Page 31 of Fit for Love

“A destination wedding?”I ask with a huge grin.

“Don’t get too excited.”Emma sets down her plain water on the table.“It’s in Florida, not on the French Riviera or some such.”

“Oh.”I wasn’t even thinking about the location, but given Marcus’s wealth, the French Riviera makes a lot more sense than America’s basement… unless you factor in Emma’s grandparents who live in Florida, of course.“When?”

“Very soon,” she says.“Sorry for the short notice, but?—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Emma says.“Now there’s this one other thing…”

The waiter comes with our food, so she stops talking for a moment.

“Yes?”I say when we’re alone again.

She keeps her nose in her plate, which I find suspicious.“It will be just our closest friends and family at the wedding.”

“Right… and?”

“Marcus’s closest friend is Ashton,” she says, finally meeting my gaze.“So obviously, he’ll be there.”

I nearly choke on the too-big piece of Eggs Benedict that I managed to stuff into my mouth.“At the ceremony?”

“And on the plane,” she says.

“I see.”I chew the egg that suddenly tastes like rubber.“I take it Marcus has had a similar talk with Ashton?”

“Ashton wasn’t the one acting weird at brunch,” Emma says gently.“But yes, he told him not to antagonize you.”

If he’s going to be breathing at the ceremony, he’s going to antagonize me, but I’m not going to say that.

“Look, Ems,” I say.“I will not ruin your big day.And if you don’t like my behavior at the rehearsal, you can always?—”

Emma snorts.“We’re not having a rehearsal.”

No rehearsal?Come to think of it, they didn’t have an engagement party either—which spared me another encounter with Ashton.

“What about a bachelorette party?”I ask.

Emma grins.“If I were to have one, Ashton wouldn’t be there anyway.”

“So you’re not?”

She shakes her head.“We just want to get married.Quick and easy.No fuss.”

“Okay.How mad would you be if I flew separately?”

Emma’s eyes widen.“You hate his company so much you’d forgo flying private?”

I shrug.“Tierre flies private all the time.”

She grins again.“Doesn’t he make you give him a manicure during the flight?”

“Not a manicure.I just file his nails,” I say defensively.

“Yeah.That makes it less demeaning.”

“It’s not always me.”But very often me.“If you want demeaning, he makes the new girl dance whenever we hit turbulence—and she has to incorporate each bump into the performance.”

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