Page 2 of The Bad Wedding Date

Taking one last look at the smile she wore while walking next to Jonah Cannon made something stir in my chest—something that didn’t belong there—and without a second thought, I slammed the file shut and handed it back to Wade before thatsomething could stir again.

“Find out for certain if they’re together. Charlotte’s our easiest way into the wedding, and this is our only chance to get in the same room ashim. Get the whole team ready.” I caught Wade’s eyes as I stood up and over him, pulling the lapels of my suit jacket down and fastening the middle button. “We’ve got some lives we need to ruin.”

1

Charlotte

All I could do was stare at the phone in my hand in disbelief.

Great. Just great.

Everything was going to shit already.

My supposed best friend and wedding date had cancelled on me at the very last minute by text message, and was now refusing to answer my calls. Thanks for that, Jonah. My flowery dress was a disaster, digging in around the waist and pinching my excess skin to remind me that I was still a few pounds overweight. I could hardly walk in my charity shop heels that were half a size too small and already causing blisters. Add in the fact that my up-do hair was sure to get my mother’s disapproval because she said my ears were too prominent, and I was about ready to admit defeat and trudge on home, ignoring the wedding of myperfectsister all together in favour of a night in front of the television with a box of Pringles.

If only I were a little more selfish like that.

Actually, if I were going to wish for anything, it would be for me to get my life together so that I didn’t hiss the wordperfectwhenever I thought about that sibling of mine. Not that I held any jealousy or anything. Emilia Grant didn’t have anything I wanted… except for maybe her confidence. I’d often wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning of your life, look in the mirror and see absolutely nothing but excellence staring back at you. To not see a flash of panic in your eyes. To not see every fault and reason why the parents that birthed you found you so irritating.

With a heavy sigh, I sat down on the cold metal bench of the bus stop and closed my eyes, trying to count to ten to stop my racing heart and gain some clarity for the day ahead.

One. Two. Three….

I hadn’t even made it to the number four when I felt a heavy body sinking down on the bench beside me. I didn’t look up on account of me not being in the mood to talk to strangers when so much was going wrong already.

My eyes flickered open against the bright blue sky of London. It was a clear day in the city. The smog had disappeared. Every building gleamed like they’d been cleaned especially for that day, the windows of the skyscrapers twinkling back at me as though this place wasn’t filled with disaster.

After glancing back down at my phone, I decided that one last angry text to unleash some of this frustration wouldn’t do any harm. After all, my work colleague, so-called friend, and pretend date for the day had already ditched me before the wedding of the year. There wasn’t anything else he could do to make it worse now.

Me: Next time you think about asking me to cover your shift, think again.

You can deal with old man Bodie’s irritable bowel syndrome all by yourself.

I can’t believe you’ve bailed on me. You’re on my Shit List, Jonah.

My phone pinged a minute later.

Jonah: You don’t need me to hold your hand. Go in there with your chin raised, and don’t take any shit from anybody.

I growled to myself and thought I heard a soft chuckle from whoever had taken a seat beside me. I almost looked their way just to give them a lecture on how rude it was to laugh at someone else’s misfortune, but then my phone beeped again.

Jonah: P.S. I still love you and your pretty blue eyes, Lottie.

Jonah knew full well that I hated the name Lottie. I growled again, feeling feral as I tucked my phone into the ridiculously small purse I’d borrowed from my manager at work.

How had this become my reality? Sitting at a bus stop on the day of the wedding, waiting for the number 15 to take me to The Savoy Hotel, where my well known and very well to do family would be waiting for little old me with judgemental expressions and their never-ending supply of disdain.

As the younger sister to the bride, I’d been expected to be a very prominent part of the bridal party, but expectation was something I didn’t work well with, and the moment I’d told both my sister Emmie and my overbearing mother Laurie that I wouldn’t, in fact, be a part of anything, I’d been pushed back to the top of the list of Things That Irritated the Grant Family:

Charlotte Anne Grant.

Poor people.

Taxes.

Places without mirrors or cameras.

“Someone, please, help me survive this day,” I muttered.

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