Page 57 of Champagne Fizz

“Well maybe,” I jump in, “you could pick elements from each and mix and match.”

“Stick to the math, Simon,” Arie says dryly, finally piping up. “You can’t exquisite corpse a design to work.”

“Exquisite corpse?” I frown.

“Frankenstein it,” she clarifies. “You can’t throw different pieces randomly together and expect brilliance. Art is about balance and cohesion. Unity.”

“That’s true,” comes a voice from behind me, and we all turn to see Kendall walking up. “She has a point.”

Kendall struts to the center of the room with her hair taken out of its messy bun and her face powdered. She looks calm, collected, and damn, if that doesn’t just make my cock want to knock all that composure out of her again.

I grip the greenery at my navel and adjust it, making sure I don’t show off any more than I should. Connor sidles up next to me and tilts his head toward mine.

“Feeling a little frisky there, cowboy?” he says under his breath so nobody else can hear him. I give him a frown, but Connor just nods to the spray of eucalyptus by my legs. “Sit in one of the booths. It’s less conspicuous.” He takes the greenery from me and nudges me to the closest seat. “Unless you want to look like an overwrought flower girl.”

I don’t want to take his advice, but it’s probably a better plan, plus everyone is watching Kendall as I sit down. She walks straight up to Arie’s side, not shying back from the dragon-eyed look Arie levels upon her.

“Opinions?” Kendall asks bravely. “I used your suggestions. I also considered the drinks and desserts you’ll put on the menu. Black plate if you want to do a poached pear pavlova. Good contrast.”

I raise an eyebrow. She did do her homework.

“Or gold plates if you want to do a champagne and berries display.” Kendall points to her choices. “I was going for a dark baroque style with the dim lighting, which I thought would show off whatever flaming items you put on display.”

Arie’s lips tighten. Kendall’s knocking it out of the park.

“Oh, and Olivia,” Kendall addresses her bride. “Each table is inspired by a different one of your paintings.” Kendall points to the table numbers at the center of each display. The tiny frame holds a picture of the painting the table was designed after with a gold table number at its center.

“No way!” Olivia exclaims, stepping in closer to examine them.

Arie visibly bristles. That’s the kind of detail Arie expects and would pull out as her own ace-up-her-sleeve.

“Loosely, of course,” Kendall explains. “Your work is abstract, so I took the essence of the piece: colors, shapes, compositional elements.”

Indeed, she has. If you look at the tiny painting and then the organization of the flowers and the lighting, it’s impressive how she’s managed to capture both Olivia’s art and Flambé’s elegance.

Olivia is silent, the candlelight making her eyes shine with tears. She looks through the tables quietly, holding a trembling hand over her lips as she’s overwhelmed with emotion.

The tables aren’t just well designed, they’ve captured a piece of the bride. This is what Kendall was talking about—that a wedding should reflect the couple and not just what’s in vogue in the wedding business’ assembly line.

Olivia turns to Ned, her cheeks wet. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers as he wraps his arms around her. “This is all starting to feel really real. We’re getting married.”

Ned kisses her softly and a pang of jealousy crawls through me. I’m not interested in Olivia. I’m jealous of the connection she and Ned have and how perfect they are together.

That look.

That’s how I want the woman I’ll marry to look at me: like I’m the world, like she’s all in and loving me is the greatest thing she could imagine.

Does that make me a sappy romantic? Fine, then I’m a sappy romantic. But everyone in this room can feel the devotion between the two of them, and they’d be lying if they denied wanting it for themselves.

My eyes cut to Arie, and I glance at Kendall. Everything in my posture screams,don’t ruin this moment by saying something mean. This isn’t your wedding.Olivia is crying.

Arie rolls her eyes at me, but keeps her tongue in check.

“I like them all,” Arie says, when the silence starts to border on awkwardness. Olivia and Kendall both turn to the redhead in surprise. “I prefer the one with the orchids,” she asserts, “but, of course, Olivia should decide what she wants.”

“Really?” Olivia says, not expecting that.

“Of course,” Arie says, walking over to Olivia and wrapping her in a hug. “Whatever you want you get, remember. I expect you to be crying like this all day long.”

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