Page 35 of Champagne Fizz

“Kendall’s not going to like this.” I point to the stack of magazines. “She’s a designer. I’m sure she has ideas of her own.”

“Hence the suggestions,” Arie says pointedly. “This isn’t telling her what to do, it’s telling her what to work with. Creativity always blossoms with constraints.”

“And if she says no?”

“Well, that’s where you come in, Casanova.” Arie squeezes my upper arms like I ought to take my shirt off as I present this stack of micromanagement. “She likes you. Use your charms.”

“I’m not going to—”

“I didn’t say sleep with her,” Arie interrupts.

“That’s exactly what you were saying the other day.”

“I meant”—Arie flares her eyes at me—“she likes you more than she likes me. So, you might be a better candidate for broaching this topic.” Arie motions to the magazines. “As for the other day, I just wanted you to get laid.”

“Shower the world in orgasms?” I say dryly.

“Precisely,” Arie says as if she’s innocent.

I flip through the stack of magazines again. “You promise this isn’t going to overshadow Olivia and Ned’s wedding?” I ask, concerned.

“Since when are you going to turn your nose up at an incredible business opportunity?”

“It’s Olivia and Ned,” I respond. “You said it yourself: they’re family. I want them to have the wedding they want.”

“They will!” Arie defends. “And it will be bloody epic!”

“This magazine article, it’s something only you, me, and Kendall know about?”

“Precisely,” Arie agrees. “If you can get Canary Pom-Pom on board.”

“You should probably stop calling her that.”

“All the other names I have for her are less nice.” Arie states proudly, but then she crumbles when I continue to glare at her. “Fine. Kendall—get Kendall on board.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Arie motions to the tarts. “Sweets.” Then she motions to me. “Hot guy.” Then she motions to the bag of magazines. “Brilliant idea that will make her money and us money—if she can get over the fact that it comes from the overbearing evil bitch from Flambé.”

“It is a good idea,” I admit.

A brilliant one, actually.

“I know!” Arie nods, picking up the black box containing the tart and handing it to me. “Thus, Special Delivery.”

9

KENDALL

Olivia is a vision in her wedding dress.

Olivia walks out of the dressing room of the bridal boutique in a stunning sheath gown covered in tiny appliqué flowers. It’s bohemian and artistic, while still having that chic high-end quality that makes her completely radiant. She ambles down the faux red carpet to where I sit next to her grandmother, and there’s even a bit of sparkle in the dress from tiny crystals at the center of the flowers. It’s the perfect amount of shimmer without setting off any of Ned’s anti-glitter alarms. Not that he’ll even notice them with the way she looks in that gown.

Ned’s going to be absolutely smitten.

“Wow! You look like a goddess,” Olivia’s grandma exclaims next to me, covering up her gasp with a wrinkled hand.

“You really think so, Nanna?” Olivia asks, the broad smile on the apples of her cheeks, fairytale worthy.

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