Page 34 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
Juliet turns her laser focus on me, all fire and frost. “Are you laughing?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “No. Not laughing. Just thinking about how glad I am that you’re the one who’s going to get dragged into wedding planning hell. You’ll have to send me a nice snapshot of you at the venue,darling.”
“You think I’m going to do this on my own? Like hell.”
I raise both hands in surrender. “Hey. I didn’t send the invitations. I still don’t even know what a Save the Date is.”
“Then maybe don’t talk,” she mutters. “Or breathe.”
We stare each other down. Juliet lifts her chin, irritated. Unfortunately for her, it only makes her red-lipsticked mouth that much closer. She’s so fiery, with her raven hair and flashing chestnut eyes.
“You’re trouble, you know that?”
Her lips quirk, but she doesn’t respond. Ivy spreads her hands flat on the table, quickly pivots to safer territory.
“So! Next topic. Venue content. We thought that the two of you could visit a few wedding venues for a social media post series. Nothing too formal. Just candid shots of you looking at flowers and cake samples. Maybe arrange for a few paparazzi leaks. Really lean into the soft-focus engagement narrative.”
“You want me to pose like I give a shit about florals?” I couldn’t roll my eyes any harder if I tried.
Ivy nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! We’ll leak the pictures, stir up speculation about when and where. Maybe let your moms know about the?—”
“Don’t,” I snap, suddenly all ice. The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees. “I don’t want my mom involved, period. I think Juliet can say the same.”
Juliet shifts slightly in her chair, nudging her knee against mine under the table. A warning or maybe a question. I’m not sure which. She looks at me, changing the subject rather than letting the room stew on what I just said.
“Come with me to look at venues,” she tells me, ignoring the tension. “That’s the whole point of the pictures. Right?”
Ivy nods eagerly. “Exactly. Couple goals content. Very aspirational.”
I mutter, “I’ll show up. But if anyone hands me a boutonniere, I’m setting the place on fire.”
Across the booth, Jessa pulls plastic containers out of her purse and hands them around the table. “Okay, everyone has to try these. They’re a new oatmeal dessert bar I’m testing.”
“Why are you testing dessert bars?” Connor asks.
“I like to bake,” Jessa explains. “And now that Juliet has moved out, I have no one to test my recipes on. I’m going to die of sugar poisoning if I eat them all myself.”
Juliet gladly takes two containers. “You’re the best, Jess. Seriously.”
Grayson reaches across the table and grabs five. “I’ll take these off your hands.”
Shane raises an eyebrow. “Five? Really?”
Grayson glares at him. “I love dessert. You got a problem with that?”
“Nope. No problem at all.”
“I’ll be right back,” Juliet says, standing up. “Bathroom.”
While she’s gone, I check my phone. Missed call from my agent. There are two texts that make my stomach drop.
Enzo Morelli:Your mother reached out again. It’s no big deal, something I have handled. But I just want you to know.
Enzo Morelli:She is demanding a retroactive percentage of your paychecks for the last two years and then she had the balls to ask for box seats to the Vancouver game. Someone already handled it.
Fuck. My agent is a shark, a cutthroat former hockey player with amazing business skills. He’s not someone I would ever want to have a drink with, but I trust him to get me great brand sponsorship deals and contract renewals. I want him to focus on that stuff, not to have to bother with my crazy mother.
Hunter:Thanks.
