Page 219 of Pucking Sweet

“Your mom is scarier than my high school hockey coach,” Lukas adds. “That guy hunted elk with a bow and arrow.”

I squeeze both their hands. “Sit with Tina, and I’ll find you when this is all over.”

“Hey, yeah—and just a heads up, if you can’t find Rowan, I killed him and hid him under the table,” says Lukas.

Tina steps in too, draining her glass of wine. “Nothing is fucking worth this. I’m outta here—”

“No—Tina,please,” I beg. “We need you. The team needs you. Go with Lukas and Colton, and keep them from stuffing Rowan in a toilet.”

“Fine,” she mutters. “But I makenopromises I won’t stuff him in there myself.”

This is torture.Literal torture. As the maid of honor, they sat me on the other side of Anderson, next to his best man, his little brother Cody, whose entire personality is car racing. Oh, and he once tried to feel me up at a family Christmas party.

Every time Anderson speaks to me, he leans in, like he’s telling me a secret. Which means I’ve been leaning away from him all night, practically crawling into Cody’s lap. My guys have been watching me squirm in my chair for over an hour. When I can’t take it for another second, I leave the rest of my chicken uneaten on my plate and make my way back over to the bar.

Sensing my distress, Lukas, Colton, and Tina join me. “I swear to fucking god, if he tried to touch you one more time,” Lukas growls.

“I’m fine,” I say, my hand on his arm. “It’s fine.”

“Pops, this is totally fucked,” Tina says. “Why did you even come?”

I feel the tears burn again. “Because I wanted to try, okay? Before I walked away for good, I wanted to know I dideverythingI could to try to make my family see me, to make them respect me, and understand what makes me happy.”

Tina gives me a sympathetic smile. “Honey, some people are just blind to what’s right in front of them. You gotta be able to let that shit go.”

“We’ve been telling her this for months,” says Lukas.

“We knew being here would only hurt you,” Colton adds.

“Say the word, and we’ll leave,” Lukas assures me. “The car is outside, and our bags are already packed. We’ll just shove Rowan’s body over a bit and—fuck—”

Feedback from the microphone has all of us wincing and turning. My eyes go wide as I see a tipsy Olivia tugging on the mic, her arm around Lemon. “Excuse me, everyone,” she says, the mic squeaking. “I know it’s not time for speeches, but I just have something to say about our beautiful bride…my best fucking friend in the whole world…Violet.”

The dining crowd quiets down, confused.

“Oh no,” I whisper, the doom already spreading.

From across the room, Mom shoots a glare over at me, like this is all my fault. Is this another maid of honor duty? I’m sorry, but I packed my butterfly net and my tranquilizers in myotherdress.

Olivia breathes onto the mic saying, “When Violet first told me she was fucking her sister’s fiancé, I was like ‘whaaaat?’ ’Cause that’s just crazy, right?”

A gasp shivers over the room as I feel my heart drop from my chest. Half the guests slowly turn, their eyes locking on me. The other half of the room looks to Violet and Anderson. They sit there, hands held on the table, eyes wide.

Tina drains her third glass of wine. “Fuck, here we go.”

“Yeah, we all thought this was just like a fun thing,” Lemon adds into the mic.

“None of useverthought she would actually go through with marrying him,” Olivia goes on to the horror of the crowd. “I mean, we all understand marrying rich, but god at what cost?”

Violet shakes her head as Anderson shifts his hand away, cheeks reddening. Mom looks apoplectic as Dad stands, gesturing to the emcee. At the other side of their table, Anderson’s mom is frozen with shock.

Olivia boldly goes on, one hand clutching her chest. “In my heart, I know this is wrong. You don’t even love him. Violet,please,” she cries, making the microphone pop again. “We’ve been through so much. And I know now that we’re meant to be together. Violet, I lo—”

The mic cuts out before Olivia can finish her drunken confession of love. Then the emcee is taking over on another mic. “Alright, folks. We’re gonna hold off on the rest of the speeches until after dessert. Who needs another refill? Just hold up your glass!”

A pair of waiters shuffle Olivia and Lemon away from the mic, while this graveyard silence is suddenly filled with the cheery staccato of Rosemary Clooney’s “Botch-A-Me.”

“What the fuck?” Lukas mutters.

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