say hi before we go to dinner.”

The people around us are hanging on her every word. A couple of them take pictures.

“Oh no,” I say quickly, remembering what I heard at lunch. “You’ve got to be invited. I don’t have an invitation.”

Lauren smiles and shoots me a wink. “I promise we won’t have any trouble getting in. I can introduce you to my editor. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if my agent, Chris Wolfe, is there.”

“Oh no. I can’t possibly.” I feel like a child who wants nothing more than to run and hide.

“Oh yes you can,” Lauren replies. “I’m not about to let you pass up this opportunity.” She leans forward and says very quietly, “Any one of these writers would jump at the chance to go with me to be introduced to editors and agents. It’s one of the main reasons they’re here. I’ll help you work on your pitch before we go upstairs if you like.”

As she pulls back I study her face, looking for some hint of an ulterior motive. I see nothing suspicious. Even her apparent sincerity doesn’t allay my nerves.

“But I’m not dressed for a party.” I don’t add that I’m scared to death. That I don’t have enough brain cells left to work on a pitch let alone give one. And that it’s entirely possible that I’m going to hyperventilate.

“Then go upstairs and change. I’ll have a drink waiting for you. What do you want?”

“I have no idea. My brain seems to have shut down.” I say this quietly and with a frozen smile on my face. I do havesomepride. “Maybe we should just skip the drinks and the party and go right to dinner.”

“Absolutely not.” She straightens and I notice that her makeup and hair are absolutely perfect. As if she’s just stepped out of a salon or something. Her black cocktail dress has to be by some designer I’ve probably never heard of. “I’ll figure out the drinks.” She gives me another smile and a relatively gentle push. “Now, go on and hurry up.”

Lauren

I’m slumped against Spencer in the backseat of a black car early Thursday evening. We’ve just spent another solid day on wedding details, including tours of smaller more unique venues that would allow for a more intimate gathering. Dinner was a quick slice of artichoke pizza in the East Village.

“What did you think of the Hornblower cruise?” I lift my head to ask. “It could be kind of cool to sail down the river and idle in front of the Statue of Liberty while we say our vows.”

“The bigger boats might work, but the small one you liked wouldn’t even hold my family, let alone friends.”

“Haven’s Kitchen Cooking School was interesting,” I say. “We could do a seated dinner for eighty in that loft area. The garden at the Merchant’s House Museum was nice, too. And the Ramscale Studio in the West Village is basically a blank canvas.”

“I appreciate all the time you’ve been putting into finding the right venue, but I think we both know that who is at the wedding is even more important than where it’s held.” He sighs. “You need to make peace with your past, Lauren. And that means talking this through with your mother.”

“But...”

His palm goes up to halt my, by now, automatic protest. This is not the first time he’s urged me to speak to her. “I know how close you’ve always been. How much you mean to each other. And I have some experience with all the ways emotional turmoil can shut down creativity.”

I force myself to meet Spencer’s eyes. Clearly taking whole days off andnotmentioning the novel I’m supposed to be writing speaks volumes to someone who listens as carefully as Spencer does.

“I’m just not ready to speak to her. I can’t even listen to her voice mails. I... I don’t know when I will be.”

For a few moments we travel in silence. I’m watching the play of light and shadow on Spencer’s face when he asks, “What time is Bree coming over Saturday morning?”

“As soon as she checks out of the hotel,” I say, grateful for the change in topic. “I wish you could have seen her face at the publisher party last night. She was so excited and so scared at the same time. She has absolutely zero experience trying to sell herself in any way. I had to make sure she had just the right number of drinks, which, by the way, is one-point-five. It was a stroke of luck that Chris and Melissa were there. I was a little worried that she might faint when I introduced her to my agentandmy editor.”

“I’m glad you’re trying to help,” Spencer says. “Of course, if you’d read her manuscript you could have pitched it for her.”

I feel a faint flush of shame. Bree and I spent our entire time together focused on the conference and her appointments, our talk skimming across the surface. I cringe when I realize that even in helping her I was showing off the fact that I could.

Spencer drops a kiss on the top of my head and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze as the car stops in front of my building. We exchange private smiles as Tom the doorman opens the front door and wishes us a good evening in his pronounced Long Island accent.

Spencer slips his arm around my shoulders as we enter the lobby. He pulls me close as we step into the elevator. I inhale his heady scent on the way up. It comforts and arouses. Our hands touch as I fit the key into my door.

I automatically avert my eyes when we walk by the cocktail table that holds Bree’s manuscript. I know that if I sincerely want to help Bree I’m going to have to read it, but in this moment all my attention, all of my senses, are focused on this man.

“You do know how much I love you, right?” I say as Spencer and I reach for each other.

“Mmm-hhhm.” He lowers his mouth to mine and pulls metighter against him. I’m already unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of mine as we stumble up the stairs to my bedroom. We’re still pulling off clothes when we land on the bed. His skin is smooth and heated. His body is strong and supple. His mouth is warm and clever. When he kneels between my legs, pulls off my panties, and spreads my thighs all I want is to have him inside of me.

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