Page 7 of Champagne Fizz

Subtle, Arie is not.

“If any of you go near Mr. Voss’ tongue,” Arie snaps, carrying two trays of food for Ned and Olivia to taste-test, “you’ll havemeto answer to!”

“There happens to be more than one Mr. Voss in the room,” Olivia corrects, nodding to Ned.

“You know which sex slave I’m referring to, girl,” Arie sasses as she swings the trays onto the table in a flourish that seems to defy gravity.

The plates are covered in Arie-inspired decadence: steak bites drizzled in pomegranate glaze, crumbly chunks of blue cheese, chocolate dipped bacon canapes, and some sort of melon that’s been carved to look like a rose. Everything about Arie’s food is extravagant (just like her).

“Hey,” Conner butts in from the bar. “I’m not a piece of meat over here. I take offense to your matriarchal objectification of men as sex slaves.”

“You weren’t complaining last night,” Arie tosses back. “I think you liked being tied up and on your knees as you licked my—”

“TMI!” Ned interjects. “Did you all forget the wedding planner is about to walk in the door?”

Olivia laughs. This whole interaction happens every time Ned’s at the restaurant. Connor and Arie are always saying something blasphemous to make him clam up and growl at them.

“Seriously,” Ned continues. “If the two of you need to screw in the back room, can you please do it before the wedding planner arrives? It’d be nice if she doesn’t think you’re both complete heathens!”

I smile. Oh, the irony in that. I half-wish Kendall walked into the restaurant right now and overheard all this. Her jaw would be on the floor.

“You think my orgasmic screams from the kitchen would make her believe I’m less of a heathen?” Arie responds in perfect form. “This is Flambé, Ned. If your wedding planner can’t stomach a few sex jokes, we’re going to have a problem.”

“Ouch,” I say, jumping into the conversation. “I only met her for a few minutes, but this—” I point to Arie in her foul-mouthed glory. “I don’t think this is going to go over too well.”

“She’ll be fine,” Olivia defends.

“Speaking of—” Arie marches toward the front entrance. “Where is the lick-able princess? Obviously, I need to warn her that my boyfriend wants to have a threesome with her—and thatI’mthe alpha in that scenario.”

“Does Arie always have to be like this?” Ned grumbles to me. “She’s not going to be like this on our wedding day, is she?”

“Why?” Conner teases. “Are you afraid that the priest will ask if anyone objects to this marriage and Arie’s going to ask you and I to pull down our trousers so she can make sure she picked therightVoss brother?”

“You realize I can pound the shit out of you, right?” Ned replies. “I’m not touching your girlfriend, but if you pull something like that on our wedding day—”

“I’ll keep Arie in check,” I say to ease Ned’s fears, though in truth, Arie will always be Arie. There’s not much one can do to censor her.

“Are you sure you still want the two of them in the wedding party?” Ned asks Olivia. “I can promote Mason to best man.”

“Oh, really?” Olivia raises an eyebrow at her fiancé. “You realize you’re talking about the friend who’ll probably wear a penis tie to our wedding? Yes, that’s much better.”

“Fair point,” Ned shrugs, considering his friend’s renown for wearing phallic Hawaiian shirts.

“Connor and Arie will be fine on the wedding day,” Olivia says, nodding to Arie who’s strutting out the front door. Even though Arie’s out of sight, we all hear her whistle across the patio rooftop and yell for the wedding planner like she’s a dog.

That’snot going to sit well with Ms. Sue Blade Wannabe.

“You’ll keep her in check, huh?” Ned asks, spearing me with a look after hearing what Arie just did.

I shrug. “The wedding day,” I reply. “Noteveryday.”

Ned turns to Olivia. “You know we live in Hawaii. We could easily jump to one of the other islands and elope. Forget all this.”

Olivia pinches him in the side. “We’re having this wedding,” she says sharply. “And you’ll be there even if I have to handcuff you to me the whole day. Got it!”

Ned groans and I laugh.

“Be careful,” I warn. “You know that’s not an empty threat.”

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